Page 24 of Paws & Order
I don't know which unsettles me more—the jittery cat or Cassian's open gentleness.
Suddenly Gomez darts toward the bathroom doorway, tail puffed, gaze fixed on an empty patch of tile.
He emits a soft, wary mewl.
Cassian is upright in an instant, phone in hand.
He steps into the bathroom but finds nothing.
Just that same cold, prickling sensation of being watched.
He doesn't leave.
He settles onto the couch like he always intended to stay, jacket still on, arms crossed.
I stand in the hallway for a moment, breathing in his aftershave mingled with something wild beneath it, then decide not to make it weird.
Gomez immediately claims the armrest beside him and warbles at shadows.
In my bedroom, I check every closet and corner before collapsing onto the bed.
My nerves hum.
Sleep comes in tight, uneasy bursts.
Dreams of endless stairs lined with yellow tulips.
Cassian shifting between wolf and man, always guarding a door I can't open.
By sunset, I'm still rattled, though the apartment shows no new signs of intrusion.
The tulips droop, defeated.
I scroll through news apps, open a bottle of pinot, and make scrambled eggs for two.
Cassian eats without comment.
Gomez keeps vigil in the hall, occasionally darting toward the bathroom or staring at the ceiling.
The next morning, I find Cassian already awake.
Coffee made.
Standing at the window with that particular stillness that means he's been up for a while.
He nods toward the railing below.
I follow his gaze.
A single yellow tulip sits on the railing, fresh, its petals trembling in the breeze.
A note is tucked beneath it.
Miss Morales,
Your cat appears in excellent health.
I remain delighted by his enthusiasm.
