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Ten Things My Cat Hates About You
Lottie Lucas
This funny, warm-hearted rom com is perfect for fans of Sophie Kinsella, Lindsey Kelk and Mhairi McFarlane! ‘The sweetest tale…crammed with joy’ Sunday Times bestseller Milly Johnson Not everyone gets nine lives… So he better be the love of a lifetime! When Clara’s ginger cat Casper chases yet another romantic prospect out the door she’s ready to give up on love altogether. But then the fussy feline causes two meet cutes in the space of a day and suddenly Clara has two gorgeous men driving her to distraction. But who is in control of happy ever after? Clara, fate…or the cat who started it all? Readers are loving this heartwarming romance… ‘I LOVED THIS BOOK…will 100% be purchasing a physical copy’ Emily, Instagram ‘Wow this book is my new favourite romance book…It has been a while since I have found a romance author who can make me laugh’ Louise, Netgalley ‘Sometimes you just need a romantic comedy in book form to make you feel better because life can be so heavy…Casper the cat might be my favorite fictional cat of all time’ Joanna, Netgalley ‘Ideal to get your mind off of things and your heart fluttering’ Sophie, Netgalley ‘Oh my gosh, I just loved this book so much!’ Michelle, Netgalley ‘Highly entertaining…deserves to be on my for-a-rainy-day shelf’ Fleur, Netgalley
Ten Things My Cat Hates About You
LOTTIE LUCAS
One More Chapter
a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Copyright © Lottie Lucas 2019
Cover images © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Lottie Lucas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008353636
Ebook Edition © November 2019 ISBN: 9780008353629
Version: 2019-08-16
Table of Contents
Cover (#u547dc7fb-a76d-5136-9bbb-32075d63859c)
Title Page (#ua5de6298-aa4b-5652-9440-b1b46cca5c80)
Copyright (#u06d2ba6b-40c6-5c28-afa0-1bc938e153a0)
Dedication (#u98913efc-3942-5925-9bcf-d6cd50510088)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
To my husband Greg—beloved by cats everywhere.
Chapter 1 (#udfc81e59-b1f4-528a-b922-8118f6e662d1)
“Well, that’s that then,” I say flatly as the door slams shut with such vigour that it rattles in its frame. “He’s gone. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
Outside on the street, I can hear the sound of a car engine starting. Within the kitchen, however, all is silent. I receive no response.
“I don’t see what was so wrong with him.” I shake my head, beginning to pace as I warm to my theme. Unfortunately, the available floor space could be politely described as ‘bijou’, and only allows for about four steps before I have to turn and walk back again. “He was polite, educated, creative. No wives in the attic, as far as I could tell, and he always offered to pay for dinner. What more could you want?”
I leave an expectant pause after that question. Green eyes stare back at me dispassionately.
“I mean, one has to have standards, of course,” I acknowledge, resuming my truncated path across the room. “And I do, believe me. But that’s just the problem. It’s hard enough for a man to meet my standards, let alone having to contend with yours as well. It’s simply impossible. No one’s going to be up to it.” I stop in the middle of the room, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “Something’s going to have to change. And, by rights, I really think it should be …”
I trail off as I turn to find the recipient of my lecture licking his paw.
I put my hands on my hips and glare down at him. “Are you even listening to me?”
He blinks up at me for a moment, before returning to his task with renewed dedication.
I sigh deeply, kicking off my berry-coloured patent heels. I won’t be needing those any more tonight. The man they were intended to impress is probably halfway across Cambridge by now. Getting as far away as fast as possible, no doubt.
You know, I really thought it might be different this time. I met James at a pop-up photography exhibition. He was thoughtful, attractive in a winsome, boy-next-door kind of way, perhaps not the kind of guy I’d usually have noticed, but he’d jostled into me by accident and knocked my clutch bag out of my hand, then apologised and asked me out in the same sentence. Immediately, that made my pulse fizz in anticipation; I absolutely love a serendipitous meeting. So romantic, don’t you think? I always imagine what a great story it’ll make, further down the line.
