Read Online Matchmaker Cat (A Romantic Comedy Short Story) by Elizabeth Kyne - Free Book Online

 
    Chester looked
at me with wide, disapproving feline eyes.
    ‘What?’ I asked
as I closed the front door behind me.
    He continued to
sit in the middle of the hallway; his ginger tabby fur sleek and
neat with his nose pointing into the air like the lord of the
manor. He leaned out to the side as if peering at something behind
me. Even though I knew there was nothing there, I turned my head
too, and saw only the scratched paint of the wooden door.
    ‘Sorry
Chester,’ I said. ‘I didn’t bring anyone home with me today.’
    He actually
seemed to be disappointed. The line of his mouth pointed downwards
and there was a sense of loneliness in his eyes. Then the
almost-human emotion disappeared from his face. He stood up and
walked off towards the kitchen: holding his tail high in the air so
I had the perfect view of his bum hole.
    ‘Stupid
cat.’
    I put my
handbag on the first of a row of coathooks that were held to the
wall by a couple of wobbly screws, took off my coat and hung it on
top. I made my way to the kitchen, but hadn’t quite left enough
space between me and the bicycle which I kept in the hallway, and
whacked my ankle on the pedal.
    ‘Ow!’ I glared
at it, like the infernal machine had stuck out its pedal on
purpose. ‘Bloody thing.’ I hobbled down the hall with a stinging
big toe.
    I live in a
two-storey terrace house which dates back to the Victorian era,
when they evidently had a peculiar idea of how to arrange living
space. The corridors and stairs are so narrow they leave precious
little room for actual human beings - always embarrassing when
having fat friends to stay - while the rooms themselves have
ceilings tall enough to dwarf even my six-and-a-half foot brother.
I know it’s because the house was designed in a time of coal fires
when grey smoke would hang at the top of the room, allowing the
people living below to breathe clean air, but that’s of little
consolation to my central heating bill.
    The Victorians
also didn’t have microwaves, fridge freezers, washing machines and
dishwashers, which goes a little to explain why my kitchen is as
cramped as it is. It’s one of those long thin ones where there’s no
room to swing a cat (not as if I would swing a cat, you
understand - although, with Chester, I’ve been tempted on
occasions). A lot of the cupboard space got hi-jacked to put in
modern appliances, so many of my kitchen implements live on the
counter - mugs on mug trees, utensils on racks, pans hanging from
hooks. Even so, I try to keep it relatively tidy.
    Chester was
waiting for me when I walked in, sitting forlornly by his bowl as
if I were a cruel mistress who’d kept him starving all day. This
was not true, as the bowl still had half the dried food I’d left
out for him that morning.
    ‘Honestly,
Chester, anyone would think I should be reported to the RSPCA.’
    Chester, rather
than speaking up in my defence, continued to wear a deprived look.
He even let out a pitiful meow .
    I looked
through the cupboard of moist, meaty cat food that left a dent in
my credit card every month. ‘I bet you’re going to get more
enjoyment out of this meal than I got out of mine tonight,’ I said
as I chose a pouch of rabbit in gravy and wondered, not for the
first time, how gravy had any relation to what a cat might eat in
the wild.
    Chester
stretched himself as tall as he could while sitting down, full of
anticipation. I know it was because of the food, but in my head, I
decided it was really a sign he wanted to hear more about my
disastrous date with Derek.
    ‘I’m telling
you, Chester, I had an uncomfortable feeling about him as soon as I
walked into the restaurant.’
    A friend of a
friend had persuaded me to meet with Derek. He felt sorry for me
and said Derek could do with company because ‘he’s so lonely’.
Having met the man, I understood why.
    ‘He was wearing
a tie,’ I explained. ‘You have to give the guy credit for making an
effort - but he looked as uncomfortable as