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dugindeepMaster Post
It starts with a meow.
Just a tiny little meow that must be a figment of Jensen’s imagination. It is such a wee, crackled sound that he only pauses for a second on his way up the steps to his apartment building.
The second meow, as raspy and teeny as the first, halts him on the fourth stair.
The third makes him turn around and stare at the space where a white ball appears from the side of the cement steps. The fourth, fifth, and sixth meows keep him frozen in place as he watches the long-haired bulk of fur stand at attention.
It’s perfectly set on its hind legs, front paws presented perfectly side by side, and head tilting to one side as it opens its mouth for yet another squeak. Brilliant white hair stands at attention like a lion’s mane but those wide green eyes are softer than a large beast. Plus, thing is nowhere near the size.
The cries for attention have a strange effect on Jensen’s belly. Something warm and giddy bubbles up at each noise even as Jensen furrows his brows and sets his lips in a tight, grim line.
When the kitten steps forward, Jensen steps back, his heel rutting up against the next stair.
Meow.
“No,” he says in the same kind of low whisper as the wee feline.
Another step and another meow, and the kitten brings itself up the first stair. More meows – testing, asking, maybe even begging – come with each accomplished step, and Jensen fights his way up the next few stairs until he trips at the top and falls on the top stair, sprawling out on the stoop.
He does not do pets. Never cared for the noise or the mess. Hell, the responsibility was more of a sticking point than anything else. He lives alone with a self-imposed purpose to be solitary and in charge of his own well-being, and that’s it. There is no need to answer to anyone but Jensen.
It’s why he moved to a big city with too many people to form any real connection after all. Why he’s nearing forty and has, quite frankly, no friends and a thin connection with his mother back home. In his carefully crafted solitary world, there are no questions asked at the deli or coffee shop. Just service and an exchange of goods for money.
He rather likes the quiet bubble he has in this noisy world.
Yet, somehow, this fluffy white kitten has broken through and speaks right to him, now with hesitant meows and a soft paw at his knee seeking approval to come aboard.
Jensen puts his hand above the cat, ready to move it out of the way, but then it crawls right into his lap to stand at attention on his knee and stare at him. Those big green eyes are wide and unblinking, maybe in a challenge, daring Jensen to do something about its presence.
“Hey, no,” he says, trying to shift his position to disrupt the kitten, but the thing is agile and quickly rights itself on his other thigh. “No. C’mon.” He sighs and tries to move again.
The kitten, however, is determined as ever and re-positions itself just the same. Then it releases its patented raspy meow and Jensen groans.
“Oh, no.”
Meow! it declares, and he swears it’s a declaration of success.
Jensen does not do relationships. Never needed one to get through the day, week, or month. Doesn’t do pets, not even a fish. And certainly not a cat.
But here he is. Staring into these crystal green saucer-like eyes, he finds himself slowly, carefully, letting his index finger reach out to touch the top of the cat’s head.
* * *
Jensen would like to believe that was it. That all he did was meet a cat, they shared a pet or two … okay, maybe a few dozen. And maybe he smiled a tiny bit when it pushed its face against his finger for more. And maybe he felt a little guilty when he finally got up to his feet and shoo-ed it away.
He did shoo. He really did, with his hands all into it. He even managed to turn away from the thing, ignoring all of its curious, confused meows as he unlocked the front door, and slid in through as thin of a space he could make without letting the cat inside.
It stayed on the porch, staring at him through the glass door, opening its mouth as wide as it could go in what Jensen imagined was the creakiest of meows possible for such a tiny body.
That would be it. Nothing more to it. He could return to his life, continue on like there was no issue whatsoever.
Only, none of that was true at all, and Jensen found himself facing that kitten every time he stepped out of his building each morning and upon every return at night. No matter the time of day, so long as Jensen was there, so was the cat.
Every single day of the next month, the cat was awaiting him, meowing and patting one paw on the ground like it wanted to reach out for him.
And every single time, Jensen kept on task and resolutely ignored the puff-ball’s cries for attention.
Well, he liked to think he did.
* * *
About a month into this charade, he finds he can no longer ignore it. Especially not when he is particularly grouchy and exhausted after a long crisscross route of deliveries all through the city.
As he approaches his building, the fur-ball steps out from the far side of the stairs and stops right in his path.
Jensen skirts his bike to a quick stop and the back wheel skids to the side as he gets his feet to the ground.
Meow!
Jensen takes a deep breath, willing everything he has to be inside the quiet sanctity of his own apartment. To be anywhere than stuck on his bike with the kitten in his way, an innocent yet needy blockade.
It doesn’t move, not even when he tries to roll a foot forward, coming within inches of the cat. It just stares up at him, paws perfectly set to the sidewalk without a sign of fear.
“What?” Jensen complains. “What do you want?”
Meow it seems to ask.
Jensen takes a few moments to watch it watch him back. He knows it’s only been a few weeks, but he swears it’s grown some. Maybe even doubled in size, filling out a larger frame. It’s less a tiny bundle of hair and more like a small adult cat now, he thinks. Jensen isn’t completely sure; he doesn’t know anything about cats beyond the fact that they meow and go to the bathroom in a box.
Its meows are a little fuller, deeper, yet still as insistent as all the times they’ve run into one another before.
He pulls back a nearly two feet then rocks forward, testing if the cat will move out of his way.
It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t. It holds firmly to its spot on the sidewalk, right in Jensen’s way.
Another few inches of shifting back and forth, Jensen tries to disrupt the cat again to no reaction whatsoever, so he gets off the bike and lifts it up off the ground. All the while, he keeps checking on the cat, utterly frustrated that it refuses to move out of his way. Not even when he steps over it and takes the stairs as quickly as he can while carrying his bike.
As he works his keys in the lock, the cat meows at him again and Jensen responds with the only thing that comes to mind: “Meow!”
The cat sits back on its hind legs and tips its head to the side. After a few stoic blinks, it meows right back at him.
“Meow,” he grumbles, falling into a repeat loop as the cat returns each of his noises with its own.
It’s not a contest, but somehow, he thinks he’s losing.
* * *
Another month passes, and the cat grows in both size and confidence. It now prances up the stairs when he comes home after work or follows him down the sidewalk as he leaves in the morning. Its meows are louder, more assured, as are Jensen’s when he returns its nagging call.
He’s sure it’s begging, in need of some food or water, or just some attention. But he’s not about to be the one to help. Surely it belongs to someone else; that growing white hair, so long and flaring out in all directions, is pure milk in color. There’s not an ounce of dirt on it, so he doesn’t think it’s a street cat, left to its own devices all day and night. Some grey hair is coming in, patches darkening every week or so; Jensen tells himself it doesn’t mean anything that he’s noticed.
He’s just a details kind of guy, has to be as a bike messenger. He has most of the city’s streets mapped out in his brain and is tested daily when handed a dozen packages to deliver to all sorts of places.
It just so happens that the facts perfectly filed in his brain are now joined by the vision of this cat that won’t leave him alone.
* * *
Meow, it declares, announcing itself one Thursday evening.
Jensen had a few late deliveries from a 24-hour print shop, so he’s road weary and bone tired. There isn’t enough energy to argue when the cat steps up as Jensen gets off his bike to climb his stairs. He can’t find the drive to get out of its way when it rubs against his ankle.
Meow. This time it’s softer, lower pitched like a thoughtful hello. As if the cat knows it’s a bad time to be insistent. As if it can read his bad mood and thinks its gentle head butt can soothe the internal wounds dragging Jensen down.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, tired and quiet, as he enters the building. “Meow.”
Even as it continues growing, bulking up and stretching out, it manages to slip through the thin opening before Jensen can even think about it.
“No!” he yells, and continues on with a loud run of, “No, no, no, no.”
It winds between his legs, tail curling around his calf, and meows again. This time, it’s a long, warm sound that makes Jensen freeze in place.
Even when he can’t manage to move his feet, for fear of stepping on its tail or the whole cat itself, he reprimands it. “Get out of here! You don’t belong here.”
“Excuse me?” comes from the side, and Jensen spins in place towards the voice.
His bike smacks against the mailboxes and the handlebars swing around with the brake handle smacking him in the eye.
“You wanna try that again?” the voice asks.
Jensen finally drops his bike in a loud clatter as the wheels and handle bars are still spinning around. He comes face to face with a woman, thin and tan with long wavy red hair all around her shoulders.
She’s got her hands on her waist and eyes narrowed at him, assessing. Accusing. Mad.
“I … I mean …”
“You mean what?” she asks, voice still hard and insulted. Her face mirrors the sound as she takes him in from head to toe in judgment.
“I was talking to …” Jensen trails off as he looks around for the cat, but it's nowhere in sight. “Of course,” he sighs.
“Of course,” she mocks as she moves towards him. “Of course, what?”
“Stupid thing that – ”
“Stupid?”
“No, not like that,” Jensen insists, but his energy is quickly draining. He didn’t have much to start with when he wrapped up his long day and now having to face this woman – any woman, any person, really – and have a conversation, especially one where he has to defend himself, is not ideal. Not for any time of day, but right now is even worse.
“Then, like what?”
Jensen huffs and straightens his shoulders, feeling the pressure of fight overpowering flight for one surprising second. “You don’t have to be bitchy about this.”
Her eyes widen, and she leans in close. “Oh, so now I’m a bitch?”
“I didn’t say you’re a bitch,” he argues.
“You might as well have,” she fires back, stepping another foot forward.
The brief moment of power is gone and Jensen slinks back into himself. Giving up immediately, closing in, he rolls his eyes and picks up his bike on his way to the elevators.
“You’re the rude one!” she calls at him.
He closes his eyes once he’s inside the elevator and the doors are closed. The machine creaks to life and seems to crawl its way inch by inch, as it always has in this old building, but he’s thankful to be out of range of an impending argument. He mumbles to himself how some random blog post once convinced him that living in a city would be good for him. Get yourself some neighbors. Make friends. It’s a great opportunity to learn how to socialize again.
It’s not that he must learn how. And certainly not again. He just doesn’t want to.
Jensen rather prefers a life with minimal interaction and quiet evenings with TV marathons, his collection of craft beer, and social media to keep him company.
So, getting to know people in his building, especially ones who jump to conclusions with a cutting attitude, is pretty high on his list of dislikes. And that’s a pretty long list, if he’s honest with himself.
That damned cat had been on his list. Is on the list, he reminds himself, but it’s a weak point because he hears a soft little meow and discovers the damn thing followed him into the elevator, has been sitting patiently at his feet this whole time, and now prances alongside him into the hall and to his apartment door.
