Page 3 of Trick me. Treat me

Mr. Pickles is looking forward to meeting you.

A photo follows, and suddenly my murderer has a face. A tiny, furry black one. I zoom in, a smile creeping across my face as I look at a cat sitting on what looks like an enormous dark green velvet couch, his tail curled nearly around his paws. He’s completely black except for two huge amber eyes staring directly at the camera.

“Awwwwwwww.” I squeak, because he’s freaking adorable. There’s something almost grumpy about his little face. “Mr. Pickles?” I giggle.

The photo looks normal. The couch looks normal. There’s a coffee table behind him with a mug sitting on it and a book facedown beside it. The edge of a stone fireplace is visible in the background. Just a normal looking house. A normal cat. And clearly normal people who just have no idea how terrifying their messages sound.

Me

He’s very cute.

Unknown

Oh, he knows it.

A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. Okay. Maybe they’re just weird. Rich people are weird. Five-hundred-dollars-for-one-night-of-cat-sitting people are probably especially weird.

I look at Mr. Pickles again, a small smile ghosting my lips.

Me

What do I need to bring?

Unknown

Clothes for one night. Toiletries. Anything else you want. Food and drinks are provided.

I find myself relaxing slightly.

Me

Does Mr. Pickles need any medication or anything?

Unknown

No. Feed him at 6 p.m. and 7 a.m. Keep his water bowl full. Do not let him outside.

Ahh, finally some actual cat-sitting instructions. Now this feels normal. Mostly.

Me

Got it. Where will I be picked up?

Uknown

Your apartment.

I freeze, my smile disappearing. I didn’t tell them where I lived. It’s not on my profile, that would be stupid. StudentWork doesn’t show employers my home address. I’m almost certain it doesn’t. My pulse starts beating hard beneath my jaw as I switch apps so quickly I nearly drop my phone, opening my profile and scrolling through my information. Nope… definitely no address. I go into settings and my contact information. Still no address.

I re-open the text thread, my fingers feeling suddenly cold yet sweaty.

Me

How do you know where I live?

I watch as the dots appear and reappear constantly. I wait, anxiously bouncing my leg.

Unknown