Where She Belongs

Back Home.

"Darling, it's your mother. I know you're there, pick up."

It was the third call this morning, and listening to her beg on the other end of the line makes me feel just a little bit guilty. Enough to make me answer - no. Kitty sits on my stomach, purring with pure delight as I rub his little tabby ears. I couldn't get up even if I wanted to. He would give Garfield second place in a fat cat competition and if he decided he was sitting on you, he was staying. Again the phone started to ring, and reaching for the TV remote I turned up the volume.

It was November, and that meant she probably wanted to make sure I was coming home for Thanksgiving. I'll wait for the email or text messages, it was easier to tell her no that way.

"Samara Olivia Franklin, get up off that goddamn sofa now and answer your phone!" She roared, startling Kitty so much that he rolled off me with a thump.

"It's a message Kitty, she can't actually see-" I froze as I sat up and sure enough, standing by the living room window, my mother looked ready to murder someone.

Since that someone was me, I gave a little wave, pretended to take earphones out of my ears and got up, pointing to the front door.

"Thank you!" She finished recording with a beep.

"Mum! Hi!" I hug her. She likes that, but she barely manages to pat my back before she is barreling into my apartment.

I'm twenty-four years old, an independent woman doing it for herself and yet I am terrified of what is about to happen.

"Pizza boxes, beer bottles, is that a dartboard next to your dining table? Did I accidentally come into some kind of frat boy house? Why is their toilet paper in your kitchen?" She looks around with pure disgust. "Don't answer that."

"I forgot to buy tissues," I answer weakly. "I've been feeling sick this week, so cleaning hasn't been a priority."

"It's never been a priority for you. I swear if you didn't come out of my-"

"I know, you'd swear I was adopted." I quickly finish for her. "So, in the neighbourhood and thought you would swing by?"

She starts to clean.

"Leave it, Mum, I'll do it-"

"No, you won't. That poor cleaner you pay will have to deal with this when she comes on Wednesday. Even your brothers aren't this bad!" She scolds, opening the fridge she quickly shuts it. "Cat food? You've actually kept that stray thing?"

Now would be a good time to mention my mother is a wolf-shifter. As a rule, cats and dogs don't get along and shifters are typically more 'dog people'. I think it only adds to their superiority complex, kind of like how humans like to make monkeys do stupid things by giving them a jar and a stick and then act amazed when the animal knows how to get the stuff out. Now would also be a good time to mention, I'm not a wolf shifter. Sure my parents, brother, aunts and uncles, cousins and well, the whole family is, but something went wrong with me. Really wrong because I also like cats.

"Don't talk about Kitty that way." I pout.

As if on cue the animal comes over, curiously sniffing at an old pizza box which of course, he then starts to the chew on the corner of.

"Stupid. Cats." She mumbles, so I try again.

"Just in the neighbourhood and thought you'd pop in?"

She stops, cleaning wipes in hand and rolls her eyes. That's how I know we're related, no gross birth story needed. Instead of answering, she heads over to my answering machine and giving up, I flop back down onto the sofa and change the channel.