oh wow look at how quickly i updated this

as usual, my story starts out sloooowwwwwww

stick with me though i swear to god it gets better

and yes

did i just name a cat karla, give it the nickname kar, another nickname of beep-beep-meow, all for the sake of having a karkitty?

yes. yes i did.

fuq da popo i do what i want

again, reviewsssssssSSSssSsss

i love them

i need them

please?

heart heart heart

- HUSH/James/Kyla/Kay


Curled up on the couch with a phone and a cat, John's eyes were glued to the TV screen; the flickering pixels flashing images of Nicolas Cage kicking some righteous ass.

His cat- Karla, whom he usually just called 'Kar' for short (or beep-beep-meow when he's feeling onery)- stretched and knocked the phone out of his lap, sending him into a small flurry.

Daming the Kar-kitty, he bent awkwardly and reached for the fallen phone, having to use his fingertips to inch it closer to himself before finally grabbing it up. He thanked God for rubber buttons and their ability to grip and placed it back in his lap after flipping through the 'recent calls' menu.

No missed, no received calls.

He frowned.

For months he had been searching for a job- The one he had when coming to the new town ended up burying itself into quick debt, forcing it to fire a good chunk of its employees. John being one of them, on account of his greenness, was sent home with a last check and a good review for his resumé.

Needless to say, he ran out of money pretty fast.

His rent was late and so was his electricity- He had at least paid his water bill, after a good day or two of debate with himself about which held the most importance. He had finally decided that water was most important when living, and if he needed food, he could always put McDonald's on a credit card. Besides, who would hire a dirty, smelly guy? Showers were probably one of the key factors in being an employable human being. His phone bill- Thanks to his late father- Was completely taken care of. In fact, it was once his dad's; it still held the wear-and-tear marks from the insides of his pockets and hands.

Sometimes thinking about that made John sad, but usually he would turn the sadness into a more sober kind of joy. It was a way of remembering his father; just like making (and not eating) cake and the occassional smoke (though he couldn't ever find himself smoking from a pipe, the few cigarettes he'd smoke still brought him back to the way he dad smelled coming home from work).

Looking for job interviews was starting to get really difficult. Some businesses turned him down right on the spot. Humiliating, but it made the whole deal faster.

He was starting to get desperate. Going-back-to-where-he-worked-in-high-school desperate.

He pursed his lips.

Well... His job in high school wasn't quite that bad.

Scooting Kar off his lap, he sat up and leaned for his laptop, taking it from the coffee table and setting it in Karla's place on his thighs.

Opening it, he spent the minute waiting for it to boot up thinking of ways to format his ad.

He licked his lips and popped open a brower window and went straight to .

As a last-ditch effort, he was going to advertise himself. Reach out completely to jobs; shove all his skills into one little page and hope and pray that at least someone would choose him.

In his teenage years, John lived in a very close-knit neighbourhood. A few of his neighbours had kids, and also wanted frequent time spent away from said kids. That was where John would step in. Baby-sitting, though generally associated with the 'fairer' sex, came very easily to John. His cheery, prankster nature drew kids straight to him- and it helped he was good with them, too.

So working as a baby-sitter, or even a nanny (he honestly would not turn down a live-in nannying job, not after living in his dinky, disgusting, hole of an apartment for three months) wouldn't be too bad. Maybe a little embarrassing, since it wasn't exactly the 'manliest' of jobs, but he could be pretty content with it.

After typing all the details he could think of (plus a few that hinted at an option for other services- 'i'm pretty good with paperwork, too! and dishes! basically if you have anything for me to do i'm open!'), he hit the 'publish' button and sent it into the far reaches of the internet forever.

And then proceeded to obsessively check his e-mail for the next five-to-six hours until he finally, finally got a reply.

His hands cluthed the sides of his laptop, knuckles made white as he skimmed the text with excitement, so fucking glad he finally got a hit, this could be a big break for him!

The red text called out to him, plainly stating their situation and their need for help- 'and if you could clean up the joint i guess that would be pretty sweet'- Maid-work, apparently, a near-requirement.

John replied after a few minutes of waiting. He didn't want to actually seem desperate- or, at least, not too desperate. That could deter his maybe-employer and that was one thing he really, really did not want.

Once the reply was sent, which included a few more details and contact information, he sat back and repeated the check-e-mail-every-ten-seconds cycle.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Followed by three.

Continued by four and John was getting tired.

After five hours, it was clear the guy wasn't going to reply until at least the next day- much to John's disappointment.

He wanted to know if he had the job right then and there. In fact, he would be pretty damn happy with starting the job at that exact moment.

Yet the guy seemed to enjoy keeping John on his toes. At least, that's what John hoped was the case; that it wasn't just a rejection via ignoring him for the rest of time.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back and rubbed at his face. He would go to bed and check his e-mail in the morning; waiting up all night just to see if he got the job or not wasn't going to do him any good.

He shut the laptop and slid it back onto the coffee table where it had been before, standing up and picking Karla back up before heading to the bed that was shoved six feet away in the corner. Not bothering with flipping off the TV, which was playing some incessant infomercial, he took off his glasses and set them on the box makeshit-bedside table. Climbing under the covers, he patted the spot next to him for the cat and unplug the tall lamp standing next to him.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, he absentmindedly stroked the soft fur of Kar and soothed himself to sleep with thoughts of regaining a stable life with an actual income.