₍^. .^₎⟆
1. The Cat

I am a man of few words.

There's no traumatic, life-altering backstory to go along with that truth. I just feel that most things are better left unsaid. Human emotion can be read just as blatantly by facial expression and physical movement as a ten minute long conversation with unnecessary pleasantries and inconsequential anecdotes that serve little purpose except to drag out the inevitable. What my sister can say in a hundred words, I can narrow down to ten.

That's not to say I'm not a great listener. In fact, I'd mastered the craft at this point. With little to say, it leaves plenty of space for everyone else in the world to fill the silences that don't bother me. I don't mind listening to other people speak. It's when they expect me to respond in full sentences that I feel harrowed.

"This is what I'm talking about, Shaan! You don't talk to me."

I narrowed my eyes at Madison, who I thought things were going pretty well with until this point. She invited me over because she was ordering Chinese food and had obtained a bottle of wine. We put on a movie, shared a blanket and a container of General Tso's chicken, and even kissed a little bit before she got a phone call.

Thus changed the trajectory for the night. She was called into work, despite the clock reading nearly midnight. Madison always said yes when they asked, which wasn't my fault. I listened to her rant and rave as she pulled her work pants on about her one coworker who couldn't be bothered to give enough notice before calling out.

Once she was fully dressed and all but out of breath from shooting off her misfortunes, she stood still in the living room and stared at me. "Why do I feel like I'm talking to a brick wall?" she had asked. I shrugged, not entirely sure myself. She scoffed and shook her head. "Seriously, now that I think about it, you've barely said anything since we started dating. Like, ever."

"It's not intentional," I tried to defend myself.

"How is it not? I get it if you're tired from school and work, but a little consolation would be nice. Or asking about my day when we meet up. How have I not noticed this?"

I cocked my head to the side. "Because you usually talk enough for the both of us?"

Madison made a face that told me I'd said the wrong thing. I had gotten used to that face over the years. Be it from my sister, my friends, my mother, my boss. It was a face that read, Did you really just say that? Keeping my mouth shut worked out for me because when I did open it, I tended to piss people off. My mom would often scold me for being a 'wise guy,' but it was usually because I just said the first thing that came to mind.

Needless to say, I ended up getting dumped on the second Saturday of September.

I wasn't all that bothered. Madison was sweet, pretty too, but it wasn't like I loved the girl. We'd only been seeing each other for about a month and we were both so busy, we only met up a few times a week. I wasn't heartbroken over the loss, but I did feel a little down on my walk home.

Maybe there was a course I could take on social etiquette for dummies. It had long become a pattern of losing friends because of my inability to communicate.

In school, I'd had a few people that always tried to get close and failed. Girls tended to like the 'mysteriously quiet' shtick until they realized it was because I was just in my head half the time. My thoughts tended to run a hundred miles at a time while also trying to process what was being said to me.

I was fine being alone. I had a few hobbies that kept me busy when I wasn't in school or working. Companionship and relationships were a luxury that just didn't come high on my priority list. Sure, I liked touching another person every once in a while. I'm a man, after all. I just didn't require a girlfriend to be content.

My worn, wooden gate was ajar when I got home, which was unusual but didn't ring any alarms. It creaked when I pushed it open all the way like it always did, disturbing the unusually peaceful quiet of my neighborhood. I thought I had somehow hit the jackpot when I saw this place for rent a year ago. I needed somewhere to live close to the university that I could afford on a baker's budget. It didn't take me too long to realize why.

Sure, it had its quirks, like the bathroom sink constantly dripping even after my landlord called a plumber out to fix it, or the front porch missing three of five planks of wood—which is why I entered through the back door. Then there was the locational issue, in that my truck had been broken into not once, but twice, and the entire street had a permanent aroma of burning marijuana. I didn't mind it. I just didn't keep anything valuable in my car anymore.

My mom thinks I live in a swanky on-campus apartment with a view of the city. I'd never tell her the truth. It was a place to live, after all.

The backyard was small and enclosed by the unpainted, tall wooden fence, leaning almost horizontal on one side from the hurricane last year. The space was empty other than my chained up bike which I had attempted to hide in the large bushes next to the door. I readied my house key and was just about to ascend the steps to the door when I heard a sound coming from my left.

It sort of sounded like something was in those bushes, so I peered over the loosely built arm rail. Nothing.