He’s adamant to not let it inside. He’ll just get a bowl of water and leave it in the hallway. Along with the cat. And that’ll be it. He doesn’t have anything to feed it, barely has much to feed himself with a grocery delivery coming tomorrow.
But just as adamant as Jensen is, the cat is far more persistent and pushes itself between his leg and the doorframe to race into his apartment. Before Jensen can put his bike down, the damned thing has jumped up onto his couch, circling twice, and plops down into a perfect circular blob of fur.
His bike hits the floor with a loud thump as he stares at the cat making itself comfortable in his space, on his couch, and, of course, right on the left cushion where Jensen has spent a year carving out a perfectly good butt-shaped dent.
“You’re really gonna do this, huh?”
Seconds tick by and Jensen wonders which of them he’s asking. No matter who is answering, he thinks he knows the answer is yes.
* * *
Jensen lets the cat stay.
Though, lets may not be the right word, because even when he leaves his door open a few inches, the cat stays right at his side while he catches up on his DVRed shows. It doesn’t matter if he walks around the apartment in an effort to make it follow him or even when it finally does, and he marches right to the front door, the damn thing stops short of actually walking into the hallway. Instead, it stops on a dime, perfectly perched to stand regal and tall and look up at Jensen as if it has no clue why he’s being so weird.
Right, because Jensen’s the weird one here.
Pointedly ignoring that it could mean something, Jensen fills a bowl of water and leaves it on the floor by the kitchen table. After a grumbling moment of compliance, he adds a small plate of remnants of last night’s chicken.
So, the cat refuses to leave. Refuses to leave Jensen’s side once he’s getting ready for bed, prancing right alongside him to the bathroom, standing next to him while he brushes his teeth, and following him right into the bedroom. It stays at the side of his bed when he gets in under the covers and Jensen is thankful for a bit of respite from his new shadow.
As he settles into bed, pulling the comforter up over his shoulder and curling into himself, he can feel his body relax from the tension he’d been carrying all day. Through a number of last-minute pick ups and drop offs, demanding and petty people on either end of the delivery, and the run-in with the woman in the lobby, everything had tensed up, muscles pulled taut and angry.
Finally, with sweet relief, it all unravels, and he feels himself slowly sinking into the mattress as his muscles ease and his mind drifts off into warm sleep.
That is when there’s a shocking thump and he opens his eyes to the dark. There’s a faint sight of a white blob on his nightstand that suddenly comes at him, ultimately landing right on his side. Now the cat pokes at him, harsh and heavy with all that feline heft carried on four legs. Before Jensen can move or yell, the thing has squatted down into the curve of his waist and he tries not to think about how it’s possibly a little comforting to feel the warm weight settling on him.
* * *
Thankfully, that night is an anomaly.
Hopefully.
He thinks.
Jensen wakes with white fur in his face. Literally. The thing is curled up at the edge of his pillow, turned into a circle with its spine right at Jensen’s nose.
He steadily breathes in and out as he gets his wits about him, dragging himself fully out of sleep as the alarm on his phone rings out. The cat doesn’t move until Jensen turns over to grab his phone and stop the alarm, and when he looks over his shoulder, the cat’s lifted its head to look back at him. It may be glaring at him for breaking its beauty sleep.
Jensen thinks, how’d you sleep? with a bit of attitude for the intruding guest, but doesn’t say it aloud.
He does laugh, though. Mostly at himself as he shakes his head and gets on with his day.
* * *
The cat doesn’t appear for three days. It’s been pouring and thundering on and off with nasty storms hovering over the city. For all that Jensen thought it was hell to bike through all the rain, he starts to wonder where the cat hides away, where it can stay warm and dry on the streets.
He had assumed all along that the cat had a home. It’s always far cleaner than he’d expect for a street cat, but given its constant presence and casual ease to follow him home and spend the night … well, it can’t be that complicated to figure out that the thing possibly doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
It’s especially sad when Jensen pedals home with 20 mile per hour winds and sideways rain cutting into his face. It’s torture being soaked to the bone out here in this cold, wet weather, but he imagines it must be even worse for the poor homeless animals out there.
At a stoplight, Jensen stares at the rain cascading over street lamps at sharp angles. He thinks about how water coming this fast and this hard will get anywhere and everywhere, and no one can escape it without being indoors.
He’ll be indoors soon. He has an apartment that’s warm and dry, with fresh clothes, a hot shower, and blankets to keep him comfortable all night. The cat probably doesn’t.
He also thinks about how he never cared much for another person, let alone a random animal, for quite a few years. And now he’s got all sorts of thoughts brewing.
Jensen knows he has no responsibility to this stray that somehow has attached itself to him. He doesn’t owe it anything or need to intervene in its life on the streets.
But …
He figures there are few things crueler than leaving a poor defenseless animal on the streets, so when he reaches the stairs up to his building, he stops and waits. It’s still pouring, won’t let up, hasn’t for hours, and all that water is just sliding right over him. He’s already wet down to his skin, so it doesn’t seem any worse than his bike ride home.
Holding steady in place, Jensen waits for the cat to appear. As if it would just sense him … Jensen grumbles to himself about being stupid to assume that. Surely, the cat shows up when it hears him coming, maybe it’s gotten used to the whistle of his bike coming to a stop or the pedaling or some other thing that it won’t hear now that the rain pounds on pavement and thunder cracks overhead.
He gets off his bike and rests it on the kickstand to the side of the stairs, then walks to the other side where the cat always comes out. There’s a short, rust colored awning for the garden apartment facing the sidewalk and water falls off it in sheets down to the muddied grass. Then he sees there on a few thin bricks along the building, barely out of the way of the rain, the cat is huddled up against the window.
Sweet relief floods Jensen’s system and he moves a little quicker than he’d imagined when playing out this moment, slipping in dark mud and spooking the poor cat to push itself up against the windows and away from him. Carefully, Jensen reaches a hand out, palm up and open for it to smell even as it shivers with wet, matted hair making it appear half its size in these conditions.
“Hey, bud,” he offers then admonishes himself for being so ridiculous with simple greetings. But he tries again, crouching down in front of the cat and bringing his hand lower to the ground, right under its chin so he’s not so threatening and hovering over it.
“You remember me?” Jensen offers. “I’m the one you follow around.”
The cat shivers, remaining silent with wide, scared eyes.
“You stayed over the other night,” he reminds it, bringing his voice even softer and lower.
The cat cowers from the waterfall now puddling in the mud and spitting dark water all around them.
He moves in a little closer then bumps his head on the awning, disrupting his ballcap, and he wonders if the darkness all around them with the addition of his hat shielding his face is making the cat even more scared in an already terrible situation. So, he turns the brim of his hat to the back then offers a wide-eyed look as he tries to get the cat’s attention again.
“C’mon, bud. I know you know who I am.” He chuckles a little out of nervousness, anxiety starting to rattle him when he thinks about anyone coming upon him huddled in front of this apartment window on a dark rainy night. He knows it looks far more devious than trying to rescue an innocent, rain-soaked, lonely kitten
Maybe even the people who live in that apartment will call the police on him and how will he explain all he’s doing is trying to save a cat? He can’t believe he’s doing this; how would he convince others? Why should he even do this?
He takes a deep breath and steadies himself to focus on the kitten instead. “You slept on me,” Jensen says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. He still feels foolish out here, putting so much effort into a random stray, especially when it’s this cold and wet. “You also slept on my pillow,” he adds. “And you even scratched up the edge of my couch, but I wasn’t gonna complain.”
The cat stays still enough that Jensen thinks he just may be getting through to it. The thing could’ve run as soon as Jensen approached, but it’s likely frozen scared at this point. Or just damn frozen with its hair flat and dripping in the cold.
Jensen gets close enough to set a fingertip under its chin. He goes for broke and tries a soft, “Meow?” to get through.
It takes a few more times before the cat finally opens its mouth and meows right back.
Foolish laughter bubbles up, maybe even a few hot tears as Jensen feels the cat nudge against his finger, just a tiny little brush like it’s testing things out. Then it meows again, louder, and rubs its nose against Jensen’s finger all the way down to its cheek. Jensen flattens his hand to let it push against him a few times, then he’s smiling when the cat opens up its body and steps forward to really get into rubbing against the palm of his hand.
“There you go, bud.” Jensen touches along its neck with his other hand and thinks about microchips and their connected databases, wonders if this cat really does belong somewhere, but just hasn’t been found yet.
Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll look into that tomorrow, but for now, he’s going to pick this soaking pile of hair up into the curve of his arm and get it inside. It’ll take a few towels to dry off, for the both of them, but it gives him something new to focus on tonight.
* * *
It settles on his side when he finally gets to bed, and just like that other night, he wakes up with it on his pillow right next to his face.
It’s not so disruptive this time, and Jensen thinks maybe that’s just because it’s happened before. Or maybe because he knows the kitten had a rough night before he found it and he’ll give it a break today.
Except when the cat follows Jensen everywhere, even as he tells it not to.
Like when he pours himself another cup of coffee. “You don’t have to come into the kitchen just because I do.”
Meow.
And when he makes another trip bathroom. “You don’t have to follow me to watch me piss … Again.”
Meowwww.
“Okay, fine,” he says with a sigh. As if he must give in to a cat. As if he couldn’t just keep the door closed and live with the cat pawing at the door, scratching and pulling at the underside of it.
He does just that and of course, when he opens the door, the cat just looks up at him and meows. It just stands there at the doorjamb, looking all pleasant and content to be right here for as long as Jensen is in sight.
When he settles at the kitchen table for breakfast, the cat jumps up onto the chair next to Jensen and watches him eat. After a few minutes, the cat rubs its face against Jensen’s knee, leaving a trail of white hair behind. Jensen immediately scoots back to stop the cat, then grabs a towel to wipe it all away. It doesn’t help … at all; if anything, it seems like hair is now pressed even deeper into his jeans, thin white hairs threaded through his dark denim. When the cat tries to do it again, Jensen meets it in the middle and pets it, pushing his hand over its head … and wincing at the rain of white hair that floats through the air and gently falls to the ground every time he touches it.
There’s got to be so much hair here already, even from its short stay, and he’s not looking forward to cleaning it all up.
Jensen walks the cat out and it easily comes with. Maybe it’s just following Jensen, like it has all morning long. In fact, it keeps up with Jensen on his bike for the first block, but when Jensen speeds up his pedaling to cross the street, it finally stops.
He is oddly worried that the cat stays behind at the crosswalk, even when there is no traffic at that time. He slows down and keeps looking over his shoulder to see the cat sitting at that same corner, shrinking in his sights the farther he gets from it.
* * *
When he gets home that night, the kitten is waiting for him, feet quickly, excitedly patting at the sidewalk as he gets off his bike. Once he’s up the stairs, it races up behind him then squeezes between the door and his ankle to enter the building.
