Catching a cat is like catching air: impossible.
But it lands a few scratches on my arms for the attempt. For the record? Not a great way to say thank you, but whatever; this is why cats aren't man's best friend.
A couple choice swear words want to escape my mouth, but I bite them back with the force of sheer willpower and throw a nasty little scowl in the direction of the now-offended feline as I scramble to my feet before she throws the cat at me again. This time I want to be able to dodge if she does. "If it was my friend, would I have these scratches?" I demand of Ellie, holding out my bleeding arms.
Seriously. Cat scratches hurt like no other.
"Hm," she grunts, completely ignoring my point as she looks around. Her jaw must be itchy, because she keeps scratching at it. "How long are you keeping us here this time?"
The way she thinks I know everything she knows is both annoying and relieving. Annoying, because I don't. Relieving, because… well, it's keeping me alive.
