A Mysterious Man novel Chapter 5

I wasn't able to resist pulling my phone out and taking a picture of the destruction, sending it to Kennedy who was still trapped in the car with our mom. I felt she might need a laugh to cheer her up. Sure enough, she replied with a text within a few seconds.

Oh my God! I swear, that cat of yours really hates you. And anything living. And life itself.

My lips twitched at her message, and I put my phone away before picking up the nearly empty bag of flour up off of the floor. I set it in the sink and then went to try and find Edgar. I would clean up the mess later. The far greater threat at the moment was my horrendous, satanic cat. If I didn't find him soon, there was no telling what was going to happen - to me or to the house. Hell, even Grayson was at risk with the way my cat was behaving.

I shouted out "Edgar" over and over as I climbed all over the house, but the demon I considered to be my cat was nowhere to be found. I could practically hear him cackling as I searched for him - if cats can cackle. No, scratch that, not all cats may be able to cackle, but I know that Edgar can. He's done it enough over the few years that I have had him.

I honestly didn't notice the time passing because I was surprised when I heard a loud knock on the door. I pulled the dark wood open to barely catch a glimpse of my mother before she blew past me into the house, disregarding the fact that it was now legally mine, AKA not even close to being hers. She was perfectly content to explore it on her own, leaving Kennedy struggling to make her way up the gravel, loaded down with several bags that made my worst fears come true. My mother was going to stay. For more than one night, it looked like.

I knew exactly when she had reached the kitchen because even though I was outside helping Kennedy with the bags, I was able to hear her gasp of outrage from inside the house.

"JONAH!" Her roar came bellowing through the still open door and I flinched violently away. Kennedy did the same. The neat-freak known as Cynthia Tyler was not happy with the state of my kitchen. "GET IN HERE!"

"You better go," Kennedy gave me a sympathetic look. She had been on the receiving end of my mother and her "quirks" at least as much as I had.

"Trust me, I know," I grumbled under my breath.