He half-heartedly tries to stop it, even attempts to shoo it back outside, but the kitten is swift to move out of his reach. Twisting around his legs, the thing just keeps happily meowing and rubbing against him then slipping out of his reach.
Jensen stands up and sighs, blinks at the ceiling a few times, and thinks, okay fine, I guess we’re doing this. There’s no more fight to him when they both walk into the elevator, for the long and creaky ride up to his floor and the kitten sits at his side and looks up at him with shiny green eyes, or even on the quick steps to his apartment door.
“You’re gonna need food, huh?” he asks it while unlocking his door.
Meow.
“I don’t even know what kinds of stuff you eat.”
Meowww.
Jensen stalls on a thought. He looks down at the kitten with a frown. “What did you eat on the streets?” He shivers at the images of dead birds or mice, and he hopes it hasn’t been that bad for the poor thing.
Once inside, the cat races to the couch and leaps up to Jensen’s spot, twirling in place before settling in a happy little ring of fur and limbs. Jensen shoves at the bike’s kickstand with his foot, glaring at the cat for stealing his seat, but he sighs before the annoyance lasts too long.
“I guess I gotta go to the store to get you stuff?”
The kitten drops its head to its front paws, watching him, otherwise seeming unphased with the current circumstances.
Jensen, on the other hand, is not looking forward to a long shopping trip and surely having to make all sorts of new decisions will not be an easy feat.
Especially on an empty stomach.
Jensen walks to the couch and watches it stare up at him. “Alright, first dinner then the store.”
Meow.
“That sound good to you?”
The kitten twists onto its back and stretches out, its pure white fluffy belly on display. Meow
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Its front paws bend down as it stares at him, letting out a tiny, hopeful, Meow.
“I’m guessing that’s a yes?” After a moment, he shakes his head. “Why the hell am I talking to you? You don’t know what I’m saying.”
It spins over to its stomach and looks at him, paws pressing against the cushion and nails digging into the fabric.
Jensen regrets even the split-second moment of warming up to the sweetness of the kitten in this moment, so he shoves it away with a grumbling, “Whatever, I’m making myself a sandwich now.”
Meow.
* * *
The cart is filling up rather quickly and Jensen’s heart races as he thinks about having to carry all of this on his bike. He has a basket on the back for some of his bigger messenger deliveries but there’s no way he’ll stay upright with this many cans of wet food, a litter box, the whole container of litter, a big bag of hard food, and now … a cat bed?
The clerk, a tall and thin kid who is maybe just barely of legal age, name tag Scott, is happily showing off the wide array of options. He is also giving Jensen very obvious glances and asking all sorts of questions about this new pet and even his home and roommates (wink, wink), all in the name of quality customer service.
Jensen has other, daunting feelings brewing at the way the clerk continues picking at the situation.
“So, it’s just you and the cat then?” Scott asks, and Jensen tenses up.
“Uh, yeah. This is all new to me.”
There’s a flighty chuckle and he nudges Jensen’s arm. “Sometimes pets can be really good company. If that’s what you’re looking for.”
“I’m really just looking for stuff for the cat,” Jensen replies, staring at the shelf right in front of him, all packed with thin cat beds that might as well just be a towel. “Do cats actually like these things?
“I think these are really great,” he shifts, now reaching for bigger, heftier beds on the top shelf. “Cats tend to like being burrowed in, so the high walls help them feel contained.”
That makes sense, sure, but the bed in Scott’s hand boasts it generates warmth to soothe the animal with fancy branding and stitching to the tune of $70. Now Jensen thinks the kid’s just fucking with him, just trying to get a better commission, because the expansive display in front of them is full of a whole collection of cat beds of all sizes and shapes and thicknesses, and varieties of fabrics like corduroy or fuzzy fleece. Not to mention all the colors, which must be the real racket because he thought he once heard cats are color blind anyway …
He’s not sure how much he wants to spoil this cat when its only lived with him for a few days now. Plus, this is the first night he’s really giving into this whole charade, and who knows how long the kitten will actually stick around or at what point it’ll be far too much for Jensen to handle – like this shopping trip isn’t enough of a debacle?
“How about this one?” Scott offers. “It’s a big hit with some guys.”
A pink, fluffy monstrosity with feathers all around the edges is pushed into his hands. The kid seems proud of himself and goes the extra mile to wink.
Jensen thinks about throwing it on the ground, just to get it away from him as quickly as possible. Not just the color – though it’s certainly not his favorite – but the intention behind it, how the clerk seems to use it as a prompt for Jensen’s reply. Which Jensen doesn’t want to make, doesn’t even want to consider it. He came here to shop, not get hit on … especially not when the kid won’t take the hint when Jensen isn’t all that responsive anyway.
He thinks about leaving the cart right here in this aisle and marching right out the door. He’d have to find another store and start over on this shopping expedition … but then there’s a tendril swirling around that tells him to just hold in the absurdity of the whole situation and politely work his way out of it.
Slowly, Jensen puts the bed back into Scott’s hands. “The cat really needs its own bed?” he asks, suspicion obvious in his voice.
“Well, need is a very loose word here,” the kid grins. “But this one is a new version and has been doing really well.”
Of course, it has. It’s one of the largest, plushest, and most expensive ones on the shelf.
Jensen thinks he may need to take out a loan just to pay for all these accessories. For now, he says no to the cat bed, but files it away to check out later. Maybe when he doesn’t have to carry all these things back home. Or something more affordable online.
It’s a whole event at the cashier to go through every single item, and he starts sweating at the tired looks of customers behind him who have just one or two things apiece. But no, they have to survive the torturous length of time for each can and every little furry toy to be scanned by the bored cashier popping gum in the corner of her mouth.
As the bags pile up at the end of the counter, Scott reappears and offers to help. Again, with a wink and a grin.
Jensen sucks in a quick breath and looks away. He has no interest in dealing with this kind of attention, especially when the kid suggests it’s a lot to take on the bike.
“I could help you take it home?” Now the kid’s eyes tilt downward, almost demurely, before he glances back up carefully, lips pursed in a nervous smile. “I’m off in ten minutes and then could come with you and help set it all up.”
“No, you don’t have to do that.”
“I would love to help you out. All in the name of good customer service.”
Fumbling with an answer, something that’s not harsh or insulting, Jensen makes sure not to look at Scott as he grabs the rest of the bags. “I guess just help out to my bike then I’ll figure it out.”
“I really don’t mind!”
Well, I do, Jensen thinks.
“It could be fun,” he prods with another elbow to Jensen’s side as they walk outside. “The two of us, working together, getting your home all set. And I could meet your little one.”
“No, it’s fine,” Jensen snaps. Immediately, Jensen frowns, mostly at himself because he’d tried to shake it off, but the kid is persistent. Must be all that good customer service.
Scott looks at Jensen with narrowed eyes, licking his lip in thought before he finally asks, “You’re not into guys, are you?”
Jensen stops in place and stares at the kid. Not because it’s offensive, but because it’s alarming to have someone be so forward with him. He has never reacted well to pushy personalities, well intentioned or not. Jensen can thank his parents for that. But he also thanks himself for staying so insulated in his own world to not have to deal with it. He’s already talked more during what he had hoped would be a simple errand than he has all day at work.
“Excuse me?” Jensen finally asks.
Scott shrugs, pushing a bit of bravado, seemingly he’s proud to be challenging Jensen about this. “I mean, if that’s all it is, then that’s cool. You can just say so.”
The thing is, Jensen absolutely is into guys and has known that since puberty. There is no way, however, that he is about to defend himself for all of this. Let alone tell him that it’s more about Jensen not being interested … right now, in this situation, or with a kid who is likely a decade or more younger.
An older man – older than the clerk – slides arounds them to the carts and watches the standoff Jensen is currently stuck in. There’s an easy smile there, but Jensen can see how those eyes keep glancing back at them to see what’s going on.
A new thread of tension works its way up Jensen’s neck, to be watched, under scrutiny, when all he wanted to do was pick up a few supplies for a cat that he can’t seem to get rid of.
Never mind that maybe he doesn’t want to get rid of it; he’s got enough to worry about right now.
“But if you are into guys, well then …”
Scott just won’t fucking read the room, and now that other patron is taking his sweet ass time to get a cart out from the others, all while smirking at Jensen and the kid. And damn, Jensen suddenly finds himself staring at that guy because he is … well he’s more Jensen’s style. Tall, broad shouldered, warm smile, even if it’s tilted in mischief, and dark hair messy with one side tucked behind his ears.
Not like anything would come from meeting someone outside a pet store, but Jensen is suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment that this extremely attractive guy is watching Jensen get hit on by some college kid, and Jensen is completely unable to say anything, frozen in place.
All of this swirls around Jensen’s mind and he nearly feels dizzy with the worry of how exactly to respond right now. To either of these guys, really. There’s a reason he doesn’t have relationships, of any kind, and stays far away from the possibility. The necessary pressure and social mores of it all puts him off kilter, makes him vulnerable, and it’s bad enough he’s taking in the kitten and has to put himself to the task of this shopping trip and cat-ifying his home, disrupting the simple routine he’s constructed for himself, but now he’s facing all of this.
Jensen looks between Scott and the guy, who has now stalled next to the carts with his phone out and jeez, maybe he’s recording all this to post online. Like Jensen isn’t already mortified enough, the anxiety ratchets up as he realizes he’s stayed silent for far too long after the kid’s last words.
“Well, I guess that’s my answer,” Scott finally says as he sets the bags down at Jensen’s feet.
“Thanks ... for the help,” Jensen manages to say, rather pathetically, even as his heart races faster under the duress of this strained interaction.
“Yeah, of course. Have a good night.” It’s all said nicely enough, but the kid’s quick return to the store says otherwise and Jensen sighs, to himself, at Scott, at the pile of bags all around him.
Then that other guy looks up from his phone with that same sideways smile in place and sparkling eyes, and shit, Jensen needs to run out of here immediately.
Shifting gears, Jensen decides to focus on loading up his bike and doing his best to get everything balanced.
“He really gave it his best shot, huh?” the guy asks.
Jensen looks at him, eyes wild and breath caught. He’d already suffered through an unwanted conversation with the clerk and now this guy is going to force him into another. So, he tries to shut it down with a short, “Yeah,” as he gets on his bike.
The guy is unphased, blinking for a moment before motioning at Jensen’s haul. “Got a new cat?”
“Yeah,” he replies and then they both seem stuck in place, unmoving, and watching each other. Jensen narrows his eyes with more nerves flaring. “Why?”
Stepping closer, the guy taps the litter container. “I know they advertise how great lightweight litter is, but I’d be careful. It doesn’t clump the same.”
