Word Count: 591
Quote:
Your Christmas cookies turned out great for once! There was no burning or dropping of the batter and now you have dozens of cookies just waiting to be eaten or given out as gifts. However, as you leave the cookies to cool and go about your business, the smell of gingerbread seems to follow you, no matter if you made gingerbread cookies or not. A strange feeling as though someone is watching you takes over and from time to time you swear that you can hear a strange little voice saying the same thing over and over. “You can’t catch me”. The feeling passes after a few hours, but it might be best to avoid gingerbread for the rest of the holiday season…just in case.
The kitchen was a disaster.
Flour was all over the countertops and the floor, chunks of cookie dough could be found on the walls and in the cracks and crevices that one might not expect cookie dough to be found in. Sugary paw prints could be found dotting the tile, parts of the cupboards, and certainly on the handles of drawers.
But in the center of all of it was a happy little cat perched in the center of the counter with an array of oddly shaped cookie cutouts.
His top hat was missing, carefully removed and set upon one of the stools that had managed to evade flourgedon, and white covered his cheeks. Dough managed to stick to his whiskers but he looked so darn happy.
Somewhere else in the kitchen, by the oven, stood Chase who looked at the mess with a slight frown and the slightest furrowed brows.
“Miss Prissy is going to love these!” Theodore chirped, fluffy chest puffing out proudly as he looked over at the somewhat disgruntled man across the room. “Taste one!” He demanded, stomping pink dipped paws and tossing a glare over at the man with pink and black hair.
The pair seemed to have a staring contest before the lanky man reluctantly sauntered over and plucked one of the cooling treats from the cookie rack and took a bite. The taste of gingerbread flooded his mouth in a pleasant way and he nodded in approval. “She will,” he assured the cat who looked pleased enough to hop off the counter and shake out the flour clinging to him to the best of his ability.
It was ineffective but Theodore didn’t seem to care.
“Clean up will you? I have to bathe.” The cat instructed of the man in the kitchen, who looked back with some confusion but the feline had already scampered off to clean himself up so that when Prissy came home he would look his best.
Nosing open the barely cracked door to his mistress’s room, Theodore found his cat bed at the corner of her bed and he dragged it further out before plopping into it. His tongue ran over his matted, sticky and sometimes sweet, fur in an attempt to clean himself up. Several times he had to stop, tongue rubbing against the roof of his mouth with a wrinkling nose whenever too much flour made homes in his taste buds.
Faintly he thought he heard something, ears flicking this way and that while the scent of gingerbread seemed to fill the room despite the fact that he was mostly groomed.
You can’t catch me, said the whisper and Theodore’s head shot up, pupils growing wide as he looked this way and that.
You can’t catch me, he heard again and suddenly the mauvian was springing to his feet and hissing as he scampered across the room, crawling beneath her bed and into the box spring in an attempt to find whoever was saying such strange things.
Twenty minutes of searching and he found nothing. Repeatively he looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone to be behind him or watching him but he was alone.
An hour or so later he decided to ignore the feeling, instinctively blaming Silk for likely trying to play a trick on him. He had bigger things to focus on!
Like making sure the cookies were arranged perfectly for Miss Prissy when he went back to them and the hopefully clean kitchen.
Stupid haired Chase was useful for something sometimes after all.
