Kitty

She has only fucked him a handful of times, but he has asked her to feed his rabbit while he’s away for Easter. She’s not sure if that’s just a friend with benefits level commitment, or whether it indicates that he wants something more. After all, it’s not like he’s asked her to look after his cat, or his houseplants, or anything that would require the keys to his house and therefore the opportunity to snoop through his stuff, which disappoints her. She would totally do that, if she could.

But no, the only thing she has the opportunity to root around in is the vegetable seeds and garden tools he keeps in the shed alongside the rabbit food and hay. It doesn’t give her much insight – what meaningful conclusions can you draw about a man who plants carrots, runner beans and cabbages, really?

The one conclusion she can draw is that it means he’s grown up, responsible – what sort of man lives alone but grows his own vegetables and has a pet rabbit. Not any of the other guys she’s slept with, that’s for sure.

She herself is not there yet. She rarely does the washing up, lives on Super noodles, would like a pet but isn’t allowed one in her rented flat. And, truth be told, she’s not sure how good she’ be at looking after animals on a permanent basis, isn’t sure how good she is at looking after them full stop, in fact, although he didn’t ask how well-qualified she was, just sent her a couple of text messages with hasty instructions.

The rabbit is cute. She strokes its floppy ears a bit, fills its food bowl, tops up its water, puts everything she’s used away neatly.

She’s feeling pretty pleased with herself, right up until 3am. At 3am, she wakes, and remembers, in the moonlight, that she forgot to lock the hutch.

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