“Okay,” he says, maybe asks, because he’s unsure why this guy is giving him this particular piece of advice.
“So, when you scoop, it all falls apart, which makes a mess.” He smiles and shrugs. “But the biggest problem is the cats don’t like it, so they tend to ignore the box.”
Jensen blinks a few times as he thinks over that, wonders if he should run back inside to exchange it. He glances at the store and thinks about the clerk, goes frantic with the prospect of having to deal with him again, and quickly shuts down that idea. “Okay, alright,” he acknowledges with a short nod. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Of course,” the guy says, a bit joyfully. “Is it your first cat?”
“Yeah.” Jensen tries not to frown or seem uneasy with the questions, even when he kind of is.
“I’m Jared,” he says boldly, putting his hand out to shake, and Jensen is completely unsure what is happening in this moment.
Why on earth is this guy hanging around to talk to him, why is he offering suggestions and presenting himself like they should – or need – to know one another.
The man is incredibly good looking and Jensen tries to not look him in the face, only to be drawn right back into admiring how handsome he is. Maybe this is some sort of joke or prank TV show, and Jensen glances around them for a camera until he realizes they’re still shaking hands so he pulls enough wits together to attempt a simple smile and nod. “Jensen.”
“Nice to meet you,” he beams.
“Is it obvious?” Jensen suddenly blurts. “That it’s a new cat?”
A loud, lively laugh is the answer and Jensen can’t look at the guy when there’s a blinding smile aimed right at him, so he fiddles with his handlebars and watches his fingers curl around the grips.
Is this flirting?
Is the guy intending to be cute and kind here, even after watching Jensen crash and burn when staring down the young clerk just minutes ago?
That gets Jensen’s heart racing even faster, his palms sweating against the handlebars, and he’s sure he can’t control his smile. He does his best to put on a friendly kind of look, but he’s not used to doing that. He’s not used to looking at someone this handsome and friendly under ordinary circumstances.
Sure, he sees insanely attractive people on his deliveries, but he never has to talk to them.
He’s never wanted to. Not before this moment …
“At the very least, buying a new litter box is a sign,” Jared points out. “Along with all that food.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Jensen complains, maybe more to himself than anyone. He glances back at the bags piled on top of each other and curses himself for getting swept up in everything the clerk had suggested.
“If anything, it gives you the chance to figure out which food they like best.” Jared sets his hand on his cart and crosses his legs, all easy and free, and wow, Jensen is suddenly checking him out from his feet up to his waist, admiring the tall, thin lines of his legs and hips, finally focusing on his face when he speaks again. “What’s its name?”
Jensen gulps. It most certainly should have a name, but … “I haven’t thought much on that yet.”
“Is it male or female?”
Jensen hadn’t thought about that, either. “Not sure,” he admits, adding, “But I think it’s a boy?” He just kind of has a feeling about that, yet he feels foolish to admit that. He switches gears and decides to invest more time in this guy, so he asks about his own trip to the store. “What about you? Cat or dog guy?”
“Dogs, mostly,” Jared grins. “I’ve got a big lug back at home. But cats are awfully fun, too.”
With a little smirk, Jensen nods like he totally gets it. Even when he doesn’t, because he hasn’t quite found fun with the cat yet. But he’ll listen to Jared talk about any kind of animal he wants, so long as the guy keeps smiling at him in a way that makes Jensen actually want to talk, to listen, and put off getting home right now.
It really has been years since Jensen returned any sort of invitation like this, to chat loose and easy, and share smiles that maybe say something a little more than a simple pleasant hello.
Jensen’s mind races on to think that maybe this kitten has been a well-intentioned plan from some kind of entity out there. Like, maybe he had to take it in and come to this store so he could meet Jared. And maybe something could really come from this if they just keep talking, and Jared surely seems geared up to continue chatting as he taps the middle of Jensen’s handlebars and gets a shy kind of smile on his face.
A tiny corner of Jensen’s mind asks if he’s gone fucking crazy because all these thoughts are completely foreign to him, and yet … he just wants to keep looking at this lovely face look right back at him.
“Do you have a vet?”
That stops Jensen in place. For all that he’s already done in this shopping trip, he hadn’t thought far enough down the road to consider any kind of health care for the cat.
A moment later, the guy pulls his wallet from his pocket, tugs something out, and hands over a business card. “Not to seem too forward, but in case you need one.”
Jensen feels his face fall, along with any hope settling in his chest, because apparently Jared had been playing this whole conversation to get to here. All so Jensen, brand new pet owner, could patronize his animal clinic.
Right.
Of course.
That’s all it is.
After a quick sigh, Jensen forces his face to something more amenable, less disappointed and frustrated. Flat and unnerved, because he convinces himself he should feel exactly that way. “I’ll look into it.”
Jared taps the handle again and now he glances away with that same smile in place. “Sounds good. Hope to see you there.”
Jensen thinks yeah, sure, but remains quiet as he watches Jared wave goodbye and head into the store with his cart rattling all the way. Once Jared’s out of sight, Jensen lets his head drop and eyes close as he berates himself for allowing even the barest of excitement or hope to bubble to the surface with such a short interaction.
He’s better off just keeping his focus on himself. And the cat, which is plenty to occupy his time now.
With that decided, Jensen rechecks the haul on the back of his bike then trudges back home with everything weighing him down … literally and figuratively.
* * *
At his building, he has to take a few trips up the front stairs to get everything into the lobby. His bike is the last thing to make it inside and then he’s struggling to get it all to the elevator and wait for the thing to crawl back down to the main floor.
That’s when she walks out … that woman from before. The only person in this building he’s ever talked to beyond a quick, muttered hey, and he thinks there’s some kind of curse on him that he has to face her when he’s once again exhausted and edgy at the end of the day, all thanks to his experience at the pet store.
“Oh, great,” he sighs as she steps out and tries to bypass his mess of things.
She gives him a look, but doesn’t otherwise respond to what he’s said. She surveys all the bags and then lifts an eyebrow as she shifts around the bags. “You got a cat?”
“Yeah, kinda looks like it.” He’s now fussing to shuffle his things into the elevator, trying to get his bike to lean against the doors to keep them from shutting on him, so he doesn’t immediately realize she’s still standing there.
“You need help?” she asks, but the tightness of her question sounds like she’s not that interested in doing so.
It also reminds him of the insistent clerk at the store and he roughly sighs. “No, I don’t need help. I’ve got it.”
“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”
Jensen nearly tosses the last few bags into the elevator then stands up straight to glare at her. His mind runs on with him ranting at her how it’s been quite a day and he’d rather not deal with her attitude right now and maybe she could stop having such a problem with him when they don’t even know each other and then he could just go home and finally sit down and relax without all this stress building up around him.
He says none of these things, but he’s riled up all the same.
“What kind?”
Her simple question makes him pause in all his internal shouting. “What?”
She tilts her head and crosses her arms, but there’s something softer in her gaze when she clarifies, “What kind of cat did you get?”
Jensen all but falls back against the side of the elevator doors, allowing himself to relax for a moment. Even if he’s not interested in talking much more tonight, there’s relief in seeing, and hearing, her ease up on him. “I don’t know. It’s white.”
“That white one that hangs out in the front of the building?”
He’s leery to know where she’s going with that … like maybe she’s disgusted he’s bringing in stray cats or maybe there’s something very specifically wrong with that one.
The elevator starts up its angry buzzing after the doors have been open for too long. He’s grateful for the distraction and ignores the fact he hasn’t answered her. Instead, he mumbles, “Gotta go,” and moves further into the elevator so the doors close, the buzzing stops, and he can be left in beautiful silence all alone.
Thankfully, the silence remains for the rest of the night, aside from the easy company of the TV and the kitten’s gentle meows, and it helps him relax. He sinks into the couch – in his spot – while the cat practically buries its face in a plate of wet food. The stuff doesn’t look, or smell, appetizing in the least. It’s a dark beef pate, just one of five different kinds of cans he picked out, and he makes a note in his phone of the exact brand and flavor to buy next time.
He is reminded of the clerk telling him that each cat will have its own preferences and Jensen will have to try out a few. The kid also warned against seafood until the kitten is a year old … and Jensen thinks there will be a lot of things to learn and keep track of that he’s never had to worry about before. But that concern only stays with him for another minute or two before the kitten is all done with dinner and marches across the room to join Jensen on the couch, curling up at his side.
There’s a soft rumble against Jensen’s thigh as the cat purrs with every touch Jensen grants it, even when he’s careful and slow to avoid spreading too much hair.
About half an hour later, Jensen realizes he’s got his fingers buried in the kitten’s long, fluffy hair, and the fuss of his trip to the store and human interactions have nearly dissipated with the comfort of this new kitten. So maybe the day isn’t so bad after all.
* * *
Jensen finds that the next few days aren’t so bad either. They settle into a routine of the kitten following him outside in the morning and coming back inside at night to spend the evening.
There is lots of cuddling, with the cat settling down at his side on the couch – when it doesn’t steal his spot first – and sometimes it even curls up in his lap. Even when he tries to move it away, because hair … There is so much hair everywhere as it is and he doesn’t need his clothes littered with white fur all day, everyday.
It sleeps with him, always climbing up on his side, burrowing down into the curve of his hip when he first gets into bed. On some mornings, it wakes Jensen up by walking all over him and as more days pass, he swears he can feel the growing bulk of the kitten on each leg with a hard poke of weight on one paw pressed right into his breast bone or on his ribs as it wanders all over him.
Two weeks later, he’s invested in lint rollers. So many lint rollers that are used every morning before he leaves for work, though he still finds more stray hairs throughout the day. He’s becoming more and more diligent, and maybe even a little annoyed, when he’s out on delivery runs or waiting on receptionists to accept packages and he’s plucking hairs off his clothes while they look at him weird. At one point, he tries to explain, I just got a new cat, but they’re not paying any attention to him once they have their package and Jensen sighs to himself for even bothering to open his mouth about the whole ordeal.
And he feels like he’s constantly vacuuming. Constantly going over the floors, couch, into every corner of every room to get all the fur. About a month in, he buys a pet hair vacuum off Amazon, but it doesn’t seem to keep up with the amount of hair the cat can shed in 24 hours … or even in the mere 12 hours it’s home with him. The hair situation is utterly ridiculous and he’s growing tired of it all until he finally gives up and just decides to live with the hair.
So, it’s all rather routine at this point and he thinks that beyond the trouble of keeping up with buying cat food, scooping litter, and the constant vacuuming, maybe it’s worth it when he comes home at night and the kitten fits in right alongside him. Its soft purring and playful runs around the apartment with a new laser toy bring out more smiles than he can remember having before.
