Hey everybody! It's K, and yes it's been forever. Sorry, life's been super crazy and stressful lately. But I'm super excited to be uploading this new thing! I have high hopes and absolutely adore the father/daughter potential between the little street cat and the butler. Anyways, hope you enjoy and please post reviews and your thoughts! They're always appreciated. :)
The street cat paid us a visit again today. It seems as if Master Bruce and she had gotten into some type of argument. It ended with Miss Kyle storming out of the library, down the hall, shoving past me, and into one of the extra bedrooms on the first floor. What had struck me as odd was how her face was red, and puffy, as if she'd been crying.
Well being one who is the peacemaker in the house, I went into the library to find Master Bruce reading the files. Which wasn't surprising.
I sat down the tea and snacks on the coffee table and gave a questioning look to the immersed boy. I cleared my throat.
"Master Bruce," He looked up from his files, a flash of anger on his face quickly hidden by a smile, "Might I ask what all of that was about?"
"What what was all about?" He simply responded as if I hadn't heard the yelling right down the hall. I knew that face of his far too well and knew exactly which face features suggested that he was lying. Whatever had happened, Master Bruce seemed all-too-ready to keep it locked away in that mind of his.
"Will Miss Kyle be staying with us tonight?"
"I haven't the slightest idea." I huffed, his teenage years were so close, but the attitude was already there.
Nonetheless, I'd find out what happened, as I always do. I'll fix the problem as I always do. That's my job. Because these two children have no one else to turn to and are far too damaged to work things out themselves.
The street cat sat upon a gigantic bed that was too fancy to be hers. She looked at the unfamiliar room, studying the walls and their unique designs. She wishes for peace in her mind. Peace does not come to her screaming thoughts as it raced past and confused her.
Why am I here, she thinks, I should have just let. Why did that kid always insist on annoying the crap out of me and belittling me? I hate him, and I hate this house. Why do I keep finding myself back here? I'm supposed to be sticking to my motto, 'Trust no one and let no one trust you', and yet I keep finding myself at this house with that annoying kid and that stupi-
She forced herself to stop, tightening her hand into a fist until her hand was white and hurt. She could not bring herself to say anything bad about the butler, something in her chest wouldn't allow it. Even if she wanted to curse his name, to scream at him, to call him names, for some reason she couldn't. Did she admire the butler? No that wasn't it. Did she want to be like B to the old man? No that wasn't it either. There was just.. a yearning to talk to him. A craving to trust him, to have him trust the cat.
When she used to hang out with the gypsy woman, back before the murder of the Waynes, the woman was always trying to see if the cat had a "tug". At least twice a day the woman would jingle her bells, point her cracked finger at the cat and say, "You've yet to find you a tug, how sad that is for a young kitten". After about the fifth time she said that the cat finally asked what the tug was.
"It's a tug is what it is, you'll know it when you feel it" she replied,
"Wow lady that helps a lot, totally understand now… So like, true love?" The woman cackled and slapped her knee, which led the cat to think that the woman was on drugs. Well… everyone was on drugs.
"Nothing like romance little kitten. It's so much deeper than that, so simple, yet as vast as the ocean. Pure, untainted love, between two people. It doesn't have the whole," she waved her hand as she was trying to figure out the words, "Touchiness of what people think love is. It's trust, it's talking, it's wanting to see the sparkle in their eyes and the bells ringing in their laugh, the true happiness in their smile. It's a tug."
It's sad really, that woman was the last person the cat had trusted, and she died shortly after from sickness.
Maybe this is what a tug was. She said it wasn't romance, but a yearning to be close, to trust. Maybe the cat felt a tug towards the butler, to Alfred.
What a stupid idea.