Playing Matchmaker

chapter twelve

m e o w n c e t h e f a t c a t a n d n a t e t h e d r a m a q u e e n

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Picture: Meowncé (aint she cute)

dedication to @MrBBQAnderson for her lovely comments and shout-out :)

dedi to best comment y'all :D

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(not edited)

"But, it was just so weird. One minute we're biting each other's heads off, the next he's flush up against me and we're nearly kissing. I don't know how to feel. Sometimes I really want to beat him, or pull his organs out from his anus, but other times I want to melt when I see his puppy dog face," I sighed.

"Not that you would understand the feeling or anything, but when you do, one day, I want to be the first to know," I hummed quietly, the sound of water falling in the shower in the background.

"What should I do, Meowncé?" I pouted while talking to my cat. Meowncé just purred, loving the feeling of me scratching behind her dainty ears.

Ha, dainty.

Meownce is borderline - no she's way above the border - obese. And I'm not talking slightly pudgy either - she has rolls where rolls should never be.

Meownce is my one true love-other than fictional characters and actors, that is-and the epitome of the greatest best friend. Not that I don't love Emily or Nate, but Meowncé is just so . . . understanding. She doesn't tell me that what I'm doing is stupid or anything, she just purrs quietly while I force her to lay on my lap for bonding time-much to her hatred.

Meowncé is not all too fond of my obsession with hugging her so tight her insides nearly protrude from her mouth. That's probably too much detail, anyway.

I'd had Meowncé since she was a tiny little kitten and could fit in the palm of my hand. I went through this weird Beyoncé stage, hence the fabuloso name. Meowncé is a big, fat and super fluffy white and brown cat. She weighs an obese seventeen pounds-and I love every inch of her fatness. She has trouble controlling her diet, hence the extra weight, and purges just like her mom (me).

"Your obsession with your cat is so weird," Emily comments after she comes out of the bathroom which adjoins Austin's room to mine. "I get that you love her, and she doesn't spill your secrets, but talking to her theatrically. Really?"

"You just don't get it," I sigh exasperatedly, "You're not a cat lover. Only cat lovers get it. I can't believe you prefer stinky, dirty dogs opposed to my beautiful Meowncé. Apologise."

"I'm not apologising to your cat for anything," she deadpanned, drying her hair off with a Dora the Explorer towel. I may or may not have stolen it one day . . .

I huffed, poking my tongue out at her. After we finished watching the Maze Runner and 22 Jump Street, we all decided to go home to get some rest so that we didn't wake up on Friday morning like a person with a hangover.

Emily came home with me to stay the night, since she keeps an overnight bag in my room twenty-four seven with the usual necessities of a teenage girl. I offered her a draw in my bureau, but she said that was borderline weird and that it should be saved for when I get a boyfriend. I didn't protest at that, because I did not object on the fact that I could be sleeping in said future boyfriend's clothes.

I'd gone for a shower first while Emily caught up on Facebook and Instagram gossip with my Wi-Fi, then when finished I'd came back to have a good ole' heartfelt discussion with Meowncé-like I do nearly every single night. She's like a personal diary, except you don't get sore hands and fingers from writing so much.