Part 2
It starts with a meow.
Just a tiny little meow that must be a figment of Jensen’s imagination. It is such a wee, crackled sound that he only pauses for a second on his way up the steps to his apartment building.
The second meow, as raspy and teeny as the first, halts him on the fourth stair.
The third makes him turn around and stare at the space where a white ball appears from the side of the cement steps. The fourth, fifth, and sixth meows keep him frozen in place as he watches the long-haired bulk of fur stand at attention.
It’s perfectly set on its hind legs, front paws presented perfectly side by side, and head tilting to one side as it opens its mouth for yet another squeak. Brilliant white hair stands at attention like a lion’s mane but those wide green eyes are softer than a large beast. Plus, thing is nowhere near the size.
The cries for attention have a strange effect on Jensen’s belly. Something warm and giddy bubbles up at each noise even as Jensen furrows his brows and sets his lips in a tight, grim line.
When the kitten steps forward, Jensen steps back, his heel rutting up against the next stair.
Meow.
“No,” he says in the same kind of low whisper as the wee feline.
Another step and another meow, and the kitten brings itself up the first stair. More meows – testing, asking, maybe even begging – come with each accomplished step, and Jensen fights his way up the next few stairs until he trips at the top and falls on the top stair, sprawling out on the stoop.
He does not do pets. Never cared for the noise or the mess. Hell, the responsibility was more of a sticking point than anything else. He lives alone with a self-imposed purpose to be solitary and in charge of his own well-being, and that’s it. There is no need to answer to anyone but Jensen.
It’s why he moved to a big city with too many people to form any real connection after all. Why he’s nearing forty and has, quite frankly, no friends and a thin connection with his mother back home. In his carefully crafted solitary world, there are no questions asked at the deli or coffee shop. Just service and an exchange of goods for money.
He rather likes the quiet bubble he has in this noisy world.
Yet, somehow, this fluffy white kitten has broken through and speaks right to him, now with hesitant meows and a soft paw at his knee seeking approval to come aboard.
Jensen puts his hand above the cat, ready to move it out of the way, but then it crawls right into his lap to stand at attention on his knee and stare at him. Those big green eyes are wide and unblinking, maybe in a challenge, daring Jensen to do something about its presence.
“Hey, no,” he says, trying to shift his position to disrupt the kitten, but the thing is agile and quickly rights itself on his other thigh. “No. C’mon.” He sighs and tries to move again.
The kitten, however, is determined as ever and re-positions itself just the same. Then it releases its patented raspy meow and Jensen groans.
“Oh, no.”
Meow! it declares, and he swears it’s a declaration of success.
Jensen does not do relationships. Never needed one to get through the day, week, or month. Doesn’t do pets, not even a fish. And certainly not a cat.
But here he is. Staring into these crystal green saucer-like eyes, he finds himself slowly, carefully, letting his index finger reach out to touch the top of the cat’s head.
Jensen would like to believe that was it. That all he did was meet a cat, they shared a pet or two … okay, maybe a few dozen. And maybe he smiled a tiny bit when it pushed its face against his finger for more. And maybe he felt a little guilty when he finally got up to his feet and shoo-ed it away.
He did shoo. He really did, with his hands all into it. He even managed to turn away from the thing, ignoring all of its curious, confused meows as he unlocked the front door, and slid in through as thin of a space he could make without letting the cat inside.
It stayed on the porch, staring at him through the glass door, opening its mouth as wide as it could go in what Jensen imagined was the creakiest of meows possible for such a tiny body.
That would be it. Nothing more to it. He could return to his life, continue on like there was no issue whatsoever.
Only, none of that was true at all, and Jensen found himself facing that kitten every time he stepped out of his building each morning and upon every return at night. No matter the time of day, so long as Jensen was there, so was the cat.
Every single day of the next month, the cat was awaiting him, meowing and patting one paw on the ground like it wanted to reach out for him.
And every single time, Jensen kept on task and resolutely ignored the puff-ball’s cries for attention.
Well, he liked to think he did.
About a month into this charade, he finds he can no longer ignore it. Especially not when he is particularly grouchy and exhausted after a long crisscross route of deliveries all through the city.
As he approaches his building, the fur-ball steps out from the far side of the stairs and stops right in his path.
Jensen skirts his bike to a quick stop and the back wheel skids to the side as he gets his feet to the ground.
Meow!
Jensen takes a deep breath, willing everything he has to be inside the quiet sanctity of his own apartment. To be anywhere than stuck on his bike with the kitten in his way, an innocent yet needy blockade.
It doesn’t move, not even when he tries to roll a foot forward, coming within inches of the cat. It just stares up at him, paws perfectly set to the sidewalk without a sign of fear.
“What?” Jensen complains. “What do you want?”
Meow it seems to ask.
Jensen takes a few moments to watch it watch him back. He knows it’s only been a few weeks, but he swears it’s grown some. Maybe even doubled in size, filling out a larger frame. It’s less a tiny bundle of hair and more like a small adult cat now, he thinks. Jensen isn’t completely sure; he doesn’t know anything about cats beyond the fact that they meow and go to the bathroom in a box.
Its meows are a little fuller, deeper, yet still as insistent as all the times they’ve run into one another before.
He pulls back a nearly two feet then rocks forward, testing if the cat will move out of his way.
It doesn’t. Of course, it doesn’t. It holds firmly to its spot on the sidewalk, right in Jensen’s way.
Another few inches of shifting back and forth, Jensen tries to disrupt the cat again to no reaction whatsoever, so he gets off the bike and lifts it up off the ground. All the while, he keeps checking on the cat, utterly frustrated that it refuses to move out of his way. Not even when he steps over it and takes the stairs as quickly as he can while carrying his bike.
As he works his keys in the lock, the cat meows at him again and Jensen responds with the only thing that comes to mind: “Meow!”
The cat sits back on its hind legs and tips its head to the side. After a few stoic blinks, it meows right back at him.
“Meow,” he grumbles, falling into a repeat loop as the cat returns each of his noises with its own.
It’s not a contest, but somehow, he thinks he’s losing.
Another month passes, and the cat grows in both size and confidence. It now prances up the stairs when he comes home after work or follows him down the sidewalk as he leaves in the morning. Its meows are louder, more assured, as are Jensen’s when he returns its nagging call.
He’s sure it’s begging, in need of some food or water, or just some attention. But he’s not about to be the one to help. Surely it belongs to someone else; that growing white hair, so long and flaring out in all directions, is pure milk in color. There’s not an ounce of dirt on it, so he doesn’t think it’s a street cat, left to its own devices all day and night. Some grey hair is coming in, patches darkening every week or so; Jensen tells himself it doesn’t mean anything that he’s noticed.
He’s just a details kind of guy, has to be as a bike messenger. He has most of the city’s streets mapped out in his brain and is tested daily when handed a dozen packages to deliver to all sorts of places.
It just so happens that the facts perfectly filed in his brain are now joined by the vision of this cat that won’t leave him alone.
Meow, it declares, announcing itself one Thursday evening.
Jensen had a few late deliveries from a 24-hour print shop, so he’s road weary and bone tired. There isn’t enough energy to argue when the cat steps up as Jensen gets off his bike to climb his stairs. He can’t find the drive to get out of its way when it rubs against his ankle.
Meow. This time it’s softer, lower pitched like a thoughtful hello. As if the cat knows it’s a bad time to be insistent. As if it can read his bad mood and thinks its gentle head butt can soothe the internal wounds dragging Jensen down.
“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, tired and quiet, as he enters the building. “Meow.”
Even as it continues growing, bulking up and stretching out, it manages to slip through the thin opening before Jensen can even think about it.
“No!” he yells, and continues on with a loud run of, “No, no, no, no.”
It winds between his legs, tail curling around his calf, and meows again. This time, it’s a long, warm sound that makes Jensen freeze in place.
Even when he can’t manage to move his feet, for fear of stepping on its tail or the whole cat itself, he reprimands it. “Get out of here! You don’t belong here.”
“Excuse me?” comes from the side, and Jensen spins in place towards the voice.
His bike smacks against the mailboxes and the handlebars swing around with the brake handle smacking him in the eye.
“You wanna try that again?” the voice asks.
Jensen finally drops his bike in a loud clatter as the wheels and handle bars are still spinning around. He comes face to face with a woman, thin and tan with long wavy red hair all around her shoulders.
She’s got her hands on her waist and eyes narrowed at him, assessing. Accusing. Mad.
“I … I mean …”
“You mean what?” she asks, voice still hard and insulted. Her face mirrors the sound as she takes him in from head to toe in judgment.
“I was talking to …” Jensen trails off as he looks around for the cat, but it's nowhere in sight. “Of course,” he sighs.
“Of course,” she mocks as she moves towards him. “Of course, what?”
“Stupid thing that – ”
“Stupid?”
“No, not like that,” Jensen insists, but his energy is quickly draining. He didn’t have much to start with when he wrapped up his long day and now having to face this woman – any woman, any person, really – and have a conversation, especially one where he has to defend himself, is not ideal. Not for any time of day, but right now is even worse.
“Then, like what?”
Jensen huffs and straightens his shoulders, feeling the pressure of fight overpowering flight for one surprising second. “You don’t have to be bitchy about this.”
Her eyes widen, and she leans in close. “Oh, so now I’m a bitch?”
“I didn’t say you’re a bitch,” he argues.
“You might as well have,” she fires back, stepping another foot forward.
The brief moment of power is gone and Jensen slinks back into himself. Giving up immediately, closing in, he rolls his eyes and picks up his bike on his way to the elevators.
“You’re the rude one!” she calls at him.
He closes his eyes once he’s inside the elevator and the doors are closed. The machine creaks to life and seems to crawl its way inch by inch, as it always has in this old building, but he’s thankful to be out of range of an impending argument. He mumbles to himself how some random blog post once convinced him that living in a city would be good for him. Get yourself some neighbors. Make friends. It’s a great opportunity to learn how to socialize again.
It’s not that he must learn how. And certainly not again. He just doesn’t want to.
Jensen rather prefers a life with minimal interaction and quiet evenings with TV marathons, his collection of craft beer, and social media to keep him company.
So, getting to know people in his building, especially ones who jump to conclusions with a cutting attitude, is pretty high on his list of dislikes. And that’s a pretty long list, if he’s honest with himself.
That damned cat had been on his list. Is on the list, he reminds himself, but it’s a weak point because he hears a soft little meow and discovers the damn thing followed him into the elevator, has been sitting patiently at his feet this whole time, and now prances alongside him into the hall and to his apartment door.
