Why Does My Cat Like Bleach Novels & Stories

Heart thumping wildly she tried to twist from his grasp but he was too strong for her. "I don't know why," she ground out, meeting his cold gaze unflinchingly. "Something about their scent appealed to my cat. It was curious. They're different from normal Weres." It was the truth but she didn't know if it was enough for him. "And what was your cat going to do?" he demanded, his tone still cold and very deadly.

Emily likes the baths, she could play with the toys, she has duckies, clamps, boats, and lots of other things to play with, while Callina does the dirty job of washing her. Mollis was a different story, she's a kitten, she has some cat in her, and all cats hate water, the fact that her dada washes her every night is cruel in her eyes, but he says she gets too dirty during the day, even if she has some juice spilt on her during the day, and some dirt on her hands, she's still clean. She hates taking baths, and Jace has decided to wash her, he missed it last night, which made her think that she's out of the danger of being washed, ever again.

I took another bout of deep breaths to prevent myself from reacting to Vlad’s words. "I said leave here," I made a shooing sound aware that I look stupid to any onlooker but I just can't stand cats, and this one for a particular reason rubbed me off the wrong way, not only because it shifted from a rock. I eman who wouldn’t be scared of a cat who turned from a rock.

I watched it closely. For a second, nothing happened. I waited. Then, the liquid began to soak into the fibers. Right before my eyes, the deep black of my shirt began to change. It didn't just get wet. It started to fade. The black turned to a sickly, burnt orange. And then, gradually but fast, it turned to a pale, ghostly white. This was the same. The exact tea that had poured on me that day. The bleaching tea. What is inside this?

I said, not too happy about the situation I was in. Summer beamed, “Yay! I knew you had a heart in there somewhere.” She looked down at the cat and said, “I’m keeping him close. His fur is wet, so he needs warmth. Don’t you, little gremlin?” I ignored her cooing and draped my suit jacket over her dainty shoulders, making our way to the building. The security guard looked alarmed but didn’t utter a word as we brought the black cat inside my place.

The living room floor has been turned into a biohazard site. ‘Hire a cleaner,’ I said breezily. ‘I hear some offer a 24-hour rush service. Very discreet.’ ‘There would still be the… smell.’ ‘Get an aroma diffuser. Something pungent. Eucalyptus.’ ‘My bedsheets are also shredded.’ I stared at him, then down at the tiny, fluffy creature now chasing its own tail on my rug. ‘…This is a kitten. It’s probably four months old. It’s not the Incredible Hulk.’

Blood smears across the carpet, dark streaks that'll never come out. Good thing this place sees worse things than murder. The bathtub is barely big enough, but I manage to fold him inside. His head lolls at an unnatural angle. I turn away, focusing on the next step. Bleach. Lots of it. The motel's supply closet is a joke—just cleaning rags and half-empty bottles. But there's enough bleach to burn away DNA. I pour it over everything: the carpet, the walls, the doorknobs. The chemical smell makes my eyes water.

“I’m being nice.” And just like that, as if summoned by the sheer magnitude of our chaos, a voice sliced through the aisle, like the universe had decided someone needed a front-row seat to this nonsense. “Just so you know,” he said, leaning casually on the shelf, “cats have a sixth sense for emotional instability. They usually pick the messiest house to adopt.” We both turned.

"She is happy." It was none of his business anyway. Caleb stopped replying, put down the phone, and focused on cooking. Whitney stirred from the noise and slowly woke up. Caleb (the cat) had already climbed on top of her and was licking her. It was cute, but the barbs on its tongue were really painful. Whitney felt ticklish and tried to dodge, then held it in her arms and petted it. The kitten purred happily in her arms.

“Blackie’s the weirdest cat I know. She loves water.” There are a couple of times I had to literally yank her out of the tub after her bath. She always tried fighting her way back even after I drained the water. She’s weirdly fascinated by water, so I have to make sure I close my bathroom door while showering or soaking in the tub.