"Uguu."
There is a stabbing pain in your head and you're pretty sure it's your brain. You open your eyes to blessed darkness, but the sun peeping around the edges of the blinds does not bode well for when you have to leave the bedroom. Which, you'll really need to do if you want water to take painkillers with. Your husband's still snoring contentedly beside you in the exceptionally comfortable bed of your extremely comfortable luxury hotel room. It was your tenth wedding anniversary, and you guys'd had a blinder last night. Classy dinner, a bottle of wine, then back to the room to assault the mini bar. You really don't remember what, if anything, happened after you two came back upstairs. What the hell, though, you only have one 10-year wedding anniversary after all.
Of course, you're paying the price now and you're not sure it was worth it. You fumble above the nightstand for the light switches and, unluckily, stumble on the full lights on option.
"Motherfucker, ow," you mutter as you find the lights low option and press the shit out of it. Some of the room lights switch off, but not many. Lights off, it is.
Once darkness has descended again, you carefully make your way through the dark to the bathroom and try out the lights low option there. Only two lights switch on, and at dim settings, much better. As you're digging around in your toiletries bag for the painkillers, you notice a pair of gloves on the vanity. They look to be the same design, just different colours. Weird. You grab them on your way out of the bathroom after taking the drugs, and shove them in your purse. Kind of a shame you can't remember what all you guys got up to last night after dinner, but it seems like it was a blast. Maybe it'll come back to you later or something.
---
"Hey bun, do you have any idea where these gloves came from?" You've just come across those gloves again in your purse and you pull them out. They're definitely women's gloves, slim and delicate, made of a soft, cloth-feeling material. You've never been great at the fabric thing. They each have a series of small gemstones, or maybe crystals, placed tastefully on the back, but one is an iridescent black and the other is a deep green. Still no response from the husband, he jumped right back onto the computer once you got home and settled, and is probably busily playing catch up on all his stuff.
You walk over to the computer, "Bun," you say peremptorily.
He looks up, "Huh?" then at the gloves, "Oh. Hm. No, can't say I do. Are they an old pair of yours?"
"No," you call as you walk off, "they were in the hotel room so I thought maybe we'd gotten them last night, but I don't remember much after dinner." You were really hoping he'd remember, at least.
He follows you and looks at the gloves again, "Well, I don't remember very much either. Guess we must've picked them up somewhere, though. Do they fit?"
You obligingly try them on and find that they do. You're not usually one for gloves, but they're fairly lightweight and the fit is snug but not restricting. They even look kind of nice. "Huh. Well, that's kind of cool." You glance back at him and show him, "Don't you think?" He nods, "Yeah, they do. Maybe just keep them, then."
"Guess so." You don't really know when you'd use them, but you might as well.
--
Before you know it, it's winding down to winter and there's a definite chill in the air. You glance outside and there's ice on the grass. Ice! This is not what you moved to Australia for. Nevertheless, bills to pay and all that so you finish getting ready for work. As you're grabbing your purse, you notice the gloves from your long weekend out. You grab them and as soon as you open the garage door, you're glad you did. The wind has a definite bite to it and your fingers are highly unappreciative. You quickly slip the gloves on so your hands can retain their heat.
"Bun, can you take the bin out as you're leaving? I forgot to do it last night," the husband calls. You pop your head back in and give him a quick kiss before saying, "Yup," and going to roll the rubbish bin to the curb.
Just as you get there, you notice the slightly undersized ginger cat from next door. It stares at you, and you squat down and present a hand. "Here, kitty, you're okay, come here," you coo. It cautiously approaches and you pat it with your gloved left hand. It purrs happily and you shift slightly, patting it with your right hand as you adjust your purse. The cat stiffens, and you feel a warmth spread through the palm of your hand for a moment. You stare at your hand as the heat dissipates, and it's only then that you realise the cat has collapsed in front of you. Shit. You shake it, but nothing happens, "Kitty?" It even feels cold to the touch, although it's hard to tell with the gloves on.
By this stage, your husband's getting ready to leave as well and notices you're still in the front yard. "You okay, bun?" he asks. "Uh, I think I just killed the neighbour's cat," you reply shakily.
"What?" He rushes over and picks it up. "What happened?"
"I-I don't know," you're patting it distractedly with one hand, "I was petting it and then I felt a thing with my hand and when I looked back, he'd..."
"Mew?" The cat lifts its head and peers blearily at you.
"Hah," you're shocked, but relieved, maybe it was just a temporary lapse and you imagined the cold. It's crazy that its body would have gone cold so quickly anyway.
"What'd you do?" you ask your husband. But he's looking just as shocked as you feel, "I didn't do anything, I was just holding it." He sets it down and the cat wobbles, but seems fine. It looks up at you and purrs as it twines around your ankles.
"Um. Okay. That's weird, but uh, that's better than telling the neighbours their cat was dead by mysterious causes I guess," you say, watching the cat. You walk back to your car to head into work but as you turn around, you realise the cat's following you. You bend down and look it in the eye, that's a thing to scare animals isn't it? "What is it? Surely you've had enough of me, kitten." It just looks expectantly up at you. You really really need to get to work if you don't want to be late.
You:
[ ] Impromptu Bring Pet To Work Day
Bring the cat into work with you. There's a vet hospital near your work, you can take him in to get checked over during lunch.
[ ] Shoo!
No seriously, you don't have time for this. Why is it even bugging you anyway? You didn't kill it, what more can it want from you?
[ ] Foist the Cat-sail, Away
Dump the cat on your husband and bolt before he can do anything. Love you!
[ ] Time for a Sickie
Call in sick. Clearly this is way too weird and you need some time to figure it all out.