Just as I was about to shrug it off and head in, I heard it again. This time, the culprit of the sound revealed itself in a quick flash of orange, and I sprung back in surprise. When I'd caught myself before flying over the opposite railing, I looked up.

A slender, angry-looking cat perched atop my porch, staring at me. I huffed, annoyed that I'd gotten so scared over some stray.

"Shoo," I spat, waving my arm towards it.

The cat almost appeared to be challenging me with its eyes. It was seemingly completely unbothered by my lack of hospitality. I curled my lip in irritation when it just brought its paw to its mouth and cleaned itself. I sighed and stood up straighter, deciding to just ignore it.

I unlocked my door and didn't spare another glance towards the mangy creature, shutting the door behind me with my heart still thumping irregularly in my chest. To be fair, it scared the hell out of me and this was my turf. Stupid cat.

After a shower and a couple beers, I laid down and thought about Madison and the breakup. It definitely didn't keep me up. After half an episode of my go-to-sleep comfort show, I fell asleep with the reminder that I'd wake up as alone as I'd always been.

₍^. .^₎⟆

The following night, my boss approached me while I was cleaning my station. I worked night shift at a small bakery in town. Jeff knew I wasn't great at customer service, so he trusted me with baking prep in the back, far away from anyone. I would get everything ready for the following morning, then Jeff or his wife Chloe would come in and bake at the crack of dawn. It paid shit all and I barely kept up with my bills with the occasional bail-out from my mom. But I liked it.

"Hey, Ishaan. I gotta talk to you about the schedule for the next few months as we're getting closer to the holidays," Jeff said warily, leaning forward with his palms on the stainless steel table I was wiping down. I could tell by his tone that there were going to be some unfavorable changes coming. "I was thinking I could hire a part-timer or two while Chloe and I are gone for the season to help you out. And maybe you could pull some overnights instead of your usual shift to get ahead on baking."

I knew with him and his wife going on vacation, I was going to get tons of overtime. Which was good. Money was money. "Sounds good," I said. "A part-timer will keep me away from the front, too." Note/ Choice'

"Exactly," Jeff said, rapping his knuckles against metal in a short rhythm. "I'll let you know when I hire someone."

I knew that bringing in a new hire meant having another clueless teenager around asking me a million questions that I didn't care to answer. This happened last year, but at least back then we had another full-time employee like myself. Now it was just me and the owners. We were only open six days a week, so it worked out fine most of the time.

Once I finished cleaning, I clocked out and said goodbye to Chloe, who bid me a goodnight behind the register she was counting down.

I got home some fifteen minutes later. This time, when I walked through the gate to my backyard, I wasn't surprised to see that stupid cat sitting on my porch again. I narrowed my eyes and took a few cautious steps towards it, hoping the movement would drive it away.

Instead, it cocked its head to the side and meowed. I made a face. Animals never really clicked with me. My mom didn't like them, so we never had any pets growing up. Well, my sister had a frog in elementary school because she was picked to bring it home after a class project. It's name was Sprinkles and it died when she tried to change the water.

It goes without saying that I felt absolutely nothing when I looked at this cat. "I don't have any food for you, so go away," I said, taking another step closer. The cat was sitting there like he paid the bills and I was the intruder. "Pssst."

My attempts at getting rid of the mangy thing didn't prove to be very successful. Apparently, I didn't appear as much of a threat to it, even though I'd have liked to keep six feet between us at all times. There was a broken broomstick sitting at the foot of the stairs that I'd never gotten around to tossing out, so I grabbed one end of it like I was wielding a sword.

"Go on," I muttered, prodding the cat's chest with the dull end of the broomstick.

I swear to God, the cat was looking at me like I was truly an idiot. Completely unbothered, its greenish-blueish eyes didn't falter from watching me make a fool of myself. I gave it one more nudge and, almost as if to make a point, it waited for me to draw back my weapon and stood on all fours. I stuck the end of the stick in the dirt victoriously and raised my eyebrows expectantly.

The cat took its sweet time and sauntered down the steps, stopping a mere foot away from my feet. I swallowed, wary of the chances of this creature's switch flipping and potentially attacking me after I poked the bear, so to speak.

"I'm not petting you," I spat. "So keep moving."

It turned its head away from me, almost like it harumph'd, and moved right on past me. Before it could change its mind, I was scurrying to my door, fumbling with my keys, slipping through a crack that was definitely big enough to fit an underfed stray cat, and shutting it behind me like I'd just escaped by the skin of my teeth.

Then I realized what a fool I was being. Stupid cat.