Read Online Who's Kitten Who? by Cynthia Baxter - Free Book Online
Authors: Cynthia Baxter
Tags: Fiction
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color—but hadn’t had a chance to even start on my pants and shirt—when I heard a car door slam right outside the living-room window.
Nick! I thought, overcome with relief. He’s home early. He’s going to help me clean up the feathers and the toilet paper before his parents get here, and then I’ll have time to get those brownies in the oven and rinse out these clothes and scrub my skin back to its normal color in the shower….
I froze at the sound of a second car door slamming.
I raced through the living room. But even before I reached the window, I saw a white car I didn’t recognize. Two people had just gotten out: a towering, broad-shouldered woman with short dark hair that looked as if it had been sculpted out of plaster of Paris and a lean, white-haired man who was as gangly as Lou.
At least seventeen suitcases were piled on the lawn next to their car.
“Oh, my God!” I cried aloud. “It’s the invasion!”
The first thing I noticed was that Nick’s mother was dressed entirely in white. A white skirt, a white blouse, white shoes, and even a white hat. She looked as if she was on her way to Ascot, not enduring a fifteen-hundred-mile road trip.
It was at that moment that I noticed she also carried something white in her arms. White—and fluffy. While it could have been a trendy pocketbook, my bet was that it was Mitzi, the Maltese Nick was so sure would be one of the few dogs I couldn’t find a way to bond with.
I glanced down self-consciously, fully aware that I, on the other hand, had chosen the color of prison garb for my fashion statement.
A wave of excruciatingly horrible heat rushed over me as I suddenly remembered the whereabouts of my dogs.
The fear had barely formed in my mind when the nightmare became a reality, right before my eyes. Max, as usual, had run up to greet our visitors. But my friendly little terrier was so excited over having company that he broke the number one rule that I’d tried desperately to impress upon him since the day I’d adopted him.
He jumped up on Nick’s mother, painting her blindingly white skirt with orange paw prints.
“Agh-h-h!” she yelled.
“Max!” I cried, bursting through the front door. I ran over and scooped him up, hardly caring at all that the sharp edges of the gravel in the driveway were cutting into my shoeless feet as if I was undergoing some test of faith.
When Lou came loping over, I grabbed his collar, trying to exercise at least a little damage control. Then, not quite knowing what to do next, I just stood there clutching my two canines, wondering what the odds were that the ground would open and swallow me up at what would have been a really good time.
“My skirt!” Dorothy Burby exclaimed, peering downward over Mitzi’s fur. “This…this
glop
will never come out!”
She looked at me expectantly. And, I might add, accusingly.
“You’re early,” I greeted them in a soft, defeated voice.
“We got lucky,” Nick’s father, Henry, said heartily. “Hardly hit any traffic.” He stiffened, as if he’d just realized that maybe they hadn’t been lucky at all. That maybe if they’d delayed their arrival by even a few minutes, things would have turned out differently.
I turned to say something to Nick’s mother, hopefully something that would sound much more welcoming. As if on cue, Mitzi began barking her head off.
“Poor Mitzi!” she cooed. “I know, Mitzi-Bitzi, it’s so upsetting, isn’t it? To come all this way just to have our favorite skirt
ruined
.”
She paused to take a deep breath, as if she’d suddenly remembered who she was. She stood up straighter, extended her hand, and said, “You must be Jessica.”
I just nodded.
She looked me up and down. “You’re certainly not what I expected.”
“I don’t usually wear this much orange,” I returned, smiling. And hoping my future mother-in-law would do the same.
No such luck.
“Is Nicky here?” she asked, her voice strangely high-pitched and
Nick! I thought, overcome with relief. He’s home early. He’s going to help me clean up the feathers and the toilet paper before his parents get here, and then I’ll have time to get those brownies in the oven and rinse out these clothes and scrub my skin back to its normal color in the shower….
I froze at the sound of a second car door slamming.
I raced through the living room. But even before I reached the window, I saw a white car I didn’t recognize. Two people had just gotten out: a towering, broad-shouldered woman with short dark hair that looked as if it had been sculpted out of plaster of Paris and a lean, white-haired man who was as gangly as Lou.
At least seventeen suitcases were piled on the lawn next to their car.
“Oh, my God!” I cried aloud. “It’s the invasion!”
The first thing I noticed was that Nick’s mother was dressed entirely in white. A white skirt, a white blouse, white shoes, and even a white hat. She looked as if she was on her way to Ascot, not enduring a fifteen-hundred-mile road trip.
It was at that moment that I noticed she also carried something white in her arms. White—and fluffy. While it could have been a trendy pocketbook, my bet was that it was Mitzi, the Maltese Nick was so sure would be one of the few dogs I couldn’t find a way to bond with.
I glanced down self-consciously, fully aware that I, on the other hand, had chosen the color of prison garb for my fashion statement.
A wave of excruciatingly horrible heat rushed over me as I suddenly remembered the whereabouts of my dogs.
The fear had barely formed in my mind when the nightmare became a reality, right before my eyes. Max, as usual, had run up to greet our visitors. But my friendly little terrier was so excited over having company that he broke the number one rule that I’d tried desperately to impress upon him since the day I’d adopted him.
He jumped up on Nick’s mother, painting her blindingly white skirt with orange paw prints.
“Agh-h-h!” she yelled.
“Max!” I cried, bursting through the front door. I ran over and scooped him up, hardly caring at all that the sharp edges of the gravel in the driveway were cutting into my shoeless feet as if I was undergoing some test of faith.
When Lou came loping over, I grabbed his collar, trying to exercise at least a little damage control. Then, not quite knowing what to do next, I just stood there clutching my two canines, wondering what the odds were that the ground would open and swallow me up at what would have been a really good time.
“My skirt!” Dorothy Burby exclaimed, peering downward over Mitzi’s fur. “This…this
glop
will never come out!”
She looked at me expectantly. And, I might add, accusingly.
“You’re early,” I greeted them in a soft, defeated voice.
“We got lucky,” Nick’s father, Henry, said heartily. “Hardly hit any traffic.” He stiffened, as if he’d just realized that maybe they hadn’t been lucky at all. That maybe if they’d delayed their arrival by even a few minutes, things would have turned out differently.
I turned to say something to Nick’s mother, hopefully something that would sound much more welcoming. As if on cue, Mitzi began barking her head off.
“Poor Mitzi!” she cooed. “I know, Mitzi-Bitzi, it’s so upsetting, isn’t it? To come all this way just to have our favorite skirt
ruined
.”
She paused to take a deep breath, as if she’d suddenly remembered who she was. She stood up straighter, extended her hand, and said, “You must be Jessica.”
I just nodded.
She looked me up and down. “You’re certainly not what I expected.”
“I don’t usually wear this much orange,” I returned, smiling. And hoping my future mother-in-law would do the same.
No such luck.
“Is Nicky here?” she asked, her voice strangely high-pitched and
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