Another perfect day

She flicked the ashes off the end of her cigarette, caught by a sudden breeze,
the grey dust flew into her coffee, making it undrinkable.
"Oh great" she thought, taking another drag from her cigarette, it's cherry burning to match her face.

The day had turned out to be something of a disaster; She was already late for her interview that morning when her cat scampered outside as she'd been struggling to get her portfolio through the door. As it passed underneath her feet, she felt its soft fur brush against her leg and worried that it would be for the last time.
When she finally got the portfolio into her car, there was no time to search for the cat so she crossed her fingers and hoped it would decide to come back. Then she shut her pant leg in the door and nearly backed into the mailbox in her haste.

By the time she got to the studio, it was 13 minutes past her appointment, so she skittered past the secretary, hand out stretched for the knob to the office and promptly ran into a tall, pale man in a black suit who’d suddenly replaced the door.
He looked down at her through white eyelashes with a bored stare and she stared back.

"Linda Beets, I assume" he stated, gesturing to his office.
"Yes sir" she whispered, obediently following his sweeping arm.

"You are late, Linda Beets." He said, seating himself behind a rather imposing desk.
"I'm sorry sir, I was..."
"Not necessary. Please?"
He held out his hand.
She shook it.
"Your portfolio..."
"Oh...uh, yes" she concentrated on steadying her hand.

She had been extremely nervous before she'd even left the house; now she was positively insane, incessantly thinking that this man could make or break her career in the next 5 seconds.
As he browsed through her best work, he made little noises, the kind a therapist makes when you tell him you think you’re getting better.

He stood up, her folder still in his white hands.
"Thank you for coming, we'll be in touch"
She looked at him unsteadily, he hadn’t said anything to her, hadn’t asked her any questions, hadn’t acted slightly interested; she stood, waiting for him to hand her back her so called art.
What had she been thinking, she wasn't good at anything! My God, how could she even assume to be anything better than a waitress for the rest of her wretched life? Her mother would be frolicking in the I-Told-you-not-to-get-your-hope-up's, she'd never live down the time she tried to be more than she was raised to be.

He'd looked at her a minute longer, the bored stare seemed to be studying the twitches on her face. Then he handed back the portfolio, and waved her to the door.

When she'd gotten to her car, she'd noticed a big scratch in the red paint that hadn't been there before. Screaming inside and out, she threw open the door, heat whooshed out at her and perspiration dampened her upper lip immediately.
Still screaming, she threw her things in the car, and slammed herself down in the hot seat.

Feeling defeated she’d driven home, dropped her things on the floor and lit up a cigarette in an attempt to forget everything that’d happened that day.
She felt the smoke in her lungs, and watched it pour thickly from her lips, then dissolve in the air.
She looked down at the ash which was floating around in her once fresh, coffee and felt depressed.

The phone rang urgently, and she slowly stood up to get it.
It was wailing loudly, practically jumping off the table, which annoyed her.
"Shut up!"
She walked faster, tossing the coffee into the sink as she passed.
"Hello?"

Linda listened intently, a smile slowly spreading across her face.
"We would like you to come back for a second interview, you work shows promise".
"Yes sir"
"And Linda?"
"Yes?"
"Be on time"
"Yes sir!" she said grinning.
Oh, how could she have doubted herself, doubted her skills?! Her lovely mother would be so proud, she just knew she would be accepted!
As she hung up the phone she heard a noise behind her.

She turned slowly, in her head relief turned to confusion and possible fright.
No one was there...

"Meow?"