The Ordinary Haunting

0. The Rude Cat

I liked a lot of things, especially animals, but cats that ignored me weren't one of them. I crouched low over the gutter and reached as far as I could into the gap between the two fences, wafting what I thought was a very nice smelling can of tuna. Those dark eyes continued to stare lazily somewhere past my shoulder, not a whisker aroused. I sighed and sat cross-legged on the ground. I dug around in my shopping bag until I found the little plastic spork the cashier had given me and speared a chunk of tuna. I popped it into my mouth and chewed quickly, raising my eyebrow at the skinny creature. He yawned, showing me the pink, rippled inside of his throat.

"Seriously," I muttered. I wiped at a trail of sweat that was tickling me below my ear and tried to think if I had anything else that might tempt him out. As I frowned to myself, beating away a fly that seemed determined to blind me, the cat began to lick at his front right paw. I shuffled closer to the opening of the little strays' alley and leaned forward until I could make out a dark crust matted into his fur.

"Are you injured?" I asked. The cat jerked quite violently at the sound of my voice and leapt away into the thicket of weeds and bushes behind him.

"Dammit." I put the can of tuna in the bag and tied it off tight, then stood up and batted at the dust on my slacks.

"Tay, you're back again?" An elderly lady with soft purple curls was standing across the road with her rusty silver bicycle leaning against her hip. I straightened my shirt and hurried over to lift it off her.

"Hi, Mrs. Chansook. Yes, I thought he might prefer plain tuna to the brine I tried last time."

"You think the cat has canned tuna preferences?"

"You'd be surprised."

Mrs. Chansook laughed. "Doesn't sound like any cat I've ever had."

"How is the sunflower plant going?"

"Much better now. That poor thing..."

I scratched at my neck again as another trail of sweat worked its way down. The morning was piggybacking off a full week of ninety-plus humidity and it had come nicely into its own well before 8am.

"I don't know, ma'am. I followed all the instructions and advice I could find, but it just never listened to me."

"'It never listened to me'. What are you trying to be, a plant whisperer?"

"That would be nice, wouldn't it? I could grow a whole forest of all my own food and flowers and shelter. It'd be completely self-sustaining."

Mrs. Chansook shook her head as we came to a stop outside her Thai eatery. My favourite thing about her little shop was the red checked tablecloths, which she hadn't changed in at least twenty years. They were a collective patchwork of her careful hand-stitching over the tears, and a collage of the doodles of every neighbourhood kid who'd come by with a marker in their pocket. I peeked through the window and spotted my sunflower on the best table in the house.

"Are you saying all this because you really want to become some kind of forest monk, or because it's the only way you'll be able to escape every boss that's ever yelled at you for being late to work?" Mrs. Chansook gave a sniff and tipped her nose at my wristwatch. I turned over my hand.

"Fuck!"

I gently passed Mrs. Chansook's bike back to her, clapped my hands together in apology as she wobbled with laughter, and then raced off down the street.

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