The Way This Feels

Chapter 22: Curtains

There's two rules, restarting now. 1. No kissing Micah. 2. No smoking.

And then starts the days of life at Micah's trailer. I feel terrible about my second lapse in judgement, but, and horribly, it's like he knows this and doesn't push the issue again. In fact, he doesn't even mention the kissing. Other than that, I like staying here. A lot.

It turns out he has more cats than just Gertie and her kittens in the laundry-- they come in through the window in his bedroom that he keeps cracked open just so. They love him, and all have names. I didn't notice them yesterday because they only like him and didn't want anything to do with me.

"Where did they come from?" I ask the following morning, curled in a maroon and cream quilt. He's sitting up, typing on his laptop having just got back from work. A tuxedo cat with huge eyes has come in through the window and is grooming himself on the foot of the bed.

"They come from a feral cat community in the neighborhood."

"Feral?" I ask incredulously. Most of the cats are totally affectionate.

"Well, most of them are pretty tame cause the kids around here hold the kittens."

He bangs words hard into his document, like he's literally carving the writing into his keyboard. "Ok, but why do they come in your window?"

He grins. "I started feeding them outside and befriending them. Then I formally adopted Gertie into my house, and started feeding her inside. And then they all started coming inside. So I let them come and go as they please."

The tuxedo draws away from my hand looking reluctant. "That's Patrick, he's just a little shy."

Most of Micah's time is spent feeding cats. There's food bowls in his bedroom as well as the kitchen. Then there's some by the front door, and around back by the open window. He also has a route through the neighborhood he walks twice a day that has at least 7 or 8 food and water bowls for the true feral cats that refuse to come anywhere near him.

"How do you get all this food for them?" I ask one day while we're walking the route.

"I buy it."

"With what?"

"Money, Will."

I scowl.

"I have a job and they actually pay me."

"But don't you need to like, buy groceries and stuff with that money? How do you afford it all?"

He peers down at me in an endearing sort of way that makes my face burn.

"I get extra cash from my Instagram account." 

Something's not clicking for me. "Don't you pay, like, utilities and er... rent? On top of many bags of cat food?"

"Yeah. But my mom does pay for some of that so she can pretend to still be parenting me."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Also, people like my cats and give me donations sometimes."

"Huh?"

"Are you aware that I post on my instagram? And I do Instagram Lives? Not to mention, all this started because of my blog." I stare at him blankly and he starts laughing even harder.

"Will, I thought you hated me so much that you had to keep tabs on me. The wall outside school, keeping your eye on the enemy, all that. And you don't know about my Instagram Lives?"

I find myself angry.

"I didn't even follow you until like a month ago!" I burst out. This is what I always hated about him. Conceited.