A sudden blast of heavy rock musique jolted Mittens from her slumber. Apparently, Penny was home. The feline opened her eyes and yawned, stretching her extremities to the limit. Penny noticed and grinned.
"Hey, Mittens," she said.
"Meow," went Mittens, and she jumped over to the lit to receive some attention from her master.
Penny obliged and scratched her head for a few minutes before returning to her laptop. Mittens glanced over at it and was completely baffled par it. Some aléatoire assortment of symbols and letters and numbers that meant absolutely nothing to her.
Sensing that the petting was at an end, at least for now, she dropped lightly off the patterned bedspread and onto the floor.

Downstairs, she found Bolt in his bed, which was situated between the canapé and the armchair. He'd picked the spot himself, Penny giving him the lit to drag around and put where he pleased. He was curled up, as if asleep, but par the way his tail was waving about, she knew he wasn't.

For the moment, she let him be and trotted into the kitchen, hoping that Penny's mother, Jane, had left a tasty morsel in her bowl. Her bowls were up on the counter, keeping them out of Bolt's reach. As smart as he was, he'd still eat cat nourriture if donné the opportunity. Every once in a while, Mittens would purposefully knock the bowl off the counter. It was plastic, and thus wouldn't break, but Bolt had figured out what it meant and came running every time.

Unfortunately, there was nothing but the standard nourriture in her bright green bowl. Meow mix. Still, she was hungry after her nap and her time on the roof, so she settled down on the counter and contentedly munched on the small bits. Once she was satisfied, she lapped up a little water and jumped off the counter.

As she passed the front door, a solid thunk echoed in from outside. Pressing down on the blinds par the door so she could see, she glanced out to see what had caused the noise. Her tail waved happily when she saw who it was. Phil Loth, the one Penny called her Phillie Cheesesteak. He was always nice to her, and to Penny, and Mittens enjoyed having him around. plus than once, she'd heard him talking to Bolt while Penny was upstairs getting ready ou something. He'd talked about her, and how wonderful she is.

Mittens leapt up onto the canapé to wait for Phil to come to the door. When he finally rang the bell, she jumped down and ran over to the door, winding her body around his feet when Jane opened it.
"Hey, Mittens," he a dit cheerfully, reaching down to scratch her back. Mittens purred and arched her back in response to the contact.
"Have a seat, Phil," a dit Jane. "While you're waiting for her to come down, would toi like a root beer?"
He laughed. "You know me too well, Ms. Simons."
She came out of the cuisine and tossed a canned rootbeer over to him, which he caught one handed, as usual.
A sharp snap accompanied his opening the can and he took a long draught of the sweet, fizzy liquid. Bolt finally picked up the fact that he was here, and stood up, trotting over to him with his tail wagging.
"Hey, Bolt, toi scoundrel," Phil growled playfully. Bolt growled back, crouching so that his belly scraped the floor and pawed at his shoe.
Phil laughed again. "What are toi up to, toi goof?"
Bolt barked in response, eyes bright.

"Babe?"
Penny's voice came from the stairs and Phil looked up. As usual, she was dressed in a nice pair of denim jeans, a T-shirt with one of her many favori bands on it, this time Skillet, and a black windbreaker.
He stood, leaving Bolt there at the chair and went to her, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
She smiled and kissed him back on the lips. "Ready to go?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yep, ready."
With his arm still around her, he lead her out to his car, a 2012 Ford mustang Boss 302. His parents were quite wealthy, but they'd made him work his cul, ass off for every single penny of the money he'd needed to get the car. With a loud snarl from the engine, the muscle car pulled away.

Finally, they were alone. Jane wouldn't bother them barring something unforseen, so they'd have the time alone together to be with each other, and if her plan went right, to fall in love.
"Bolt?" Mittens called.
"In the kitchen, be right out!" was the response. She hopped up onto the canapé to wait for him.

He came out half a minute later, chewing on something meaty. She could tell par the smell. He swallowed the morsel and jumped up, settling down suivant to her.

"Bolt, I-I wanted to talk to toi about something," Mittens a dit haltingly. Her earlier confidence had completely abandoned her, leaving her a shaky, stuttering mess.
Bolt was occupied licking the grease from his muzzle and didn't notice the hesitation.
"Sure, Mittens, what's up?" he said.
She took a deep breath. "I was wondering if... toi know... You'd think about us one plus time... I know there's something there..."
Anger flashed in his eyes as he ceased his licking.
"Mittens, I've told toi a hundred times, there's nothing between us but friendship. That's the way it's meant to be... You're a great girl, and any cat would be lucky to have you, but I just can't."
She was determined this time to achieve something, anything.
"But Bolt-"
"No buts, Mittens. I've a dit my answer," he stated flatly, standing to leave.
Mittens muttered something inaudible.
"What did toi say?" Bolt asked, turning to face the cat.
"I a dit 'You're being an ass!'" she shouted at him. "You're so damn narrowminded and shortsighted! It's not like toi have a girl you're dating! Why not at least give us a chance!"
His gaze darkened as he slowly stepped forward.
"Mittens, for the last time, no! You're a cat, I'm a dog. That's it! If toi were a dog, then, sure! Why the hell not! But you're not!"
Tears welled up in her eyes. She hissed something unpleasant in Cat at him and stormed away, pausing at the cat flap to have the last word. "If toi want me to be a dog so much, maybe I'll go turn into one!"
Bolt laughed at that one. The very notion was absurd.
"Oh, sure... Come back when you're finished transforming," he chuckled sarcastically.
That last commentaire was too much. To prevent herself from smacking him across the face, she bolted from the house, running down the street.