Coffee Crumbs

Coffee and Cats

Winner of ❝New Year's Resolution❞ contest

by alsamuelwrites

As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew it would be difficult to keep my New Year's Resolution of not screaming swear words in every language known to me through the paper-thin wall separating my tiny apartment from my new neighbour.

And hell, that would be quite a few choice words, since I only tended to learn the more colourful bits of new languages from the foreign students I'd befriended at uni. I didn't see a need to know the entire vocabulary anyway since I could hardly imagine leaving this city, a place I'd called home for the past twenty years, for another one, let alone one where people spoke an entirely different language. I guess travelling the world in search of exciting adventures wasn't on the top of my to-do list.

To be more precise, my New Year's Resolution was to stop swearing, period. Too bad it seemed bound to fail already. I glared at the blank wall before me, willing the person on the other side to slap themself in the face for being such an inconsiderate douch– person, inconsiderate person.

Unfortunately, my hateful glare did nothing to stop the source of my anger: the consistent pounding of said neighbour's music, its reverberations so pronounced I was certain that the beat was trying to interfere with the natural rhythm of my heart. I swear I'm not exaggerating.

With a sigh, I headed to my cosy little kitchen to make myself some coffee.

Why, oh why, did I have the worst of luck when it came to my neighbours?

Not long after I'd first moved in, I soon found out that the sweet little old lady who greeted me in the hallway every morning as I left for class was harbouring a dark secret that came to light only after an odd smell began emitting from the unit. Following numerous complaints, the landlord was forced to investigate. Turns out, my elderly neighbour was a hoarder whose compulsive inability to throw stuff away had progressively worsened to the point that the apartment, chock full of trash, was labelled unlivable by local housing authorities.

Luckily for her (and me), the old lady ended up living with her son, two states away, and for most of my first year, the unit remained empty, probably because the place needed that much time to air the stench away.

In my second year, the mystery person who moved in was a night owl who loved slamming doors. The first time it happened, I could have sworn I'd jumped three feet in the air before landing back in a tangle of blankets on my bouncy mattress with its creaky frame groaning in complaint.

The blurry glow of my digital clock told me as I squinted that the time was a little past 3 AM. Every night after, for the next six months, I suffered through various iterations of door slamming, with each door having its own pitch and loudness depending on its distance from my bedroom. It reached a point where I could tell which door was being slammed closed; the bathroom door made the hollowest of thuds, and the one in the bedroom was the loudest with the softest being the main door. I'd had it memorised like a nightmarish Morse code.

Then all of a sudden, silence. Not a single sound was heard for the rest of the year, and I rejoiced! My neighbour was gone, taking with them my sleep deprivation. But lo and behold, my joy was short-lived because come the new year, a new tenant had moved in and now here I was, about to lose my sanity because of the newcomer.

Whoever it was was an absolute dic– no, no I mustn't, nope, lalalala must keep mind blank at all costs! I stared at the time on my phone and sighed. Only a little after 9 AM and my day was already starting off on the wrong foot. I glanced over to the hanging bookshelf on the opposite wall where my black and white cat, Bob, sat swishing his tail, just as unimpressed as I was of my latest neighbour.

While trying to think over the noise, I unconsciously poured myself another cup of coffee before sipping it absentmindedly. Should I go over and tell my new neighbour to tone it down? What if we ended up arguing? But then again, if I didn't, wouldn't it mean another year of suffering? I bit the inside of my cheek while trying to decide the best course for a peaceful solution, but after ten minutes, I still couldn't choose whether or not to confront my neighbour.

As if unwilling to watch me stay undecided, Bob got up, stretched like a Slinky spring, and then proceeded to run over to me before climbing my body like a ladder to perch lazily on my shoulder. The area between my jaw and ear felt like it was being sandpapered as Bob began vigorously licking me with his tiny tongue, probably zeroing in on my momentary anxiety.

The scraping pain acted like a weird trigger, signalling me to stop whining and instead act on the problem at hand. Armed with liquid courage (in this instance, not alcohol but coffee and my cat, since Bob's body behaves like liquid), I impulsively headed out the door to stand before the identical one adjacent. Before I could chicken out, I hastily raised my hand and hit the doorbell with force, but for some reason, I couldn't hear it ring. Just as I was about to press it once more, the music stopped and footsteps padded quickly towards the door.

I drew in a deep breath, my pulse quickening as I mentally prepared myself to speak to the stranger beyond the door. With a creak, it opened and I couldn't stop the widening of my eyes or the dropping of my jaw. What stood before me was the perfect male form, Michelangelo's David in the flesh! Washboard abs? Check. Arms that were muscular yet slender? Check. A face of perfect symmetry that could easily grace the cover of any number of fashion magazines? Double check.

The man facing me was shirtless but wearing black sweatpants and sneakers, suggesting I had interrupted his workout. As I continued gazing at him like a fool, he gave me a quizzical look of his own, eyebrows rising high as he stared at my shoulders. Only then did I remember Bob, still stretched out lazily on me.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I had walked out of my apartment not just with my cat draped over my shoulders like a living fur scarf, but I was also still in my really, really old pyjamas. Like, so old it had gone from navy blue to sky blue old. And I hadn't even combed my hair. As soon as the realisation hit, I felt my cheeks heat up to match my level of embarrassment.

I was such an idiot! All I wanted to do was rush back home, bury myself under the blankets and not come out. Ever. Too bad I couldn't though, because the Adonis before me was still eyeing me in open confusion. And so I did the only thing I could do.

I picked up one of Bob's paws and gave a little cutesy wave while saying, "Hello."