Second half of today's update <3
She moved into her armchair, and the cat joined her immediately. She could see that the Harewickes hadn't read her message; it was rather late, after all. She remembered the family from before: several women, sisters and aunts, all fit redheads; living together in a small cottage in the woods near the Bjornsson Hall. They were indeed 'local witches,' meaning they made natural cosmetics and provided 'occult services:' Tarot readings, horoscopes; that sort of hogwash. Jackie had had the youngest of them, Euphemia, in her class. The girl had been bright and friendly, given, a tad scattered.
"I suppose, I'll text the landlord and see if you can stay." Jackie tickled the cat under its chin. "In case you're still here later, of course. No pressure."
She scrolled through her phone and stared at Alexander's name on the screen.
"I bet the two of you would get along," she said. "You know, since you're both so aloof. And tidy. And nice to touch." She ran her fingers through the fur on the animal's nape - and chuckled. It was clean, smooth and thick; and carried no smell. And then she caught herself and grumbled, "Ugh, what's wrong with me?" She shook her head. "What do you think, should I just let him know you're here, without asking for permission? I don't remember if there's anything about pets in the letting contract. And before you argue, you can't imagine the sort of problems I had run into with my old landlords. Although, I doubt he'll kick me out." She snorted. "He's got a soft spot for me."
The moggy yawned.
"I'm talking to a cat." Jackie announced into the ceiling and shook her head. "And there I thought my joints would go before my brain cells."
Alexander's answer was as to be expected: he acknowledged receiving the news and offered his assistance, if needed.
"Look at this." Jackie turned the phone to the cat. "There's just no end to the man's flirting and banter. Yeah, you're right. I've clearly lost my plot." She sighed. "Let's google what you might need if you're staying the night."
***
The cat left her side only once, around midnight. Weather permitting, Jackie always kept a couple of windows open at night. She'd lifted one corner of the fly screen on the kitchen one, which seemed to work perfectly. She heard it jump onto the sill - and then the cat was back before she had time to decide whether she was glad or upset at the development. It took its previous spot - on the throw, folded on the duvet, next to her feet - and Jackie fell back asleep.
The next morning she woke up from the cat insistently booping its nose to hers. It was Saturday, and she had no alarm set.
"Alright, alright, I'm up," she groaned and opened her eyes. "Oh, it's you."
She sat up. The animal was already in the door of her bedroom, making low raspy noises that she wouldn't be able to call meowing. It sounded more like that yellow rubber chicken that her pupils used to be so fond of, way back then.
"Right, yes, I get it, you're hungry." Jackie clumsily slid off the bed and dragged herself to the kitchen. "There might be more of that chicken from yesterday. Although I have to say, picking it off the bones for you is a bit more than I–"
The cat was already heading down the stairs. The noise was surprisingly loud, as if a miniature horse had just stampeded through her cottage. Jackie followed, rubbing her eyes.
While she drank coffee and the animal finished the unseasoned bits of Jackie's rotisserie chicken, she checked her DMs. The Harewicke witches sent her a contact phone number and a long apology - followed by a polite offer to keep the animal, since it had been in need of alternative accommodations for years, due to interfeline conflicts in its home cottage. She was also informed that the cat came with a generous dowry: a basket, a litter box, an assortment of its favourite toys - and a voucher for a free birth star chart; for Jackie, not for the animal, of course.
Jackie took a large sip of her brew and studied the white annulus on the cat's globular backside.
"If I send you home, will you just come back?" she asked.
The animal lifted its head and gave out another of its raspy horn-like sounds. Jackie settled her chin on her palm and sighed.
"Well, let's give this relationship a go, I guess."
***
Euphemia Harewicke dropped by Jackie's cottage a couple of hours later, bringing the cat's 'tocher.' The young woman had changed little. Cute as a button, she chatted non-stop, jumping from one subject to another. She did bring the cat's papers; it was apparently a registered patient of the aforementioned Dr. Carter. It even had a vaccination card.
