“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it,” I said, prying open the can with the back of a knife.
The smell hit instantly, fishy and weirdly sweet.
I gagged. “How do you eat this shit?”
The kitten meowed louder.
“Alright, fine.”
I spooned out what looked like a reasonable amount, half a spoon? Maybe a spoon and a half? Close enough.
Aurora would probably know the exact measurement. She’d probably have a chart for it. A schedule.
I had a towel and a half-open tin can.
I set the plate in front of it and stepped back, arms crossed. The kitten leaned forward, sniffed, then started eating as if it hadn’t seen food in days. Maybe it hadn’t.
“Slow down, you’ll choke,” I muttered, though the words came out softer than I meant.
It ignored me, of course. Just kept eating.
I leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of my neck, watching it devour the food with a kind of desperate focus that made something ache in my chest.
I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
Somehow, without me realising when it happened, the damn thing decided I was its personal transport system.
It started small; after it ate, it wouldn’t stop following me around. Tiny paws padding across the floor, soft meows echoing through the penthouse like ghosts of something alive.
Then, when I sat down to scroll on my phone, it clawed at my leg until I picked it up.
And now?
Now, the kitten was perched in the hood of my hoodie, little head poking out like some orange satellite, purring right next to my ear while I walked around my own home like an idiot.
“You’re getting comfortable, huh?” I muttered, glancing at its reflection in the mirror as I passed the hallway.
The kitten blinked, tilted its head, and let out the tiniestmrrrp.
Great. I was talking to a cat.
A week ago, I couldn’t even handle a person looking at me too long, and now I was making conversation with a six-inch ball of fur sitting in my hood.
I moved to the window; the city stretching below. Cold light poured in, bouncing off the glass, hitting the kitten’s fur, so it glowed gold. It purred louder, vibrating against my neck.
I could feel it through the fabric, steady, rhythmic, alive.
I didn’t realise how loud silence had been here until it wasn’t. The penthouse didn’t echo as much with tiny claws on the counter, the little scurries under the couch, or the occasional paw batting at a pen I’d left out.
And I didn’t mind.
Not one bit.
“Alright, trouble,” I said under my breath, fingers brushing its tiny paw as it poked out of my hood. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”
It purred again, louder this time, as if it understood.
Like itapproved.
