by K. Ryan
I still couldn’t move.
I still stood there, frozen at my screen door, staring at this stray cat.
My eyes wandered over him to take in the details I’d missed before. Patches of wiry, pale whiskers on tiny cheeks. Dark streaks slashed across his face. A brown-tipped nose with pink smudging. Sharp, pointed dark ears. A long black stripe starting in between his shoulder blades running all the way down to the base of his tail, layered with rings of alternating black and grey.
As he lapped up the water like he hadn’t seen it in days, which might’ve been true, the tip of his tail, which looked like it’d been dipped in ink, flicked from side to side. His head popped up once, his eyes boring into me to say, Geez, lady. Would you quit staring and let me drink this shit in peace?
In the moonlight, his eyes looked a little more green now than grey. Like sea foam. Sweet. Maybe even a little innocent too.
Where did he come from? Why was he out here by himself? He was obviously somebody’s cat, given the way he’d violated my potted plants, so why wasn’t he home now? What had brought him here, tonight, to my patio door?
Well, clearly the aroma of chicken brought him to my patio door, but that was besides the point. Did he have a home and just get lost? Was someone looking for him? Hoping he was okay? Or did someone not want him and just let him go?
That last thought seized my heart and squeezed tight. I hoped that wasn’t the case. I hoped he had a home. Maybe he was just one of those outdoor cats that roamed around during the day and then went back home at night. I mean, he’d used my plants as a litter box, so I was pretty sure he was at least a little house-trained.
Once he’d had his fill from the plastic bowl, his bright pink tongue shot out to tug up the length of his right paw and then he dragged his paw over the side of his head. His dark-rimmed eyes flicked back to me once and a moment later, he was leaping up onto the patio chair closest to where I stood. He reared back on the seat, leaning his body down into his front paws in a long, easy stretch that stuck his butt high in the air then he circled the seat once, found a good spot, and plopped down on the chair, making sure he was still facing me.
He blinked. Then he blinked again. And then he rested his head against a white paw, those grey, sea foam eyes sparkling a little in the darkness.
Huh.
Okay.
I sawed on my bottom lip and frowned back at him.
“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” I called out to him softly and narrowed my eyes a little when his head popped up at the sound of my voice. “Well, just...don’t get too comfortable, okay? You can stay, I guess. But just for tonight. Don’t get any ideas.”
What was I doing...talking to a cat? Like he could understand me anyway. Still, I felt like I’d made my point and I went back to my plans for the night, finishing my dinner and that episode of Orange Is The New Black, my eyes shifting out to the patio every few minutes.
When it was time to start writing my blog post, though, the cat was a distraction. It was hard to focus on whether or not to choose a moisture-based BB cream or a higher SPF formula when there was a wild animal sitting on my patio like he owned the place.
After about 20 minutes of staring at my screen, I figured a little music would do the trick and switched the needle on my turntable to the record I’d lazily left there the night before. Music had long been a source of comfort to me and tonight was really no exception. Whenever I needed to clear my head, or just needed a distraction in general, music had always been there to pick up the pieces, lulling through any pain, any heartache, and anything that ailed me. Whether it was a sad country song or a catchy pop song, the beats never failed to either cure my emotions or enhance them. It was the only form of therapy I could ever agree to and the only thing keeping me sane, in light of recent life-shattering events.
And in light of those recent events, I’d needed music more than ever.
I glanced over at the patio to find the cat watching my every move like he was just sort of...observing. Taking inventory. It was a little creepy. And weird. Definitely weird. Like he wasn’t just watching me, but seeing me, too.
I wasn’t sure I liked it. And I also wasn’t completely convinced that my imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me right now either.
But when I carried my computer over to the patio and dropped down until my back rested against the wall right next to the screen door, I don’t know who was more surprised: me or the cat.
As if on cue, he hopped down from the chair and sat down right across from me until the only things separating us were a few feet and some flimsy wiring.
“Hey,” I whispered to him. His ears pricked up and one of them tilted to the side. “You like this song?”
His mouth quirked a little, curling into that tiny O shape again, and he moved a hair closer.
“Hail, hail,” I sang softly. “What’s the matter with your head?”
Those shimmering eyes focused on me and I kept on singing: “Come and get your love...”
“Sorry,” I told him. “I probably won’t be trying out for American Idol anytime soon, you know?”
His chest jumped, like he’d hiccuped or something, and he made a noise that sounded like...meh. Like a grumble or a murmur. Like he was answering me.
“I gotta get some work done, but I think I’ll sit right here while I do it if that’s okay with you.”
Meh.
My lips twitched at the sound and I shifted my focus back to finishing up this blog post. I had about another two hours or so before I needed to post it, but I still needed to get my ass in gear.
“Can you believe I actually make some money off this?” I told him as I typed. “I guess I’ve been doing it for so long and enough people started reading it...advertising and all that, you know? You wanna know what my blog is called?”
Meh.
I grinned at him. “Northern Chic. Kinda catchy, huh? You know, because we live in Wisconsin?”