He’s adamant to not let it inside. He’ll just get a bowl of water and leave it in the hallway. Along with the cat. And that’ll be it. He doesn’t have anything to feed it, barely has much to feed himself with a grocery delivery coming tomorrow.
But just as adamant as Jensen is, the cat is far more persistent and pushes itself between his leg and the doorframe to race into his apartment. Before Jensen can put his bike down, the damned thing has jumped up onto his couch, circling twice, and plops down into a perfect circular blob of fur.
His bike hits the floor with a loud thump as he stares at the cat making itself comfortable in his space, on his couch, and, of course, right on the left cushion where Jensen has spent a year carving out a perfectly good butt-shaped dent.
“You’re really gonna do this, huh?”
Seconds tick by and Jensen wonders which of them he’s asking. No matter who is answering, he thinks he knows the answer is yes.
Jensen lets the cat stay.
Though, lets may not be the right word, because even when he leaves his door open a few inches, the cat stays right at his side while he catches up on his DVRed shows. It doesn’t matter if he walks around the apartment in an effort to make it follow him or even when it finally does, and he marches right to the front door, the damn thing stops short of actually walking into the hallway. Instead, it stops on a dime, perfectly perched to stand regal and tall and look up at Jensen as if it has no clue why he’s being so weird.
Right, because Jensen’s the weird one here.
Pointedly ignoring that it could mean something, Jensen fills a bowl of water and leaves it on the floor by the kitchen table. After a grumbling moment of compliance, he adds a small plate of remnants of last night’s chicken.
So, the cat refuses to leave. Refuses to leave Jensen’s side once he’s getting ready for bed, prancing right alongside him to the bathroom, standing next to him while he brushes his teeth, and following him right into the bedroom. It stays at the side of his bed when he gets in under the covers and Jensen is thankful for a bit of respite from his new shadow.
As he settles into bed, pulling the comforter up over his shoulder and curling into himself, he can feel his body relax from the tension he’d been carrying all day. Through a number of last-minute pick ups and drop offs, demanding and petty people on either end of the delivery, and the run-in with the woman in the lobby, everything had tensed up, muscles pulled taut and angry.
Finally, with sweet relief, it all unravels, and he feels himself slowly sinking into the mattress as his muscles ease and his mind drifts off into warm sleep.
That is when there’s a shocking thump and he opens his eyes to the dark. There’s a faint sight of a white blob on his nightstand that suddenly comes at him, ultimately landing right on his side. Now the cat pokes at him, harsh and heavy with all that feline heft carried on four legs. Before Jensen can move or yell, the thing has squatted down into the curve of his waist and he tries not to think about how it’s possibly a little comforting to feel the warm weight settling on him.
Thankfully, that night is an anomaly.
Hopefully.
He thinks.
Jensen wakes with white fur in his face. Literally. The thing is curled up at the edge of his pillow, turned into a circle with its spine right at Jensen’s nose.
He steadily breathes in and out as he gets his wits about him, dragging himself fully out of sleep as the alarm on his phone rings out. The cat doesn’t move until Jensen turns over to grab his phone and stop the alarm, and when he looks over his shoulder, the cat’s lifted its head to look back at him. It may be glaring at him for breaking its beauty sleep.
Jensen thinks, how’d you sleep? with a bit of attitude for the intruding guest, but doesn’t say it aloud.
He does laugh, though. Mostly at himself as he shakes his head and gets on with his day.
The cat doesn’t appear for three days. It’s been pouring and thundering on and off with nasty storms hovering over the city. For all that Jensen thought it was hell to bike through all the rain, he starts to wonder where the cat hides away, where it can stay warm and dry on the streets.
He had assumed all along that the cat had a home. It’s always far cleaner than he’d expect for a street cat, but given its constant presence and casual ease to follow him home and spend the night … well, it can’t be that complicated to figure out that the thing possibly doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
It’s especially sad when Jensen pedals home with 20 mile per hour winds and sideways rain cutting into his face. It’s torture being soaked to the bone out here in this cold, wet weather, but he imagines it must be even worse for the poor homeless animals out there.
At a stoplight, Jensen stares at the rain cascading over street lamps at sharp angles. He thinks about how water coming this fast and this hard will get anywhere and everywhere, and no one can escape it without being indoors.
He’ll be indoors soon. He has an apartment that’s warm and dry, with fresh clothes, a hot shower, and blankets to keep him comfortable all night. The cat probably doesn’t.
He also thinks about how he never cared much for another person, let alone a random animal, for quite a few years. And now he’s got all sorts of thoughts brewing.
Jensen knows he has no responsibility to this stray that somehow has attached itself to him. He doesn’t owe it anything or need to intervene in its life on the streets.
But …
He figures there are few things crueler than leaving a poor defenseless animal on the streets, so when he reaches the stairs up to his building, he stops and waits. It’s still pouring, won’t let up, hasn’t for hours, and all that water is just sliding right over him. He’s already wet down to his skin, so it doesn’t seem any worse than his bike ride home.
Holding steady in place, Jensen waits for the cat to appear. As if it would just sense him … Jensen grumbles to himself about being stupid to assume that. Surely, the cat shows up when it hears him coming, maybe it’s gotten used to the whistle of his bike coming to a stop or the pedaling or some other thing that it won’t hear now that the rain pounds on pavement and thunder cracks overhead.
He gets off his bike and rests it on the kickstand to the side of the stairs, then walks to the other side where the cat always comes out. There’s a short, rust colored awning for the garden apartment facing the sidewalk and water falls off it in sheets down to the muddied grass. Then he sees there on a few thin bricks along the building, barely out of the way of the rain, the cat is huddled up against the window.
Sweet relief floods Jensen’s system and he moves a little quicker than he’d imagined when playing out this moment, slipping in dark mud and spooking the poor cat to push itself up against the windows and away from him. Carefully, Jensen reaches a hand out, palm up and open for it to smell even as it shivers with wet, matted hair making it appear half its size in these conditions.
“Hey, bud,” he offers then admonishes himself for being so ridiculous with simple greetings. But he tries again, crouching down in front of the cat and bringing his hand lower to the ground, right under its chin so he’s not so threatening and hovering over it.
“You remember me?” Jensen offers. “I’m the one you follow around.”
The cat shivers, remaining silent with wide, scared eyes.
“You stayed over the other night,” he reminds it, bringing his voice even softer and lower.
The cat cowers from the waterfall now puddling in the mud and spitting dark water all around them.
He moves in a little closer then bumps his head on the awning, disrupting his ballcap, and he wonders if the darkness all around them with the addition of his hat shielding his face is making the cat even more scared in an already terrible situation. So, he turns the brim of his hat to the back then offers a wide-eyed look as he tries to get the cat’s attention again.
“C’mon, bud. I know you know who I am.” He chuckles a little out of nervousness, anxiety starting to rattle him when he thinks about anyone coming upon him huddled in front of this apartment window on a dark rainy night. He knows it looks far more devious than trying to rescue an innocent, rain-soaked, lonely kitten
Maybe even the people who live in that apartment will call the police on him and how will he explain all he’s doing is trying to save a cat? He can’t believe he’s doing this; how would he convince others? Why should he even do this?
He takes a deep breath and steadies himself to focus on the kitten instead. “You slept on me,” Jensen says, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. He still feels foolish out here, putting so much effort into a random stray, especially when it’s this cold and wet. “You also slept on my pillow,” he adds. “And you even scratched up the edge of my couch, but I wasn’t gonna complain.”
The cat stays still enough that Jensen thinks he just may be getting through to it. The thing could’ve run as soon as Jensen approached, but it’s likely frozen scared at this point. Or just damn frozen with its hair flat and dripping in the cold.
Jensen gets close enough to set a fingertip under its chin. He goes for broke and tries a soft, “Meow?” to get through.
It takes a few more times before the cat finally opens its mouth and meows right back.
Foolish laughter bubbles up, maybe even a few hot tears as Jensen feels the cat nudge against his finger, just a tiny little brush like it’s testing things out. Then it meows again, louder, and rubs its nose against Jensen’s finger all the way down to its cheek. Jensen flattens his hand to let it push against him a few times, then he’s smiling when the cat opens up its body and steps forward to really get into rubbing against the palm of his hand.
“There you go, bud.” Jensen touches along its neck with his other hand and thinks about microchips and their connected databases, wonders if this cat really does belong somewhere, but just hasn’t been found yet.
Tomorrow, he tells himself. He’ll look into that tomorrow, but for now, he’s going to pick this soaking pile of hair up into the curve of his arm and get it inside. It’ll take a few towels to dry off, for the both of them, but it gives him something new to focus on tonight.
It settles on his side when he finally gets to bed, and just like that other night, he wakes up with it on his pillow right next to his face.
It’s not so disruptive this time, and Jensen thinks maybe that’s just because it’s happened before. Or maybe because he knows the kitten had a rough night before he found it and he’ll give it a break today.
Except when the cat follows Jensen everywhere, even as he tells it not to.
Like when he pours himself another cup of coffee. “You don’t have to come into the kitchen just because I do.”
Meow.
And when he makes another trip bathroom. “You don’t have to follow me to watch me piss … Again.”
Meowwww.
“Okay, fine,” he says with a sigh. As if he must give in to a cat. As if he couldn’t just keep the door closed and live with the cat pawing at the door, scratching and pulling at the underside of it.
He does just that and of course, when he opens the door, the cat just looks up at him and meows. It just stands there at the doorjamb, looking all pleasant and content to be right here for as long as Jensen is in sight.
When he settles at the kitchen table for breakfast, the cat jumps up onto the chair next to Jensen and watches him eat. After a few minutes, the cat rubs its face against Jensen’s knee, leaving a trail of white hair behind. Jensen immediately scoots back to stop the cat, then grabs a towel to wipe it all away. It doesn’t help … at all; if anything, it seems like hair is now pressed even deeper into his jeans, thin white hairs threaded through his dark denim. When the cat tries to do it again, Jensen meets it in the middle and pets it, pushing his hand over its head … and wincing at the rain of white hair that floats through the air and gently falls to the ground every time he touches it.
There’s got to be so much hair here already, even from its short stay, and he’s not looking forward to cleaning it all up.
Jensen walks the cat out and it easily comes with. Maybe it’s just following Jensen, like it has all morning long. In fact, it keeps up with Jensen on his bike for the first block, but when Jensen speeds up his pedaling to cross the street, it finally stops.
He is oddly worried that the cat stays behind at the crosswalk, even when there is no traffic at that time. He slows down and keeps looking over his shoulder to see the cat sitting at that same corner, shrinking in his sights the farther he gets from it.
When he gets home that night, the kitten is waiting for him, feet quickly, excitedly patting at the sidewalk as he gets off his bike. Once he’s up the stairs, it races up behind him then squeezes between the door and his ankle to enter the building.
