A/N: This one is from Bentley's point of view. Most of this is more true to life than I'd like.
A harsh rattling noise woke Bentley out of a sound sleep. Irritated, he streeeeeeeetched to shake the sleep out of his bones and he jumped gracefully down from the bed where he had been taking his mid-morning nap (not to be confused with his post-breakfast or his pre-lunch naps, thank you very much).
He paused for a moment, listening intently. The noise had momentarily stopped, and he wasn't quite sure where it had been coming from. *rattlerattlerattle* he heard again. Oh, the front door. Maybe it was one of his masters coming home for the day. But no, it couldn't be. He had seen them both leave early that morning with big rolling boxes. What was it that the taller one had said to him as they were going? He wasn't quite sure as he was more than half asleep, but he thought it sounded something like, "Be good for Rachel, Bentley." He had deduced that Bentley was what they called when they wanted his attention. Maybe Rachel was another one of those attention-calling words?
But who, or what, was this Rachel person? He decided to go to the door and see who, or what, was making that unearthly racket. He was up anyway. He'd check out the noise, grab a bite to eat, and then move on to his post-mid-morning-snack nap.
*rattlerattlerattle* "DAMMIT! Why doesn't this key WORK?" a high-pitched voice shouted from the other side of the door. The hair on Bentley's back stood straight up. He did not like that sound at all, and if the thing making that awful noise was coming in HERE, well, he was going to have something to say about it.
Suddenly, the doorknob turned and a small human loaded down with bags just about fell through the door. This one wasn't like his masters – this was one of those woman humans, like the one called Shirley back at the shelter. Bentley liked her. She was quiet and moved slowly. This one, however…
"OOOooohhh you're so CUTE!" Rachel squealed. "Hi Bentley! I'm Rachel and I'm going to just have the BEST time taking care of you this week! I just know we're going to be awesome friends!" She dropped her bags on the floor and reached down to pick up Bentley, making the mistake of grabbing him right around the belly. Bentley screeched and hissed and, startled, Rachel dropped him to the floor. He landed with a thud, jarring his bones. Sure, cats were used to jumping great distances, but he wasn't prepared for that kind of landing.
So this was the "Rachel" he was supposed to be good for.
Not bloody likely.
She bent over to try to pick him up again, but Bentley was great at playing "Dodge the Grabby Hands." He had perfected it in the shelter, and that was a skill that never left him.
Rachel shrugged. "Oh! I should go get the mail. I'll be right back, Bentley!" she said brightly. As soon as she disappeared behind the door, Bentley jumped up to his favorite thinking place: the top of the entertainment center. He was able to lie down on the cool, glossy wood and plan all his evil plots from there. Or nap. Okay, fine. All he did up there was nap. Until now. Now, he had a purpose.
Rachel walked back through the door, digging through the mail as if she was looking for treasure. "Kurt's Macy's bill," Rachel said out loud. "I HATE to see what kind of balance he has on THAT thing. Or Blaine's Brooks Brothers account, for that matter. Don't you just want to yank those ridiculous bow ties right off him sometimes, Bentley? Bentley?"
Bentley had decided that Rachel was very boring. He had jumped down from the entertainment center and padded into the kitchen. Just as Rachel was tossing the majority of the mail on the side table where Kurt had requested she leave it, she heard a demanding howl from the kitchen.
"Oh, you must be hungry! Just a second, I'll be right there!" Rachel went into the living room and set the copy of Vogue that was in that day's mail on the floor next to the sofa; she planned on browsing through the magazine before heading home.
Rachel entered the kitchen and spun around looking for the cat food, but she was unable to locate it. "Okay, if I was cat food, where would I be hiding?" she asked herself out loud. She randomly began opening and closing random doors and wasn't finding what she was looking for. Bentley helpfully sat down outside a lower cabinet and yowled, hoping this annoying human would be smart enough to get his hint. Thankfully, for his sake, she was.
"It's in there?" She gently pulled open the door, using it to scoot him away from the cupboard, and peered inside. "Eureka! We have cat food. Okay. I think Kurt said one can once a day in your blue bowl?"
"Mrow!"
"Okay, I see your bowl over there." She walked over to the bowl and inspecting it, grimacing slightly. "Eew, this looks disgusting. I better wash it."
Rachel stood at the sink, scrubbing the food dish with all her might, as if the very sight of it offended her somehow. Bentley was not impressed at the amount of time she was taking; he was hungry, dammit! He began rubbing up against her pant legs, howling all the while.
"Yes, honey, I know you're hungry. Just let me rinse this bowl one more time and then breakfast will be served."
Bentley was not reassured and continued to weave himself between her legs, making sure to rub his face and his sides against her pants.
Her WHITE pants. Wool, no less.
Finally, she played Bentley's "song" – the sound of the pull-tab lid cracking and peeling away from the can. He danced around her more frantically and howled more loudly, even though he was well aware that this would not speed her up. It didn't work with his masters, so he doubted it would work for her.
"All right, all right already!" Rachel said as she stumbled over the darting cat, nearly dropping the bowl in the process. "Here! Sheesh!"
Without another sound, Bentley plunged his face in the bowl and began scarfing up the food inside.
"Ugh, that sound you're making is REVOLTING," Rachel complained, but Bentley paid her no mind. There was food to be eaten.
Rachel wandered into the living room and sat down on the couch to begin reading the copy of Vogue she had set aside from Kurt and Blaine's mail. She was just about to reach down to grab the magazine when she noticed the state of her pants.