Meh.
“Yeah, I started this beauty blog when I was a senior in high school and I just sort of never stopped, even through college and after I graduated. I don’t use my real name or anything. No one knows who I am, which, trust me, is a good thing. But it’s fun. I like it. I like when companies send me things to try, too.”
And I especially liked the extra padding it gave my bank account every month. Between ads and online retailers giving me a kick-back for linking to products on their sites, I had a healthy little side business. It wasn’t quite enough to cover my bills every month, but between my blog and waitressing, I was living pretty comfortably, or at least, as comfortably as I could.
“The Smashbox BB cream tends to run a little oily, so if you have combination skin, that might not be the best option for you. When I tested it earlier this week, my cheeks were shiny and greasy enough that I felt like I needed to wash it off immediately. This one just didn’t work for my skin, but if your skin tends to start to dry out come fall, it might work better for you than it did for me….there, what do you think of that?”
I shifted my eyes back to the cat, whose grey eyes were still observing me intently. That murmuring rumbled from his chest again and I smiled back.
“Now, all I have to do is add some pictures, some purchase links, and I’m all set to post. It probably shouldn’t be this easy, but people read it, you know?”
Meh.
My head bobbed a little more to the music as I finished up my post. “Hail, hail, get it together, baby…”
Once I had everything all loaded up on my blog, my eyes fell to the clock on my laptop. In my past life, I’d been used to getting my ass to bed by 10 at the latest on school nights, but now that issue was pretty much obsolete. So, when I got the random breakfast shift, my body tended to reject morning-person mode and I usually felt like a zombie for the first hour or so of my shift. It definitely didn’t help that this was actually a double shift tomorrow and I probably wouldn’t get home until after four.
“Well,”
I told him and his chin tilted up at the sound of my voice. “I should probably head to bed. I have to get up for work early tomorrow and...um, like I said, you can stay, I guess, if you want to.”
His chest bopped and then his mouth opened for one last maawhr as I stood up to head into my bedroom and shut the patio door, feeling a prickling of guilt as his eyes stared up at me and his tail flicked up and down on the concrete. It was mid-September, but the air was still a crisp-warm contradiction that was normal for Wisconsin this time of year. Not exactly hot, but not freezing temperatures at night either. My fingers immediately flew to the weather app on my phone and I relaxed a little. Low of 57 degrees tonight. That wasn’t so bad.
He’ll be fine out there tonight, I told myself as I crept down my hallway, and this obviously isn’t the first night he’s spent outside by himself.
Just as I reached my bedroom door, I glanced over my shoulder to find his dark, shadowy shape perched on that patio chair again.
Maybe he’d...nope. Not going there.
He’d gotten what he wanted from me and he’d be gone in the morning anyway.
CHAPTER TWO
The next morning I rolled out of bed with a little bounce in my step and butterflies playing hopscotch in my stomach. I had a one-track mind as I shuffled out into my hallway until I had a good view of my patio.
Sure enough, there he was. All curled up on the chair right where I’d left him.
The movement inside the apartment must’ve caught his attention because he lifted his head off a paw, blinking up at me when I moved to stand right at the door. His eyes drooped a little and he yawned, stretching one white paw high up into the air.
My lips twitched in amusement and then my eyes dropped to the plastic bowl I’d set out the night before. It was pretty much all dried out.
I shuffled a little from side to side in front of him, knowing that I had to open the screen door yet again if I wanted to give him any more water...and did I want to give him more water? More food? The fact that he’d camped out here for the night had some alarm bells ringing, too. If he actually had somewhere to go home to, it was probably unlikely that he would’ve parked it on my patio for the entire night.
If I stopped feeding him, if I stopped setting out water, eventually he’d hop off my chair and just go away.
But before I could stop myself, I unlocked the door, slid it open wide enough to slip my hand through, and crouched down so I could snatch up the bowl. The cat’s right ear tilted to the side and then he just yawned again as if I was boring him. As if I was somehow inconveniencing him and interrupting his precious sleep.
Still, I dutifully carried the bowl to the sink, filled it up, and scrounged around my cupboards for something other than bread this time around. Hmm...I really needed to go grocery shopping. I didn’t know if I should even give him bread—if it was something that would make him sick or not.
At this point, I needed to call in reinforcements and booted up Safari on my phone, doing a quick search for things cats could eat. Okay...something with protein. Boiled chicken, rice, potatoes. I didn’t have any of those things. I scrolled through the rest of the article and finally came across some information I could use.
“Fish and cheese,” I muttered. “Why didn’t I think of that before? Shit.”
I had tuna and pre-packaged cheese slices. This was what happened when someone who has never had cats before fumbled through a stray encounter. I just had no idea what I was doing here with the whole damn thing.
Feeding a stray cat. Looking up what to feed said stray cat. I think I might’ve hopped on the crazy train last night and knocked a few screws loose in the process. But then my eyes flew to my patio, landing right on pointed dark ears, a tiny brown nose, and wide grey eyes.
