Page 82 of Cat’s Guide To Romance

I stretch until my toes curl, then roll directly into the patch of sunlight like the cat I am. Usually, by now, I’d already be up. Ferris would need to get to school. Someone would need breakfast. Mama would have something for me to do before I went to work.

Nobody needs me this morning. The thought doesn’t hurt like it used to. I curl onto my side, tuck my hands beneath my cheek, and let the sun bake me. I have absolutely nothing I need to do today. So I go back to sleep.

The next time I wake up, it’s almost eleven, and I’ve somehow moved halfway across the mattress to stay in the sun. I have no memory of doing this. Cat instincts are a hell of a thing.

“Oh, my gods.” I sit up so quickly my head spins, and for one horrible second, panic crashes through me. Ferris has been at school for hours. Mama must be wondering where I am. I reach for my phone before my brain catches up with the rest of me. Ferris isn’t my responsibility anymore. He hasn’t been for weeks.

I stare at my phone, anyway. There are twenty-three messages in the group chat, two pictures from Mama, and a message from Lucien sent sometime around four this morning.

Lucien: Home. Nobody died. Successful evening. I deserve praise.

Another message came two minutes later.

Lucien: Also, I miss you.

I grin so hard my cheeks hurt as I type back.

Sparkle: I’m proud of you for not letting anyone die. Very impressive.

The little delivered appears beneath it, but there’s no immediate response. Hopefully, he’s still asleep. He worked late, and I’ve been trying to convince him that owning The Rot doesn’t mean he has to personally keep the building standing through force of will. The hypocritical demon spent weeks telling me I needed to let people help me, then acted offended when I pointed out he does the exact same shit.

I throw the blankets off and stretch until my back pops. My tail flicks happily behind me as I wander into the kitchen wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and underwear. I pour cereal into a mixing bowl because all the normal bowls are dirty, then stand at the counter eating while I stare at the sink.

There are dishes in there. I should wash them. I even take one step toward the sink before stopping and looking down at my cereal.

The dishes will still exist after breakfast.

I carry my giant bowl into the living room, turn on the television, and curl into the corner of my couch. One of my twelve completely necessary decorative pillows goes behind my back while another gets shoved under my arm. I spend twenty minutes trying to find something to watch before settling on a ridiculous human show about people renovating houses. I don’t accomplish anything, and it’s wonderful.

By the time I finally shower and get dressed, afternoon sunlight pours across the living room and catches the glitter on the wall. Tiny flecks of light dance across the room. Maybe I’ll paint the second bedroom.

I wander into it and stare at the mostly empty space. There are still a few boxes shoved against one wall, along with random things I didn’t know where else to put when I moved in. I originally thought I needed to decide what the room was for before I did anything with it. Office. Guest room. Hobby room. Something useful.

Maybe it doesn’t need to be useful.

I could fill it with books. Or plants. Or a giant cat tree, even though I don’t particularly need one. Actually, a giant cat tree sounds fucking amazing. I could climb it in cat form and sleep in the sun. My phone is in my hand before I can reconsider.

Sparkle: Do you think it would be weird if I put a giant cat tree in my spare bedroom?

Lucien answers almost immediately.

Lucien: No! Do it immediately!

I snort and lean against the doorframe.

Sparkle: I thought you were sleeping.

Lucien: I was. My kitty summoned me.

Sparkle: Go back to sleep.

Lucien: Bossy. I like it.

I smile at the screen before putting my phone away. Maybe I will buy the cat tree. Maybe I’ll turn the entire room into a place where nothing matches and nothing serves any purpose except making me happy. I could get a shelf for all the souvenirs Lucien and I keep collecting whenever we go somewhere. I could do anything, and the thought doesn’t scare me anymore.

I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, and I’m okay with that. I like working at Flutter and Fangs. I like dancing. I like bartending. Maybe I’ll do that forever. Maybe I won’t. I might take a class in something completely useless, learn to paint, travel more, or decide I hate all of those things and try something else. Nobody is waiting for me to choose the right thing. I get to choose whatever the fuck I want.

My chest feels strangely full as I wander back into the living room. There are still dishes in my sink. I have laundry piled beside my bedroom door, and one of my moving boxes has been sitting unopened for so long I don’t remember what’s inside it. My life isn’t particularly impressive, but I love it.