He half-heartedly tries to stop it, even attempts to shoo it back outside, but the kitten is swift to move out of his reach. Twisting around his legs, the thing just keeps happily meowing and rubbing against him then slipping out of his reach.
Jensen stands up and sighs, blinks at the ceiling a few times, and thinks, okay fine, I guess we’re doing this. There’s no more fight to him when they both walk into the elevator, for the long and creaky ride up to his floor and the kitten sits at his side and looks up at him with shiny green eyes, or even on the quick steps to his apartment door.
“You’re gonna need food, huh?” he asks it while unlocking his door.
Meow.
“I don’t even know what kinds of stuff you eat.”
Meowww.
Jensen stalls on a thought. He looks down at the kitten with a frown. “What did you eat on the streets?” He shivers at the images of dead birds or mice, and he hopes it hasn’t been that bad for the poor thing.
Once inside, the cat races to the couch and leaps up to Jensen’s spot, twirling in place before settling in a happy little ring of fur and limbs. Jensen shoves at the bike’s kickstand with his foot, glaring at the cat for stealing his seat, but he sighs before the annoyance lasts too long.
“I guess I gotta go to the store to get you stuff?”
The kitten drops its head to its front paws, watching him, otherwise seeming unphased with the current circumstances.
Jensen, on the other hand, is not looking forward to a long shopping trip and surely having to make all sorts of new decisions will not be an easy feat.
Especially on an empty stomach.
Jensen walks to the couch and watches it stare up at him. “Alright, first dinner then the store.”
Meow.
“That sound good to you?”
The kitten twists onto its back and stretches out, its pure white fluffy belly on display. Meow
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Its front paws bend down as it stares at him, letting out a tiny, hopeful, Meow.
“I’m guessing that’s a yes?” After a moment, he shakes his head. “Why the hell am I talking to you? You don’t know what I’m saying.”
It spins over to its stomach and looks at him, paws pressing against the cushion and nails digging into the fabric.
Jensen regrets even the split-second moment of warming up to the sweetness of the kitten in this moment, so he shoves it away with a grumbling, “Whatever, I’m making myself a sandwich now.”
Meow.
The cart is filling up rather quickly and Jensen’s heart races as he thinks about having to carry all of this on his bike. He has a basket on the back for some of his bigger messenger deliveries but there’s no way he’ll stay upright with this many cans of wet food, a litter box, the whole container of litter, a big bag of hard food, and now … a cat bed?
The clerk, a tall and thin kid who is maybe just barely of legal age, name tag Scott, is happily showing off the wide array of options. He is also giving Jensen very obvious glances and asking all sorts of questions about this new pet and even his home and roommates (wink, wink), all in the name of quality customer service.
Jensen has other, daunting feelings brewing at the way the clerk continues picking at the situation.
“So, it’s just you and the cat then?” Scott asks, and Jensen tenses up.
“Uh, yeah. This is all new to me.”
There’s a flighty chuckle and he nudges Jensen’s arm. “Sometimes pets can be really good company. If that’s what you’re looking for.”
“I’m really just looking for stuff for the cat,” Jensen replies, staring at the shelf right in front of him, all packed with thin cat beds that might as well just be a towel. “Do cats actually like these things?
“I think these are really great,” he shifts, now reaching for bigger, heftier beds on the top shelf. “Cats tend to like being burrowed in, so the high walls help them feel contained.”
That makes sense, sure, but the bed in Scott’s hand boasts it generates warmth to soothe the animal with fancy branding and stitching to the tune of $70. Now Jensen thinks the kid’s just fucking with him, just trying to get a better commission, because the expansive display in front of them is full of a whole collection of cat beds of all sizes and shapes and thicknesses, and varieties of fabrics like corduroy or fuzzy fleece. Not to mention all the colors, which must be the real racket because he thought he once heard cats are color blind anyway …
He’s not sure how much he wants to spoil this cat when its only lived with him for a few days now. Plus, this is the first night he’s really giving into this whole charade, and who knows how long the kitten will actually stick around or at what point it’ll be far too much for Jensen to handle – like this shopping trip isn’t enough of a debacle?
“How about this one?” Scott offers. “It’s a big hit with some guys.”
A pink, fluffy monstrosity with feathers all around the edges is pushed into his hands. The kid seems proud of himself and goes the extra mile to wink.
Jensen thinks about throwing it on the ground, just to get it away from him as quickly as possible. Not just the color – though it’s certainly not his favorite – but the intention behind it, how the clerk seems to use it as a prompt for Jensen’s reply. Which Jensen doesn’t want to make, doesn’t even want to consider it. He came here to shop, not get hit on … especially not when the kid won’t take the hint when Jensen isn’t all that responsive anyway.
He thinks about leaving the cart right here in this aisle and marching right out the door. He’d have to find another store and start over on this shopping expedition … but then there’s a tendril swirling around that tells him to just hold in the absurdity of the whole situation and politely work his way out of it.
Slowly, Jensen puts the bed back into Scott’s hands. “The cat really needs its own bed?” he asks, suspicion obvious in his voice.
“Well, need is a very loose word here,” the kid grins. “But this one is a new version and has been doing really well.”
Of course, it has. It’s one of the largest, plushest, and most expensive ones on the shelf.
Jensen thinks he may need to take out a loan just to pay for all these accessories. For now, he says no to the cat bed, but files it away to check out later. Maybe when he doesn’t have to carry all these things back home. Or something more affordable online.
It’s a whole event at the cashier to go through every single item, and he starts sweating at the tired looks of customers behind him who have just one or two things apiece. But no, they have to survive the torturous length of time for each can and every little furry toy to be scanned by the bored cashier popping gum in the corner of her mouth.
As the bags pile up at the end of the counter, Scott reappears and offers to help. Again, with a wink and a grin.
Jensen sucks in a quick breath and looks away. He has no interest in dealing with this kind of attention, especially when the kid suggests it’s a lot to take on the bike.
“I could help you take it home?” Now the kid’s eyes tilt downward, almost demurely, before he glances back up carefully, lips pursed in a nervous smile. “I’m off in ten minutes and then could come with you and help set it all up.”
“No, you don’t have to do that.”
“I would love to help you out. All in the name of good customer service.”
Fumbling with an answer, something that’s not harsh or insulting, Jensen makes sure not to look at Scott as he grabs the rest of the bags. “I guess just help out to my bike then I’ll figure it out.”
“I really don’t mind!”
Well, I do, Jensen thinks.
“It could be fun,” he prods with another elbow to Jensen’s side as they walk outside. “The two of us, working together, getting your home all set. And I could meet your little one.”
“No, it’s fine,” Jensen snaps. Immediately, Jensen frowns, mostly at himself because he’d tried to shake it off, but the kid is persistent. Must be all that good customer service.
Scott looks at Jensen with narrowed eyes, licking his lip in thought before he finally asks, “You’re not into guys, are you?”
Jensen stops in place and stares at the kid. Not because it’s offensive, but because it’s alarming to have someone be so forward with him. He has never reacted well to pushy personalities, well intentioned or not. Jensen can thank his parents for that. But he also thanks himself for staying so insulated in his own world to not have to deal with it. He’s already talked more during what he had hoped would be a simple errand than he has all day at work.
“Excuse me?” Jensen finally asks.
Scott shrugs, pushing a bit of bravado, seemingly he’s proud to be challenging Jensen about this. “I mean, if that’s all it is, then that’s cool. You can just say so.”
The thing is, Jensen absolutely is into guys and has known that since puberty. There is no way, however, that he is about to defend himself for all of this. Let alone tell him that it’s more about Jensen not being interested … right now, in this situation, or with a kid who is likely a decade or more younger.
An older man – older than the clerk – slides arounds them to the carts and watches the standoff Jensen is currently stuck in. There’s an easy smile there, but Jensen can see how those eyes keep glancing back at them to see what’s going on.
A new thread of tension works its way up Jensen’s neck, to be watched, under scrutiny, when all he wanted to do was pick up a few supplies for a cat that he can’t seem to get rid of.
Never mind that maybe he doesn’t want to get rid of it; he’s got enough to worry about right now.
“But if you are into guys, well then …”
Scott just won’t fucking read the room, and now that other patron is taking his sweet ass time to get a cart out from the others, all while smirking at Jensen and the kid. And damn, Jensen suddenly finds himself staring at that guy because he is … well he’s more Jensen’s style. Tall, broad shouldered, warm smile, even if it’s tilted in mischief, and dark hair messy with one side tucked behind his ears.
Not like anything would come from meeting someone outside a pet store, but Jensen is suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment that this extremely attractive guy is watching Jensen get hit on by some college kid, and Jensen is completely unable to say anything, frozen in place.
All of this swirls around Jensen’s mind and he nearly feels dizzy with the worry of how exactly to respond right now. To either of these guys, really. There’s a reason he doesn’t have relationships, of any kind, and stays far away from the possibility. The necessary pressure and social mores of it all puts him off kilter, makes him vulnerable, and it’s bad enough he’s taking in the kitten and has to put himself to the task of this shopping trip and cat-ifying his home, disrupting the simple routine he’s constructed for himself, but now he’s facing all of this.
Jensen looks between Scott and the guy, who has now stalled next to the carts with his phone out and jeez, maybe he’s recording all this to post online. Like Jensen isn’t already mortified enough, the anxiety ratchets up as he realizes he’s stayed silent for far too long after the kid’s last words.
“Well, I guess that’s my answer,” Scott finally says as he sets the bags down at Jensen’s feet.
“Thanks ... for the help,” Jensen manages to say, rather pathetically, even as his heart races faster under the duress of this strained interaction.
“Yeah, of course. Have a good night.” It’s all said nicely enough, but the kid’s quick return to the store says otherwise and Jensen sighs, to himself, at Scott, at the pile of bags all around him.
Then that other guy looks up from his phone with that same sideways smile in place and sparkling eyes, and shit, Jensen needs to run out of here immediately.
Shifting gears, Jensen decides to focus on loading up his bike and doing his best to get everything balanced.
“He really gave it his best shot, huh?” the guy asks.
Jensen looks at him, eyes wild and breath caught. He’d already suffered through an unwanted conversation with the clerk and now this guy is going to force him into another. So, he tries to shut it down with a short, “Yeah,” as he gets on his bike.
The guy is unphased, blinking for a moment before motioning at Jensen’s haul. “Got a new cat?”
“Yeah,” he replies and then they both seem stuck in place, unmoving, and watching each other. Jensen narrows his eyes with more nerves flaring. “Why?”
Stepping closer, the guy taps the litter container. “I know they advertise how great lightweight litter is, but I’d be careful. It doesn’t clump the same.”
