“Let’s just go, Lia,” I quietly urged, trying to tug her hand in the opposite direction.
“But, Ruth, the cat,” she protested, “how can you leave it out here and have it on your conscience for the rest of your life?” The cat, whose desperate mewing put us in this predicament, was out of sight, but its cries could be heard over the pattering rain.
I took a deep breath. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck with a cat in our brand-new house, especially a soaking-wet stray. But she was right, if I left the poor thing in the rain, I would never stop thinking about it.
My grip on her hand slowly loosened. “Fine,” I conceded, “But we’re not keeping it, okay?”
It seemed Lia only registered the first part of my sentence as she leapt out from under the eave of the bus stop. I grumbled, opening our umbrella and chasing after her.
Five days later…
“Ruth, pleaseeee,” Lia begged.
“No, I literally said we weren’t going to keep it!”
Keys in hand, I was already halfway out the door, preparing to finally get rid of the weirdly uncanny cat. I don’t know what it was, maybe the prolonged periods of stillness or the times where I literally couldn’t find him anywhere, but something about him was off-putting.
“But he’s so cute, Ruth, please,” she continued pleading, holding the cat under its armpits out to me, like I wanted it. To his credit, the cat didn’t look like it wanted to be there either, hanging limply in Lia’s outstretched arms.
“Ugh, fine. Maybe we can take him later, but we are definitely not keeping him.”
Despite my opposition, after weeks of begging, I finally relented to keeping the cat. I mean, Lia had promised to take care of him for the most part, much to my satisfaction. I couldn’t even begin to think about trying to pet the clawed creature, much less scooping the litter box.
Two weeks later…
With every step up to our apartment, the will to live left me in small huffs. Today had been the worst day ever.
First, I woke up 20 minutes late, and, in my rush, kicked over the cat’s food and water bowls. The kitchen was covered in pungent cat food and dirty water. And the thing had the audacity to stare at me with its oh-so-innocent orange eyes from the counter (which it’s not supposed to be on) while I was scrubbing the tiles. To make matters worse, my toe throbbed for the entire walk to the subway station.
And then, while I was answering emails and reading proposals, my work enemy decided to make my day worse. Popping up three times before I even went to lunch, he kept droning on and on about the updated employee handbook. I guess my computer wasn’t up to company standards anymore, and he made sure I knew that (not that I cared much). After listening to him grating on my nerves for eight hours, I sped home, longing for a nice, steaming hot shower.
Of course, I couldn’t catch a break.
“AURELIA,” I screeched, taking in my side of the bedroom, “Your stupid cat knocked over every single one of my plants!”
What used to be an indoor plant oasis rivaling the Garden of Babylon was replaced by a leafy graveyard. Not even the hanging plants were safe from the chaos of The Cat. My skin prickled with anger, but I forced myself to take deep breaths. I’m fine, this cat doesn’t bother me at all!
“I swear to God, Lia, I am gonna murder that thing,” I threatened, “I will personally take it to the Humane Society.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, picking it up.
Looking at Lia’s downcast eyes, I did feel sort of bad—but still, I was not gonna let a cat walk all over me.
“It’s fine, just keep it away from the more fragile stuff,” I murmured, brushing my hand across her shoulder.
“Hear that, kitty? Ruth says it’s not your fault,” she smiled, gently petting its head, “You’re just curious, aren’t you?”
Ok, I definitely did not say that…
Rolling my eyes, I picked up my towel to finally get that shower I so desperately needed.
One month later…
Ugh, what is that light? I think groggily, face smashed into my pillow. I reached over to grab my phone, doing my best not to wake Lia. Sitting up, I barely register that it was 3:30 AM before getting out of bed to check the hallway. I warily held my flashlight out, scanning for anything that could be the source of the eerie blue glow.
A large shadow passed across the wall. Heart racing, I brandished my flashlight toward the wall, but to no avail; whatever I thought was there definitely disappeared. Surely, my sleep-addled brain was playing tricks on me.
At the end of the hall, I came to Lia’s office, the cracked door flushed in an unnatural cerulean.
I really hope I don’t die.
But upon opening the door, all I saw was the cat, curled snuggly in its new bed. No night light we had forgotten to turn off or desktop running a screensaver, just the blasted cat. Of course, I wasted my time and precious sleep for nothing.
Jeez, why does it even need so many beds? There’s one in, like, every single room of this house.
Yawning, I shut the door behind me and walked back to bed. “It must’ve just been the moonlight coming through the window,” I mindlessly thought, already halfway to dreamland.
Two weeks later…
We finally got the new couch! A housewarming gift from my parents, our newest piece of furniture, covered in soft chenille, brought me joy like no other. Muscles straining, Lia and I hauled our old sectional toward the door. As we set it down, something caught my eye.
“Where the hell did these come from?” I exclaimed. Eyebrows furrowed, we looked at the sofa’s jagged material. No wonder it had been kind of wobbly; one of the legs was totally chewed through!
“Oh, jeez,” Lia gasped, “Maybe we have rats…”
“No, I definitely would’ve heard them. Maybe it’s the cat.”
“Stop blaming the cat for everything! No way he could’ve chewed through this!”
“It’s fine, we’re getting rid of it anyway.”
Three days later…
Oh my god, I knew it, I freaking knew it. Of course it was an awful idea to keep it as a pet because the cat wasn’t a cat!
Staring at the large blue tiger, its golden irises unblinking, I slowly pulled out my phone and FaceTimed Lia. “You will never believe what I’m about to show you, Lia,” I whispered.
Without taking my eyes off the unsettling feline (could I even call it that anymore? Are tigers felines?), I flipped the camera to show off what used to be our “cat.”
“Holy mackerel, Ruth,” she gaped, “What the fresh hell is that?”“I don’t know! I literally just came home from work early, and this thing was sitting in our bedroom. I don’t know if it noticed me, but it sat there for, like, a solid minute and a half trying to fix the plant it tipped over. Gosh, what do we even do with this?”