Catnip

02 | In Which Caleb is Outnumbered

"Yeah, sure, whatever. If you're so worried about the thing, why don't you just look after it yourself?"

"For the last time, Caleb, she's not an it!"

"You hear that?" he says, his voice devoid of all emotion. "It's the sound of me running out of shits to give."

Marnie's shouting on the other end, but it's too late: Caleb's already hung up.

He switches his phone on silent, turns off the vibration alerts and sets it on top of the fridge, out of reach from kitty and her killer claws. He and his family still haven't decided on a name for the thing yet. Maya wrote out a list of possibilities, but she excluded Caleb's personal favourite, Smokey, claiming it was 'too unoriginal,' as if names are goddamn fruits and plain old apples and oranges just won't do anymore. So he took to Google and showed her that Maya is on several countries' top-100-names lists.

 (As Marnie would put it: suck on that, bitch.)

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the kitten eyeing him up from the opposite end of the kitchen. It's – she's – sat in her pink and white spotty basket that Marnie supplied, head held high and front legs straight as poles, like a regal queen who's above it all. But Caleb knows better. He knows looks are deceiving, knows her air of poise is nothing but a smokescreen, a façade used to conceal her true malevolent nature from view, because cats are evil-eyed and cunning and twisted and dammit, the rest of the world should know better than to domesticate them.

The cat stares, unblinking. Caleb stares right back.

Tick tock, tick tock. Silence envelops them, the rhythmic ticking of the clock nothing but a distant hum in the background. The tension between them rises like gassy Pepsi bubbling to the surface of a glass. Tick tock, tick tock. Tick tock, tick tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Still she watches, saucer eyes locked on him, and with every passing second Caleb becomes increasingly convinced that she knows he knows she's secretly an evil genius overlord. It's like she can see the cogs and coils turning within his brain, see him piecing together the puzzle and figuring out her motives.

I know you know I know, but guess what, kitty? I'll never be fooled, he thinks, because for all he knows, maybe shecanread his thoughts, too.

(What is his life?)

A car pulls up outside, startling them both. The fur ball purrs and leaps out her basket, loping through the kitchen door.

"Yeah, that's right. You better run," Caleb says.

And then the front door blows open and in comes Mom with the groceries, crying, "Honey, I'm home!" while Maya trails behind her, sullen-faced as always, and upon the return of his family reality hits him with the force of a ten-tonne wrecking ball. Holy shit, what's wrong with him? He's talking to a cat. Having a staring contest with a cat. Contemplating the telepathic abilities of a goddamn cat.

Insanity has well and truly kicked in.

"Hey there, honey! Who's a momma's girl?" his mother coos, having crossed paths with the evil one. He can't take it anymore. He staggers to his feet and snatches his car keys off the hook. If Marnie thinks she can lumber him with a goddamn cat without him putting up a fight, she's got another thing coming.

"Mom, I'm going out," he says and rushes past his dear enemy, unable to face those saucer eyes again.

"Oh, I see how it is. Waiting till we're home before making your escape."