"There's a tattoo inside his ear," the witch said, drinking the second cup of Jackie's best assam, and chewing the fourth shortbread. "I'd show you but he's not going to come out while I'm here. I can't believe he slept with you! In the two years that we've had him, we've only seen him hide under furniture or in the herb room. He would show up at night to eat. He normally doesn't go outside, just stays inside; but I reckon the recent renovations freaked him out." She pulled another biscuit out of the tin. "He ran away last year when we had a burst pipe too. And the year before it, when our hot water cylinder exploded. Other cats mostly just ignore him; but he'd had such a hard time in the shelter where we'd taken him from, he must have never recovered."
Once the woman was gone, Jackie went in search of her new companion.
"Mawkin!" she called. "Cheetie-cheetie! Where are you?"
A sad honk came from upstairs, and Jackie saw half of the round muzzle peek from around the railing.
"She left, you can come down."
The cat made a few indecisive steps onto the landing. And then Jackie's phone trilled on the kitchen table; and the cat thrashed; its claws scraped at the floor, in a hilarious resemblance of a wheelspin; and it scrambled back into the bedroom.
"Hi," she greeted Alexander.
"Hi. How's the cat?"
"He's hiding in the bedroom," Jackie answered and chuckled. "But apparently that's his normal behaviour. I spoke to his previous owner, they want me to keep him. Is that OK with you?"
He was silent for a moment. "It's your cat."
"It's your cottage," Jackie laughed. "For now, at least. He's apparently house-trained and generally well-behaved, so there shouldn't be any damage. But it's an animal, he might go mental and rip the wallpaper or break a window."
"I trust you to pay for the repairs," he deadpanned. "What's his name?"
Jackie pressed her lips stifling a snicker. "Ephemia told me that her family didn't name their cats, because it's a human concept, foreign to 'a child of nature.'"
"Cats do recognise their names," Alexander said. "It matters. Farmers name their cows and lambs. Give him a name. It'll help you to bond with him."
It would have sounded like mansplaining, were he not so obviously upset by the prospect of the moggy remaining nameless. He kept saying that empathy was hard for him - but clearly, not when it was towards an animal.
"I'm taking the mickey. Of course I'm going to name him," she comforted him. "Poor mawkin might have an identity crisis on top of his many, many anxieties. A name will do him good."
"Good," he echoed and then asked, "I'm going to Abernathy today. Do you need anything? For the cat," he clarified. "There's no pet shop in Fleckney."
Jackie felt torn between her responsibility of a newly appointed cat parent and the hesitation to ask Alexander for a favour. The former won.
"To be honest, there are quite a few things," she said. "Most importantly, I need litter for his box. I've ordered a lot of stuff online, but he needs the litter right away, obviously. I think he's been sneaking out into the shrubs under the window to– see a man about a horse," she finished clumsily.
The small coughs, with which he tried to cover his laughter, didn't deceive anyone.
"I was right," he said warmly. "You are cute. Do you want to go with me, or should I just pick it up for you?"
It took her a moment to gather her wits, and not just because his 'cute' comment threw her off. Jackie hated shopping, and especially shopping with others, and more so, with a male. And yet, her noggin had just produced an idyllic, domestic image of the two of them walking around a shop, choosing a feeder, and making 'aw' noises at photos of kittens. It probably had something to do with the fact that during their dinner at the Serpent's Nest, she hadn't felt evaluated and judged. Maybe he wouldn't hate her inability to leave any shop empty-handed, and would wait patiently, unlike his predecessors. Maybe they could even stop at a café afterwards and have a fika. He was Swedish after all.
And then she, of course, remembered that he still hadn't given up his unreasonable school crush, and that someone might see them together; and she shook off the preposterous daydreaming.
"If it's alright with you, just grab a box for me," she muttered. "I'll text you the brand."
"Sure," he agreed. "I'll message you when I'm back in Fleckney."
***
She cleaned up the cottage, read, and sorted out her fridge. The cat followed her religiously. The two of them were enjoying a cuppa on the sofa in the sitting room - meaning, the animal napped, and Jackie was re-reading her favourite novel by Jack Richards - when her phone beeped. She'd lowered the volume after the morning incident. She seemed to have hit just the right level now: the white ear twitched, but the moggy stayed put.
Will be at your place in 15. Alright?