Salvation

3 ~

Princess Fluffball and the Crushing Crush

D A Y A
•••

somewhat important note (hereafter referred to as a SIN): do not take cat - rearing advice from this chapter; I have a cat and am well aware that not everything Daya does here is ideal in terms of raising a kitten

It's a new day for Daya. This is my first thought as I clamber out from between my bedsheets dramatically. The light streams through my brightly coloured curtains; I attempt to conjure a smile on my lips, and succeed. Today holds promise! I shrug the thought off, doubting it a great deal but wanting to believe it anyway. A meow interrupts my thoughts as a ball of fur strides alongside my bed.

"Oh, Madame Fluffball," I sigh, reaching down to pet my pure white, fluffy, soft kitten. I got her recently, and we've grown fond of each other, though she could do without my constant cuddles. For a cat, she's fairly affectionate, but that doesn't mean she matches my love for hugs. She also shows her fondness in odd ways, but I know that she cares for me, for every time she sees me, she purrs and brushes against me gently. "Whatever shall I do with this waste of a life I live?" Getting down beside her, I raise both my eyebrows in earnest questioning, as if to produce a more helpful answer.

Madame Fluffball rubs against my side, meowing once more, as if to say: I don't know what you're on about, useless human, but I want some food and then perhaps I will indulge you in cuddles, and that's a solid maybe! I smile. "Of course I'll feed you, Fluffy. C'mon."

She follows me to the vibrantly blue food bowls I'd laid out for her the day I got her and waits patiently next to them. After I feed her, I tap my chin in thought, as I often do. I only got this cat a week ago. What am I to do to ensure that she gets proper exercise? What if I fail in doing so?? Then Fluffy would hate me and so would everyone who heard of it!

Driven to an anxious state by my thoughts, I lift Fluffy up gently. "C'mon, Fluffpaws, we're going for a walk." Though I say this with dread, enthusiasm quickly colours my thoughts.

I bring her to the door and singlehandedly manage to maneuver both of us outside. Once outside, I pause for a moment, eyeing my rather large house. Try to take it all in, I advise myself. I'm fortunate. My recently deceased great - uncle saddened me intensely when I heard of his death, but we were not very close, and I spoke of him like a relative, but felt the loss like a stranger. However, he left me thousands of dollars and, in addition to the salary I already make, I can safely consider myself on the wealthier side.

The money I make from my salary gives me more joy than that I got from my great - uncle's death, unsurprisingly enough. Not only is that money not involved in a heartbreaking instance of cancer, I earn it from doing what I love. I have a great job at an art studio downtown, and it earns me more money than one might think.

Ow!

I look down at my impatient kitten, who I has just clawed me angrily, and who, from the looks of it, is unrepentant. "You wanna get going, don't you, sugartail?" She stares at me in utter derision. I take that to mean, No, I want to go on an adventure to Narnia with disheartened pilgrims. Of course I want to get going, you stupid creature!

I look down at her. "Well, we're not going anywhere with that attitude!" The level of her glare increases and I begin walking, a corner of my mouth lifting in amusement. "Fine, you little princess. Maybe I should've called you that instead of Madame Fluffball; Princess Fluffball! You know what, I like that. Princess Fluffball." Testing the name, I decide I like how it rolls delicately off my tongue. "I hope you like it too, 'cause it's your new name!"

Her tail twitches, and I don't know whether to take that as a good sign or not. "I'll take it positively," I mutter determinedly. "Yes, that's probably best." By this point, I've reached the street alongside our house. It hosts a number of sleazy corporations, most of whom I hate. From what I hear, they're homophobic and treat most of their worse - off staff members terribly.

A woman exits the building as I near it, evidently angered. "The nerve of DOS!" she spits. Wouldn't want to be DOS, whatever that is.

While I'm caught in thought, wondering if I should help, I can't help but notice that she's rather pretty – but no, that's not the right word. Stunning is a more fitting description. Her hair is jet black, lengthy, and straight, with a white beanie drawn over it. Her dark eyes are narrowed, with thick lashes batting every time she closes her eyes. Her complexion is smooth. I look more closely, trying to discover what her exact eye colour is. From this distance, her irises look pure black.

I decide on walking up to her, cradling Princess Fluffball into my arms sweetly.

"I'm sorry, but you seem rather stressed out," I say bravely.

Her head snaps in my direction. "You don't say." Though her words are bitingly harsh, her tone is cool, as if she refuses to lose it in front of me.

Wearing a contrite expression (after realizing that I couldn't hold my hands up to show a peaceful attitude), I back up a step. "I was only trying to help."

"I assume you are incapable of displaying any semblance of appropriate manners in the form of an apology? You intruded."

"I refuse to on the grounds that firstly, I apologized in the beginning preemptively, and secondly, that I was trying to help." I'm starting to dislike this woman.

She gives me a once - over, and it's then when I recognize that I'm still wearing my pyjamas. Darn, she's probably judging me greatly right now! I fret. Then again, I'm not the jerk here.

"Even these clothes, these lounging clothes, are practically dripping in wealth. You have everything. Don't you dare speak as if you're the unfortunate one." Her tone is calm, appraising, as if she's discussing the weather. I hate to admit it, but it's music to my ears.

I look her up and down, instantly made upset by this statement. Her figure is free of all the fat I see on myself; her eyebrows are perfectly shaped; her face is free of blemishes, despite the fact that she doesn't appear to be wearing makeup. And, to make the situation better, I can see that nearly every person walking by, male or female, is checking her out. She's prettier, more desirable, more loveable – even at her worst – than I could ever be. My lips tighten in anger.

"Excuse me? You have everything I could ever want!" I snap, overcome with hatred.

She raises a disapproving brow. "And you have everything I could ever need."

"Your vision is blurred!" I retort.

"Your brain said it was going for groceries and never came back!" she says, finally losing a handle on her calm facade.

There's an awkward pause. She, whatever her name is, seems to recognize that she overstepped.

"That was a low blow," I mumble, insulted.

—

*plot thickens*