The Catastrophic Life of Charlie Blue

        My alarm clock exploded.
        Literally.
        I was dreaming about Misha Collins (or Misha Meowins, in this case) as a Cat Overlord and my being his second in command. He was a glorious cat with a sandy colored coat of fur, with a blue tie hanging down from his chubby neck. Often I was pulling out strange items tangled up in his long fur, most commonly cherries and lilacs. It was a meowvalous job. He ruled an island called Furry Pawidise and my job that day was to help him decide whether to legalize cat nip in String City (for it was already legal in Collarado) because purrdestrians deemed it unfair that their meowyer, Jared Purrdalecki, who always complained about the leafy substance becoming entangled into his fur. So anyways, Overlord Meowins was beginning to cover his little cat foot with ink to give String City his paw of approval when suddenly, reality jolted me awake and a good three-fourths of my room had been obliterated and the clouds above me, which unfortunately I could see now, seemed to form the shape of a taunting moose.
       Not many people, or so I presume, have woken up with less of a room than they fell asleep with. With that being said, this was definitely a new experience to me. The first thing I did was sit up and run a hand through my short choppy, semi pastel blue hair with my muddy brown roots overtaking my head, as per usual, but mixed with my “overdue to get my color re-dyed” hair were white pieces of what I thought to be cement. Mind you, I’m not a professional wall person.
        Crap, I thought, Crap. Crap. Crap.
        Was my preciouses okay? The one person whom I adored more than the existence of Netflix? The furriest of all my friends? The center of the universe in which I, being a lonely galaxy full of useless planets, revolves around 24/7? The most glorious piece of cutie muffin-ness in which my life contained? My spiritual advisor? Was she hurt?
        “HEIR!” My yell echoed throughout whatever was left of my house.
        My body sighed in relief as her fluffy grey kitty self wandered through my door and sat on my bed with me, curled up next to my legs.
Let me explain: this cat is the perfection in which consumes the entirety of my life. Most of my days have been spent brushing her fur coat made of rain clouds and happiness, feeding her hungry little cute tummy, having movie/TV show marathons with her constantly, and essentially assuring that she’s content every waking moment of her life. Her name originated from the childhood of moi. When I was around twelve, my family welcomed a white ball of fluff into our family. Her name was Sky and although she was adorable, she sort of turned into a bad word I won’t say. My mom would walk down the hallway and she’d start to think she was sneaky and pounce at her dark blue, not even fluffy, slippers. A few years later we got another ball of fluff, and she was a black cat with glowing green eyes. Her name was Ground. Unfortunately, with her came a number of medical problems. She was our million dollar kitty, but we still loved her nevertheless. Both of their cute little selves came with their names and I loved the balance between light and dark, sky and ground, so much it inspired my cat choice upon living on my own for a while. The reason her name is Heir (H-E-I-R) instead of Air (A-I-R) is because she is treated like royalty (in case you couldn’t tell) and she always sits on top of my fridge, neck as high as it can go, and seems to monitor our house. But then we have the problem where she has no idea how to get down so she meows until she captures my attention (and that does not take long) and then I have to be the one to help her down.
       So at this point, she was safe, I was safe, but there was a gaping hole in my house. Glancing over at my bedside table, or where my bedside table used to exist, the alarm clock remains taunted me. At least my one floor house kept me from an otherwise inevitable “gravity sucks sometimes” doom. Maybe it was the fumes now emanating from my wall, which currently lay in a crumbled mess on the ground, but all I felt like doing was going back to Furry Pawadise and partying with all my kitty comrades.
       I picked up my furry love-ball of cuteness and pressed my face into her soft grey coat. She smelt of lilacs and cherries. Puzzled, I held her away at arm’s length as she stared at me knowingly with her green eyes. Overlord Meowins, or so I vaguely remembered, had that exact same aroma in my dream. She meowed and started purring like a motorboat so I held her close again and carried her through the debris, to the kitchen (which was strangely just fine) and fed her IAMS cat food. She chowed away making cute little cat munchie noises and I figured at this point I should call someone.  
       But where had I left my phone? It was on the counter, I thought, so I spun around facing the counter only to find the empty space at which my red flip phone should have been. Not that I was panicking, but I was panicking. Maybe it was on my bedside table during the explosion? Or it could’ve been under the giant pieces of wall decorating my room! I dashed down the hallway and checked. Nope, not there. There’s no way it would have been in my living room. I told Heir to stay where she was and I began my walk to my lovely neighbor next door.
       Not to say that my neighbor was weird, but he definitely had many peculiar traits. On Halloween he covers his lawn with multiple varieties of cacti and sometimes he’ll cover his driveway with milk. Not to mention, his house is covered in Devil’s Traps with cat ears.
       It was a Wednesday so I knocked on his door thrice.
       “I’M OVER HERE!” He yelled.
       I turned left and started walking over to him. He was by his tractor in his driveway pouring what I could only assume to be milk all over his driveway.
       “Two percent?” I asked.
       “Nah, we’re trying skim this time.” This had become a normal conversation between Kevin and I, although his reason for pouring milk on his driveway (whom he called Melissa) was beyond me. He never told me, and prying wasn’t in my nature.  
       “Can I use your phone?” I asked. “In case you hadn’t noticed or heard, part of my house sort of exploded last night and my cell has been lost somewhere in my house.”
       He scrunched his currently purple eyebrows.
       “For one thing, I broke my phone last night when I dropped it while attempting to make homemade milk. It’s swimming in cream at this moment.” He stated. “Secondly,” he continued, “Your house is all in one piece, as you can see.”
       “Wait but-“I turned around and my previously broken house was back in one piece.
       “Is everything alright?” When Kevin is worried about me, there’s probably something I’m doing extremely wrong.
       “Well-“ How does one explain an exploding alarm clock? I looked down at the milk flowing from his driveway to the street and began. “Today I awoke to the melodious sound of my alarm clock exploding and my otherwise put together house was missing part of its exterior.”
       “Oh my goodness!” he exclaimed, “Is Heir okay?” The man knew how much I adored my chubby munchkin.
       “Definitely! Yes!” I assured him. “More okay than per usual! Hey, can you come with me to my house? Just to check it out? Because my house was definitely lacking a few walls and a roof this morning.”
       He agreed to accompany me and we walked through the short path of woods in between our homes to, what I thought was my, broken abode to find that it was perfectly intact.
       “See?” He said, “Perfectly fine. I’ll just be on my way now.”
       “Okie dokes.” I replied in a daze, practically re-evaluating my life, just gazing at the completely perfect sky blue exterior of my home. Something about it seemed off. The paint was never this nice. Ever. When I bought it (well, when my dads’ helped me buy it), there were chips of blue on the ground and white marks on the house where the paint had chipped.
       As Kevin started walking away, I motioned for him to stop. There was a mark amongst the coat of paint. It wouldn’t have been as noticeable if the house hadn’t seemed to be completely freaking repainted. We stepped closer to take a look.
       It was in the shape of a paw.
       I had to assess my situation a little bit.
       “Okay, Kevin?” I started, “So today my alarm clock exploded, my walls were in a pile on my floor, and when I went to your house, someone freakishly strong put my house back together AND repainted in not even a ten minute time span. But the even bigger question is how would Heir get up that high without marking any other part of the house?”
       “Well why are you assuming it was Heir?” Kevin asked.
       “I need my coffee.” I groaned, and walked into my house.