"Oh Bentley," she whined. "Look at my PANTS! How do you still have fur on your body after this?" Rachel went to Kurt and Blaine's laundry room and began rummaging around in the cabinets. "There has got to be a lint brush around here somewhere. Kurt probably buys stock in the company that makes them."
Sure enough, there was a cabinet that had one partially used lint roller plus several brand new ones waiting to be put into service. She grabbed the roller and went back to the couch to sit down and work on de-furring herself.
As Rachel cleaned her pants, Bentley sat nearby bathing his paws and whiskers after his meal. His face tended to look like a warzone after his first turn at the food dish of the day; he wasn't exactly a clean eater.
While he cleaned, though, he watched. The woman brushed her pants with the same ferocity as she had washed Bentley's food dish with, and she mumbled as she did so, clearly unhappy with her cat-sitting stint so far.
Another five minutes later, Rachel sighed and said, "Well, that's probably about as good as it's going to get. No wonder I don't have a cat. I just don't have the time to deal with such inconveniences as fur all over."
Though Bentley wasn't sure exactly what it was she was fussing about, he knew it was about him, and he knew it wasn't good. Rachel left the room to return the lint brush back to the laundry room. When she returned, she found Bentley sitting next to the Vogue magazine on the floor.
As she sat down, Bentley let out a long, low, mournful howl.
"Awww, Bentley, do you miss Kurt and Blaine? Don't worry, they won't be gone long. Only until Fri – OH NO! Bentley, don't!"
But it was too late. Had Kurt or Blaine been around, they would've recognized that sound as Bentley's "I'm gonna barf" announcement. But Rachel didn't know, and therefore she was unprepared to slide something unimportant beneath Bentley before his stomach backfired all over what was nearby.
What was nearby was the magazine.
"Shit!"Rachel cursed. "They're gonna kill me! The subscriber copy is different than the newsstand copy this month, and Kurt is so fussy about his precious magazine that he practically preserves them in acid-free and air-tight containers! Dammit Bentley!"
Rachel gingerly picked up the magazine, trying to hold it level and steady so none of its nauseating cargo would slide off onto the floor.
"Well, at least you didn't get any on the carpets," Rachel conceded. "I don't know why Kurt insists on having a pet in a house with beige flooring. Especially an animal with dark fur. He must have one heck of a time keeping it clean," her voice trailed off as she went to dispose of the now disgusting magazine.
Bentley sat on his haunches, proud of his efforts. He'd been trying to annoy the loud human enough so that she'd leave, but she was remarkably persistent. Perhaps now she'd be grossed out enough to leave.
Rachel came out of the kitchen with a trash bag in her hand, and she slid on her shoes at the door. Bentley spun around in a circle in excitement; she was on her way out! Yes! If Bentley could make a fist, he surely would've fist pumped.
But… wait a minute. Rachel did not leave via the front door as she had arrived. She walked through the kitchen and used the door to the garage instead. She was gone mere moments and came back inside without the trash bag. "Not leaving THAT in here to fester," she said.
Bentley walked into the laundry room to one of his thinking places. What must he do to get rid of that woman once and for all? He sat, his whiskers twitching occasionally, and suddenly, he saw it.
The litter box.
Bentley had heard Master Kurt once comment that he could clear a small country with the "bombs" he left in the litter box – surely if he could clear a small country, he could clear a small house of a small woman?
Bentley took a moment to consider his bodily functions. Yes, he decided, he could in fact use a trip to his facilities. He went in, did his business, and covered only just enough to satisfy his catly instincts but left enough uncovered so the full aroma could still escape.
Whew, that's bad, Bentley thought to himself, and he raced out of the litter box to cool his burning behind. If that won't get rid of her, NOTHING will.
Rachel had been sitting on the couch in the living room rifling through an old issue of Cosmo when Bentley flew through the room. She was just about to open her mouth to say something when it hit her. Like a brick wall.
"Oh my GOD, Bentley! What did you DO?" She covered her face with her hands, gagging behind them.
Drama queen, Bentley thought. It wasn't THAT bad… was it?
"Really, Bentley. I'm seriously beginning to think you're trying to get rid of me."
FINALLY! He thought. Bentley ran to the front door and meowed. Then he ran back to Rachel and sat at her feet, meowing again.
"Do you want to go outside? But Blaine said you don't go outside…" she said in confusion.
He ran to the door again and meowed. Rachel obliged him by joining him at the front door, but she didn't have her things in her hands. Bentley walked over to where her bags were sitting in the kitchen, meowed, and then walked back to the door and meowed again.
Rachel's face fell in realization. "You ARE! You ARE trying to get rid of me! Well I never!"
Rachel gathered her things and glared at the cat. "Of all the ungrateful people I've encountered in my life, I would've never guessed that a CAT would be one of the worst! See if ever come and take care of YOU again!" She stomped dramatically out the door and slammed it shut. Bentley again heard the doorknob rattle and the angry woman on the other side complaining about the lock not cooperating again.
Finally the house fell silent, and Bentley sat at the front door, bathing his whiskers in satisfaction. He hoped the maddening woman would be true to her word and not return again.
xXxXxXx
The next morning, Bentley heard keys rattle in the lock again, and he cautiously approached the foyer. He wasn't sure he wanted to face Rachel again, but he'd rather see what was coming at him and be prepared for it than be blindsided.
Instead, a larger woman with big glasses and a no-nonsense look on her face barged through the door. When she caught sight of Bentley, she stopped dead in her tracks and grinned.
"Hey cat, my name is Lauren. I heard you stunk out Rachel Berry yesterday. I'd like to shake your paw."