Vindictive Bastard

“You odious little creature!”

I screamed at the fluffy ball of spite. It had been two weeks and I was still being punished because my resident demon fails to understand the properties of water – i.e. if you chose to walk along the edge of a bath tub full of water, there is a chance of falling and getting very wet.

I knelt, trying to scoop up the frozen peas that were making a bid for freedom across the kitchen floor. The monster decided to claw open a full bag of them. It sat – cool as anything – on the counter, tail swishing with indifference.

“Honestly, Snuffles, when does this end?” Snuffles just glares, “You’re a vengeful little bastard, kitty.” I mutter at the cat.

 

It was several hours after the incident with the peas and I was sitting on the sofa when I felt an insistent paw at my shoulder.

“What do you want?” Black feet padded down my body and settled in my lap. “If you think I’m going to pet you after that stunt then—”

But the little fluffy monster had started purring. Well, he might be a vindictive bastard, but he was my vindictive bastard.

– Heather Caldwell

[20/2/17: Odious]

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