Retrieving StrikeyMature


It takes a few minutes to catch up with Strikey, but I do. 

"Strikey!" I hiss at him. He's lying on top the lockers, watching me. He looks kind of amused. 

"Seriously. What the hell is a Strikey?" Ryder asks, following my eyes to the top of the lockers. 

"He's my cat," I mumble, blushing heavily. I've always found it kind of hard to explain why I see a cat; most Schizophrenics see people, or really weird stuff. 

"Oh," he says, finally looking back down from the top of the lockers. I doubt he understands. "So he's cat. What's he look like?" 

I don't look away from Strikey, due to a fear of him getting away again. He simply licks one of his front paws and draws it over his ear, which has a chunk missing. He came back with his ear like that two years ago... that was the first time I cut. "He's got golden fur."

Ryder nods and then glances down at his watch. "We missed third period," he announces. 

"Crap," I mutter under my breath. The first day and I've already missed a class. "What's the next class on our schedule?"

He pulls his crinkled up schedule back out of his jacket's front pocket. "Lunch."

"Well we can't miss that," I say, listening to my stomach rumble. 

He chuckles slightly. "But what about Strikey?"

"It's easy enough to get him," I tell him. I swing my backpack off my left shoulder and dig around inside of it for a moment before pulling out a package of cat treats.

Strikey freezes in the middle of licking his paw again and stares tentatively down at the treats. He lets out a quiet purr and hops down from the lockers, landing lightly on his feet on the ground. 

"Yeah. That's what I thought," I say, picking him up. Hesitating slightly, trying to decide what to do with him, I put him in my backpack like he was earlier. He hisses slightly, as I didn't give him his treats. "Like you even need them," I say, rolling my eyes before throwing the package of food in with him and zipping the bag up.

"Ready to go now?" Ryder asks. He's sitting on the floor, leaning against the lockers, looking perfectly comfortable. His backpack is sitting on his lap. 

"Sure," I say, offering him a hand to help him up. He grabs a hold of his backpack and takes my hand in his other, accepting my offer of assistance. I help pull him up off the ground, release his hand, and set off towards the cafeteria. 

The End

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