Sam--short for Samantha, if you please--has been living in Crawley, Maine for about a year in her grandfather's lighthouse. A promising advertiser, she works from home and the local coffee shop, where she gets her daily hot chocolate fix. For her, l...
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I woke the next morning to swollen eyes and a scratchy throat. I reached for the box of tissues at my bedside, nose a leaky faucet once I sat up within my comforter. Coughing a little into the tissue, I balled it up and aimed for the trash can.
Looking over the side of my bed, I located my slippers sitting close to the air vent. Stretching probably beyond human means, I snatched them from their spot and quickly slipped them over my sockless feet. I quickly grabbed my towel, a fresh set of underwear, joggers, long sleeve t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie.
Shuffling obnoxiously down the short hall to the bathroom, I hurriedly closed the door and turned on the hot water. As I waited for the water to warm, I took stock in the vanity mirror.
Crying and laughing all night was definitely something I did not want to do again.
Stripping, I stepped under the hot water. The steam unclogged my sinuses a bit and I could breath easy again. I stayed under the water a little longer than necessary, the water warming me up quite nicely.
Once I turned off the water, I quickly toweled off and hauled on the layers I'd lain out. Twisting my hair into a towel turban, I pumped lotion into my hand and lathered it on my face, hands, and toes.
Quickly opening up a pack of eye masks, I pasted the metallic suckers over my eye bags, hoping they would do something. Dodging back into my bedroom, I dug through the sock basket and pulled out two different-colored wool socks.
Shrugging, I pulled them on then slipped my slippers back on underneath. Snapping my phone off the charger, I pressed the home button. A solid eleven thirty glared back at me.
"What the—"
Dashing to the other side of my room, I pulled open the blackout curtains. The bright noon-day sun glinting against the ocean sea blinded me momentarily and I quickly pulled the curtains shut again.
I busted down the stairs, quickly opened a can of food from the fridge, grabbed the plastic bowl sitting on the counter, and threw open the back door. Frankie sat there calmly, licking her paw and patting behind her ear.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I squatted and plopped the wet cat food into the bowl. The bowl set near enough to Her Majesty, Frankie leant over and dug in. My arms folded around my knees and I watched her eat. I had once tried to pet her while she ate; I could still find the fading scar on the back of my arm.
Once she had finished, she rubbed her scarred, cowlicked fur against my pants leg, and I took that as the okay to pet her. Gently pressing my hand into her fur and lightly scratching behind her ears and beneath her chin, I noted what I observed aloud,
"Aren't you a gorgeous girl, huh?"
She gave a low mrrow and the motor that was her purr vibrated through her entire body.
"You're gettin' kinda chunky, aren'tcha gorgeous? Looks like the food is helping."
When I first found Frankie outside my backdoor, she'd been a skeletal mess with fresh wounds curled into a ball next to the backstep. I'd rushed her to the local vet, coughing and sneezing the entire way.