“Okay,” he says, maybe asks, because he’s unsure why this guy is giving him this particular piece of advice.
“So, when you scoop, it all falls apart, which makes a mess.” He smiles and shrugs. “But the biggest problem is the cats don’t like it, so they tend to ignore the box.”
Jensen blinks a few times as he thinks over that, wonders if he should run back inside to exchange it. He glances at the store and thinks about the clerk, goes frantic with the prospect of having to deal with him again, and quickly shuts down that idea. “Okay, alright,” he acknowledges with a short nod. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Of course,” the guy says, a bit joyfully. “Is it your first cat?”
“Yeah.” Jensen tries not to frown or seem uneasy with the questions, even when he kind of is.
“I’m Jared,” he says boldly, putting his hand out to shake, and Jensen is completely unsure what is happening in this moment.
Why on earth is this guy hanging around to talk to him, why is he offering suggestions and presenting himself like they should – or need – to know one another.
The man is incredibly good looking and Jensen tries to not look him in the face, only to be drawn right back into admiring how handsome he is. Maybe this is some sort of joke or prank TV show, and Jensen glances around them for a camera until he realizes they’re still shaking hands so he pulls enough wits together to attempt a simple smile and nod. “Jensen.”
“Nice to meet you,” he beams.
“Is it obvious?” Jensen suddenly blurts. “That it’s a new cat?”
A loud, lively laugh is the answer and Jensen can’t look at the guy when there’s a blinding smile aimed right at him, so he fiddles with his handlebars and watches his fingers curl around the grips.
Is this flirting?
Is the guy intending to be cute and kind here, even after watching Jensen crash and burn when staring down the young clerk just minutes ago?
That gets Jensen’s heart racing even faster, his palms sweating against the handlebars, and he’s sure he can’t control his smile. He does his best to put on a friendly kind of look, but he’s not used to doing that. He’s not used to looking at someone this handsome and friendly under ordinary circumstances.
Sure, he sees insanely attractive people on his deliveries, but he never has to talk to them.
He’s never wanted to. Not before this moment …
“At the very least, buying a new litter box is a sign,” Jared points out. “Along with all that food.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Jensen complains, maybe more to himself than anyone. He glances back at the bags piled on top of each other and curses himself for getting swept up in everything the clerk had suggested.
“If anything, it gives you the chance to figure out which food they like best.” Jared sets his hand on his cart and crosses his legs, all easy and free, and wow, Jensen is suddenly checking him out from his feet up to his waist, admiring the tall, thin lines of his legs and hips, finally focusing on his face when he speaks again. “What’s its name?”
Jensen gulps. It most certainly should have a name, but … “I haven’t thought much on that yet.”
“Is it male or female?”
Jensen hadn’t thought about that, either. “Not sure,” he admits, adding, “But I think it’s a boy?” He just kind of has a feeling about that, yet he feels foolish to admit that. He switches gears and decides to invest more time in this guy, so he asks about his own trip to the store. “What about you? Cat or dog guy?”
“Dogs, mostly,” Jared grins. “I’ve got a big lug back at home. But cats are awfully fun, too.”
With a little smirk, Jensen nods like he totally gets it. Even when he doesn’t, because he hasn’t quite found fun with the cat yet. But he’ll listen to Jared talk about any kind of animal he wants, so long as the guy keeps smiling at him in a way that makes Jensen actually want to talk, to listen, and put off getting home right now.
It really has been years since Jensen returned any sort of invitation like this, to chat loose and easy, and share smiles that maybe say something a little more than a simple pleasant hello.
Jensen’s mind races on to think that maybe this kitten has been a well-intentioned plan from some kind of entity out there. Like, maybe he had to take it in and come to this store so he could meet Jared. And maybe something could really come from this if they just keep talking, and Jared surely seems geared up to continue chatting as he taps the middle of Jensen’s handlebars and gets a shy kind of smile on his face.
A tiny corner of Jensen’s mind asks if he’s gone fucking crazy because all these thoughts are completely foreign to him, and yet … he just wants to keep looking at this lovely face look right back at him.
“Do you have a vet?”
That stops Jensen in place. For all that he’s already done in this shopping trip, he hadn’t thought far enough down the road to consider any kind of health care for the cat.
A moment later, the guy pulls his wallet from his pocket, tugs something out, and hands over a business card. “Not to seem too forward, but in case you need one.”
Jensen feels his face fall, along with any hope settling in his chest, because apparently Jared had been playing this whole conversation to get to here. All so Jensen, brand new pet owner, could patronize his animal clinic.
Right.
Of course.
That’s all it is.
After a quick sigh, Jensen forces his face to something more amenable, less disappointed and frustrated. Flat and unnerved, because he convinces himself he should feel exactly that way. “I’ll look into it.”
Jared taps the handle again and now he glances away with that same smile in place. “Sounds good. Hope to see you there.”
Jensen thinks yeah, sure, but remains quiet as he watches Jared wave goodbye and head into the store with his cart rattling all the way. Once Jared’s out of sight, Jensen lets his head drop and eyes close as he berates himself for allowing even the barest of excitement or hope to bubble to the surface with such a short interaction.
He’s better off just keeping his focus on himself. And the cat, which is plenty to occupy his time now.
With that decided, Jensen rechecks the haul on the back of his bike then trudges back home with everything weighing him down … literally and figuratively.
At his building, he has to take a few trips up the front stairs to get everything into the lobby. His bike is the last thing to make it inside and then he’s struggling to get it all to the elevator and wait for the thing to crawl back down to the main floor.
That’s when she walks out … that woman from before. The only person in this building he’s ever talked to beyond a quick, muttered hey, and he thinks there’s some kind of curse on him that he has to face her when he’s once again exhausted and edgy at the end of the day, all thanks to his experience at the pet store.
“Oh, great,” he sighs as she steps out and tries to bypass his mess of things.
She gives him a look, but doesn’t otherwise respond to what he’s said. She surveys all the bags and then lifts an eyebrow as she shifts around the bags. “You got a cat?”
“Yeah, kinda looks like it.” He’s now fussing to shuffle his things into the elevator, trying to get his bike to lean against the doors to keep them from shutting on him, so he doesn’t immediately realize she’s still standing there.
“You need help?” she asks, but the tightness of her question sounds like she’s not that interested in doing so.
It also reminds him of the insistent clerk at the store and he roughly sighs. “No, I don’t need help. I’ve got it.”
“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”
Jensen nearly tosses the last few bags into the elevator then stands up straight to glare at her. His mind runs on with him ranting at her how it’s been quite a day and he’d rather not deal with her attitude right now and maybe she could stop having such a problem with him when they don’t even know each other and then he could just go home and finally sit down and relax without all this stress building up around him.
He says none of these things, but he’s riled up all the same.
“What kind?”
Her simple question makes him pause in all his internal shouting. “What?”
She tilts her head and crosses her arms, but there’s something softer in her gaze when she clarifies, “What kind of cat did you get?”
Jensen all but falls back against the side of the elevator doors, allowing himself to relax for a moment. Even if he’s not interested in talking much more tonight, there’s relief in seeing, and hearing, her ease up on him. “I don’t know. It’s white.”
“That white one that hangs out in the front of the building?”
He’s leery to know where she’s going with that … like maybe she’s disgusted he’s bringing in stray cats or maybe there’s something very specifically wrong with that one.
The elevator starts up its angry buzzing after the doors have been open for too long. He’s grateful for the distraction and ignores the fact he hasn’t answered her. Instead, he mumbles, “Gotta go,” and moves further into the elevator so the doors close, the buzzing stops, and he can be left in beautiful silence all alone.
Thankfully, the silence remains for the rest of the night, aside from the easy company of the TV and the kitten’s gentle meows, and it helps him relax. He sinks into the couch – in his spot – while the cat practically buries its face in a plate of wet food. The stuff doesn’t look, or smell, appetizing in the least. It’s a dark beef pate, just one of five different kinds of cans he picked out, and he makes a note in his phone of the exact brand and flavor to buy next time.
He is reminded of the clerk telling him that each cat will have its own preferences and Jensen will have to try out a few. The kid also warned against seafood until the kitten is a year old … and Jensen thinks there will be a lot of things to learn and keep track of that he’s never had to worry about before. But that concern only stays with him for another minute or two before the kitten is all done with dinner and marches across the room to join Jensen on the couch, curling up at his side.
There’s a soft rumble against Jensen’s thigh as the cat purrs with every touch Jensen grants it, even when he’s careful and slow to avoid spreading too much hair.
About half an hour later, Jensen realizes he’s got his fingers buried in the kitten’s long, fluffy hair, and the fuss of his trip to the store and human interactions have nearly dissipated with the comfort of this new kitten. So maybe the day isn’t so bad after all.
Jensen finds that the next few days aren’t so bad either. They settle into a routine of the kitten following him outside in the morning and coming back inside at night to spend the evening.
There is lots of cuddling, with the cat settling down at his side on the couch – when it doesn’t steal his spot first – and sometimes it even curls up in his lap. Even when he tries to move it away, because hair … There is so much hair everywhere as it is and he doesn’t need his clothes littered with white fur all day, everyday.
It sleeps with him, always climbing up on his side, burrowing down into the curve of his hip when he first gets into bed. On some mornings, it wakes Jensen up by walking all over him and as more days pass, he swears he can feel the growing bulk of the kitten on each leg with a hard poke of weight on one paw pressed right into his breast bone or on his ribs as it wanders all over him.
Two weeks later, he’s invested in lint rollers. So many lint rollers that are used every morning before he leaves for work, though he still finds more stray hairs throughout the day. He’s becoming more and more diligent, and maybe even a little annoyed, when he’s out on delivery runs or waiting on receptionists to accept packages and he’s plucking hairs off his clothes while they look at him weird. At one point, he tries to explain, I just got a new cat, but they’re not paying any attention to him once they have their package and Jensen sighs to himself for even bothering to open his mouth about the whole ordeal.
And he feels like he’s constantly vacuuming. Constantly going over the floors, couch, into every corner of every room to get all the fur. About a month in, he buys a pet hair vacuum off Amazon, but it doesn’t seem to keep up with the amount of hair the cat can shed in 24 hours … or even in the mere 12 hours it’s home with him. The hair situation is utterly ridiculous and he’s growing tired of it all until he finally gives up and just decides to live with the hair.
So, it’s all rather routine at this point and he thinks that beyond the trouble of keeping up with buying cat food, scooping litter, and the constant vacuuming, maybe it’s worth it when he comes home at night and the kitten fits in right alongside him. Its soft purring and playful runs around the apartment with a new laser toy bring out more smiles than he can remember having before.
Part 2
