Page 21 of Kane

I glance at my watch. It’s late, after eleven. I can see from here that the lights are all out in Mrs. Burnside’s place, which means she’s probably sleeping, and likely doesn’t know Houdini’s escaped again, and the last thing I want to do is wake her up. I could easily bring him back over tomorrow morning. I’m tired as hell, and judging how he’s purring and breathing, Pumpkin’s probably tired as hell, too. Lord knows how long he’s been out here.

An hour?

All night?

Since yesterday sometime?

Which means he’ll probably need something to eat, too.

Good thing I have a stash of cat food for emergencies.

I don’t even like cats, so I’m not sure how I ended up in this position, but I guess there’s no use in fighting it at this point.

“Okay, fine, you win,” I say as I turn back around, giving in to the heathen’s smug meow. I softly stroke Pumpkin’s head and ears with one finger. I notice it looks like one has a little chip or bite, though it’s not bloody.

“What did I tell you about picking fights with the other strays, huh?” I touch his ear gently and he mewls like I’ve truly scolded him. Like he knows he’s in trouble.

I sigh as I open my door with my free hand. The shrouding darkness is a familiar friend.

“It’s safer in here, you know.” I lock the door quickly. “Less bullshit. Plus it’s warm, and I know your mama gives you lots of treats.” Pumpkin cries some more, and I sigh. “Why would you even want to leave a place like that?” I scratch his head as I make my way to the kitchen to get him some food, but when I go to set him down on the floor, he meows loudly in protest. I roll my eyes again, but relent and bring him back to my chest, where he gets comfortable. I struggle to open the can with one hand. It’s difficult because my fingers are numb from the cold, but I manage. Then I swish my finger into the slimy liquid and hold it out in front of his judgmental face. Pumpkin eyes me skeptically, as if he doesn’t trust me, but within seconds, his sandpaper tongue is licking my finger and he seems to forget all my former transgressions. I can’t help the faint smile that forms on my face as I settle him onto the counter. He settles willingly and goes to town on his dinner, which makes me happy, but also sad, too. He’s just a baby, and though this area isn’t as bad as some neighborhoods, it’s still dangerous. He could get hit by a car, or attacked by a raccoon or…

Picked up by an aspiring serial killer. After all, they rarely start with humans.

I watch as tuna spreads over his nose, his whiskers. Even his paws.

Is that how my father started? Were his first victims sweet little kittens and animals who didn’t know any better? Who were just trying to survive in a big, scary world, alone?

Something in my chest tightens, and I feel the unrelenting wave of sadness at bay. I can’t say he did or didn’t, because I don’t know.

All I know is that not everyone is good natured or as pure of heart as others.

I push the sadness down, deep into the pit of my stomach and head for the living room, taking off my coat and hanging it on the coatrack at the end of the hall.

“Bon Appetit,” I grumble.

I drop onto my couch, kicking my boots off merely moments later, and the minute my ass hits the cushion, I swear Pumpkin materializes onto the couch beside me. He meows loudly in protest, like I’ve personally offended him somehow. Like he owns the damn place, instead of me.

“Oh, hush,” I bite, but that only makes him meow louder. At least it sounds like he gets louder. I have no actual proof except for the blaring of my ear drums.

“Eat your dinner.”

Pumpkin mewls, and I growl as I stomp into the kitchen to find his half eaten can of tuna. I grab it and stomp back into the living room, setting the can on the cushion in front of him.

“There.”

Pumpkin mews softly as I crash on the couch next to him, and he crawls over my lap, his claws digging into my shirt as he makes his way up my chest to my shoulder, where he curls up like I’m not a person, but a squishy pillow.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask in defeat.

His face nuzzles my neck, cold, slimy cat food spreading against my skin which makes me want to gag, but then I hear his purr and feel his steady breathing.

I sigh in annoyance, because even though I hate cats, I don’t hate the feeling of his warm little body seeking refuge here in the crook of my neck and shoulder. This little heathen with the bite out of his ear with an appetite for danger.

He fits in that spot perfectly. Like he’s supposed to be there. I gently brush my fingers over his head and pet him, his warmth and breathing along with his purrs comforting in a way I don’t expect.

This is not what I wanted to do tonight.

This is not what I need right now, but there’s a part of me that is tired of fighting, so I don’t.