Molly Hooper was having a terrible morning. First, Toby was suddenly and wretchedly ill at 3 a.m. that morning, necessitating a much-stuttered call to the vet, who would only take her cat during office hours, so 7 a.m. at the earliest. Great. Just, just great.
Just as she'd gotten Toby to settle down and drink something without it having come up again, her landlord knocked loudly and told her he was selling the building and that she'd have to find a new place by the end of the week. Brilliant.
And then her mum, who seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to bad timing, rang up. "I know it's a bit early, dear, but I never seem to catch you otherwise. I was wondering when you'd settle down with a nice young man and come back home? We never see you any more, your brother and I."
The long-haired brunette, who was usually the most patient, in fact, most long-suffering, person in London, took a deep breath, trusted her voice not to shake, and quietly lied, "Sorry, Mum, I'm late for work. I'll call you later." She could be polite to her family, but when her cat was feeling so horrible, and she was about to be homeless shortly, well, she was afraid she'd burst into tears in a moment of weakness. Unlike the mums on the telly, her mother would only use her bad news as ammunition against her, rather than encouraging her to find a nicer flat closer to her job.
Then she checked her watch and squeaked. "Okay, Toby, I know you don't like it, but we've got to get you out," she tried to cajole her tabby into a better mood, but her cat wailed heart-wrenchingly, scrabbling at the edge of the cat carrier. It took her ten minutes to get Toby into the carrier, and ten more to change out of her nightclothes and into her work clothes, because otherwise she'd be late to work. As she waited for the bus, she cast a hopeful look at the sky. "As least it's a lovely day," she mused, a corner of her mouth going up before the other side followed, turning into a smile.
Which was when the sky elected to dump a ton of rain on her head.