Page 4 of Dead Pretty

It’s gray and white. Fluffy. Totally adorable.

I stop when I reach it. Bend down and give it a pet. “Hey, cutie.”

It meows, nuzzling its head against my hand.

“What are you doing out here, all by your lonesome?”

I look around to see if anyone else is in the hall, maybe its owner, but no sign of anyone.

I check for a collar, but it isn’t wearing one.

Maybe it’s a stray that got in the building.

Do I just leave it here?

It would be mean to just leave it, but my track record with cats is not good.

The last cat I liked was killed.

Because of me.

My spine stiffens. I stand abruptly and start to walk away toward my apartment.

Seconds later, guilt catches up with me, and I glance back over my shoulder.

The cat is following me.

“Oh, honey, no, you don’t want to follow me. Cats and me, well, we are …” I sigh and shake my head. “Basically, long story short, you’re better off elsewhere.”

And now, I’m explaining myself to a cat.

This is what solitude will do to a person.

I keep walking, and when I reach my door, the cat is next to my feet, brushing up against my leg.

“I don’t have kitty food, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I sigh down at the cat, who is just looking up at me. “The last cat I liked … well, let me just say, it didn’t work out so well for him.”

The little stray meows up at me.

I sigh again and put my key in the door, unlocking it. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I open the door, and the cat trots on in.

I close the door behind us and lock it. Slide the upper and lower dead bolts into place and put on the chain.

I put my bag down and then do a sweep of the apartment, like I always do. A routine I have to do every time I come home.

Checking all the rooms, every place a person could possibly hide in my small apartment. I make sure the windows are still locked. And I turn on all the lights. Even though it’s still light outside, it will be dark soon, and I don’t like walking into any room when it’s dark.

When my search is done, I come back to the living room. The cat has made itself at home on the sofa.

I shrug off my coat, hanging it up, and kick off my shoes.

“You hungry, huh?” I walk into the kitchen. “Well, I don’t have cat food. But I think I have some canned tuna.”

I reach into the cupboard and get a can of tuna, hidden behind the soup.

I get a clean saucer from the dishwasher and open up the can.