Shit.
I was carrying half a can of tuna, a slice of cheese, and some more water out to the patio before I could stop myself.
Did you hear that? That was the sound of my sanity flying right out the window. Going...going...gone.
We had to do our little dance again and this time, I tossed the slice of cheese out to the furthest corner of the patio so I could pull the ol’ bait and switch, jerk open the screen door, get the tuna and water bowl onto the ground, and slam the door shut again before he wised up.
Satisfied that he was preoccupied, I went about my normal routine to get ready for work: coffee, a light breakfast, quick shower, and then I changed into my uniform. By the time I had my keys and my iPod in hand and was ready to walk out the door, the cat had wolfed down everything I’d offered and perched himself back on the chair, circling around a few times again before plopping down into a good spot.
At the risk of being a little late for work, I strode down my short hallway, grabbed what I needed from my bathroom, and then found myself standing in front of the screen door again.
The cat’s head popped up, his eyes half-closed and his ears tilted down to the sides as if to say, I’m trying to sleep here. Can’t a guy get a little peace and quiet? Jesus, lady.
My lips quirked up as I slid the screen door open one last time and held out the bundle of towels clenched in my hand.
“So,” I told him. “I think this might, uh, be more comfortable for you out here. If you could just...I don’t know, move for a second so I can…”
He blinked.
Okay, good enough. I guess.
I huffed out a laugh and gingerly set one of the towels down on the chair behind him, careful to keep one hand trained on the door in case he made a mad dash for my apartment. Finally, he got the hint and hopped off the chair, sitting back on his haunches to wait patiently for me to arrange his new makeshift bed. With my eyes darting warily from the cat and the chair, I made quick work of tossing the other towel down and jerked some material into place just enough to form a little bed.
The whole time, the cat waited silently, his eyes flicking in between me and the chair until I snatched my arm back inside the apartment and snapped the door closed again. Then he just leapt back up onto the chair, circled around twice, and settled into the bed, nuzzling the layers I’d set out for him.
After that, I finally felt like I could leave for work, but not without one more glance out towards my patio.
. . .
“Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”
I sucked in a sharp breath and pressed a weak smile on my face. Mara scrunched her freckled nose and squinted at me. She knew exactly what I was about to say—it was what I said at the end of every Saturday shift we’d worked together and by now, she probably had the exact phrasing memorized.
“You know,” I started quietly. “I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight. It’s not that I don’t want to. I really wish I could...”
Since I’d moved to the city and started working at The Corner Café—can you believe it’s actually located on a corner, of all things?—Mara had been nothing but nice. Friendly. Talkative. Willing to listen if I was willing to talk (which I wasn’t) and whenever we worked this shift together, she always asked me to come out with her and her friends afterwards.
This time she was trying to convince me that this micro-brewery, Matthews Brewing Co., was a place I just had to try because “they, like, have the best microbrews and the coolest tasting room with the sweetest view of the Milwaukee River.” Even if I was interested in the offer, the art of the microbrew wasn’t really anything I’d ever been into—blasphemy for a Wisconsin native, but I couldn’t help it. Beer tasted like what I imagined piss tasted like.
Mara’s eyes narrowed a little and I knew I’d have to give her a little more than my patent excuse.
“I’m not meeting my friends out until, like, 8:00, so…” she made a show of glancing at the non-existent watch on her wrist, “you’ve got, like, a good four hours to get some work done before coming out with us.”
I liked Mara. I really did. She was the best co-worker I could ask for: we helped with each other’s tables, shared tips willingly when we needed to, covered for eac
h other when the other took a break, and generally had each other’s backs. She never asked too many questions and accepted the little information I tossed out without pressing for more. Most of the friends she routinely tried to get me to hang out with had stopped into the café before, so I wouldn’t exactly be going into this thing blind.
But I’d moved to Milwaukee to disappear, to become invisible, not to surround myself with a tight-knit group of dysfunctional girlfriends Lena Dunham-style.
“I know, but by the time I eat, take a little breather, maybe a quick nap, and get my ass in gear with this post, I’ll probably only have an hour tops to get some work done and I really don’t want to just slap some shit together, you know?”
It was an overly drawn-out, elaborate excuse, but the more she questioned me, the more I felt myself shuffling backwards into a corner. I could post to my blog as often or as little I wanted; I had enough of a readership at this point that a delay wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Mara, however, did not need that little kernel of information to chew on.
“Well,” Mara sighed and blew some bright blonde hair out of her face. “I really wish you’d come out with us one of these times. I have a hard time believing you need to work on your blog that much that you can’t take a Saturday night off every once and awhile.”
“Every post makes me some money,” I shrugged. “The more posts I can get out there, the more money I make.”
Mara glanced at me out of the corner of her eye as she reached for her purse. “Alright. I still can’t believe you’ve been in this city for as long as you have and you’ve never been to Water Street downtown.”
I pressed a forced smile on my face and punched my employee number into the Ziosk screen to clock out. “I guess I just haven’t gotten a chance yet.”
