Hungry

Начало книги

Get a cat, they said. You work from home, so it’ll be great, they said. Besides, with Cat-Speak 4.0, even an idiot can take care of a cat.

But I can’t even take care of me!

They had a thousand and one reasons and being the sucker I am, I caved. A cat owner I became.

What they hadn’t said was how toddler-esque a cat would be, how utterly time-consuming said cat would be, or how being owned by a cat would result in picking up the ball, throwing the ball, and then pleading with the cat to go get the damn ball.

Pantone peers at me over my laptop, his charcoal eyes unblinking in their silent plea, and I groan. Cat ownership might be new to me, but not that look; it’s the same one my mother uses every time I stave off going home for the holidays.

When I tap his white-splotched rear, Pantone hops off my desk with a light chirp that his collar fails to interpret.

My stylus moves across the touch-screen, adding droplets of color to the website logo. The mock-ups are due to Garner Tech in three hours, but I still have two to go this afternoon.

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