Anyway, things seemed to be going well between us and, after four successful dates, I judged that it was time to initiate the final test of bringing him home to meet Casper.
Alas, Casper thought differently. Casper always thinks differently. He’s found something to dislike in every single man I’ve brought home in the past two years. And when Casper doesn’t like someone, he shows it. I mean, really shows it. He doesn’t hold back.
Little did I realise, that night two years ago, that the bedraggled cat I found on the doorstep in the middle of a violent storm would have the potential to turn my entire life upside down. Nothing has been the same since. Sometimes, I’ll admit, for the better.
Sometimes decidedly for the worse.
The truth is, Casper is a singular sort of cat. I like to think of him as endearingly idiosyncratic, but others might less charitably call him something more along the lines of … Well, I suppose they might call him a bit wild. Headstrong, perhaps. Maybe the more melodramatic sorts might even accuse him of being out of control.
All right, so I guess there’s no point lying about it, is there? You’ll find out soon enough. The truth is that he’s been called all of those things, and more, usually in the form of a parting shot delivered by someone in the process of beating a swift retreat.
I look down again at my beloved feline. He’s moved on to washing his ears, looking like butter wouldn’t melt. There’s no trace whatsoever of the crazed animal who chased a perfectly nice man out of the door not five minutes ago.
In moments such as these, I have to remind myself that he’s just being protective. And that it’s sweet, really, that he’s prepared to go into battle on behalf of my honour. It would just be nice if he picked the right battles, that’s all. And if just once I could get as far as opening the bottle of wine before he sinks his claws into their leg, or puts a decapitated mouse in their shoe.
With a sinking sense of déjà vu, I fill the kettle and put it on to boil, reaching for my favourite heart-patterned mug. Ten o’clock at night, all dressed up, and yet again my only company is a large, bad-tempered ginger cat. Not quite the evening I’d planned.
“You’re back.”
A figure looms in the doorway and I jump, scattering tea bags all over the counter.
Ah, yes, except Freddie. I keep forgetting about Freddie. I’m still unused to having someone else in the house, you see.
Apparently, fate has a predilection towards burly males turning up on my doorstep without warning, because three days ago Freddie did just that, clutching only a hastily packed bag and no explanation, save that he’s planning to stay for ‘a while’. Whatever that means.
At least, I’m assuming the bag was hastily packed, but then again, he’s twenty-one years old. His whole life looks like that. As for the explanation … Well, my brother’s always been somewhat tricky to pin down. He’s notoriously evasive. One look at his face and I realised I wasn’t going to get any reasonable answers, for the time being at least. So I’m adopting the well-worn tactics of an experienced elder sister, and not asking any questions.
Patience is key in these matters. I’ll find out soon enough.
Freddie scoops up Casper, who begins to purr in ecstasy. Some men he’s more than happy to tolerate. Just so long as they pose no romantic risk, it seems.
“Where’s your date? Did it not go well?”
I lean back against the counter, folding my arms across my chest. “It was going absolutely fine, until Casper caught sight of him. Then it all went to hell in a handcart. As usual,” I’m unable to resist adding, with a dark look at Casper, who pointedly ignores me.
Freddie’s dark blond eyebrows shoot up, almost disappearing into his unruly hairline. “What did he do this time?”
“Let’s just say I owe James a new pair of trousers and leave it at that.” I begin stuffing tea bags back into the box.
Freddie lets out a yelp of laughter, before catching my eye and promptly smothering it. “Sorry. That’s not funny. Casper—” he directs a stern look at the cat still purring contentedly in his arms “—that was incredibly ill-mannered of you.”
Casper gazes up at him adoringly.
“Not exactly the look of contrition I was hoping for,” Freddie remarks drily.
“There’s no point in telling him off. He doesn’t care.” I begin to pull the pins out of my hair, letting it tumble around my shoulders in a caramel-coloured mass. I have to say, it’s a relief; it was really beginning to pinch, and if I’d left it up all evening I would probably have ended up with a headache.
One point in Casper’s favour at least, I concede grudgingly. He’s saved my scalp, even if he has ruined my love life.
