Page 13 of Kitty Cafe & The Grump

364 DAYS LATER

Outside our window, the trees' leaves are falling. My eyes are still shut, but I know. The cold presses against the glass, which I can feel under the comforter, even from here. It isn’t the leaves hitting the window I am focused on; it’s the cat’s vibrations I am hearing. It’s Mr. Ned on my chest. Again. His purring is the alarm clock I never asked for. Those tiny paws are kneading into my sternum without care. Which, honestly? I think he knows what he’s doing. His nose is about two inches from mine, that massive, little motor of his always waking me up, and that’s what finally drags me out of sleep.

“Hey, buddy.” I scratch the back of my head, blink at the ceiling, and try to remember what day it is. Then I reach down and rub behind Mr. Ned's ears, who shifts his head into my hand, demanding more pets from me. The purring cranks up three notches. Loud enough to rattle my ribs.

The red collar was my doing. Official adoption and everything. I’d caved, I know, I know, but have you seen his eyes? Cartoon-level round. Completely unfair. Mr. Ned and I are a thing now. Probably unhealthily attached, but I’m not going to lose sleep over it. Clearly. This massive lump of fur shadows me everywhere through the café, up the stairs, lying on my tools without a care, or lying across my feet while I craft coffee orders. My little foreman.

It’s been a year since I first met this grumpy kitty. Thinking back now, Kitty asking me to move in just after Halloween last year—easy answer. Yes. I've basically been by her side every chance I get anyway. We are living above her cafe, the place is small, but it’s ours, well, mostly it is the cats’, we just happen to be here too. But then it becomes more than that when, a few weeks after I moved in, the building's owner decided New Mexico was calling his name. Retirement. Sunshine. Whatever. I didn't waste time. I didn’t care. Between my savings and what I’d cleared from my place, we had a quick close. Forty days after Thanksgiving, the building and the extra space next to the cafe are ours.

We didn't even wait for the ink to dry before making changes. Knocking down walls, opening up the upstairs into something that actually lets us walk side by side. The space next to the café we’ve kept for rent, and Wools of Yarn has already come sniffing around, looking to plant their flag on Main Street. Can't blame them, but the space above them is ours.

Sunny announces herself with a chirp and a thump, launching onto the bed. She makes a beeline for Kitty, climbing straight up to her face, wrapping that ridiculous, fluffy tail around her neck like a feather boa, closing her eyes like the queen she is, and starts purring.

Kitty laughs, that beautiful, soft, sleepy sound that hits me every single time and goes right down to my core. There is a soreness in my cock; it’s been present for weeks now. My girl’s appetite is insatiable. She’s six months pregnant now, and Halloween is tomorrow. Kitty has entered this particularly enthusiastic high libido phase, which I’m not complaining about...too much. I just need to ice my groin as soon as I can make my way downstairs, but with Mr. Ned kneading my chest and his claws exposed, quite possibly holding me hostage under Kitty’s order, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

“You awake?” I ask, watching Sunny Buns flick her tail across Kitty’s chin for the third time.

“Barely.” She turns her head toward me. “This one’s using her tail as a weapon, and the other one’s tap-dancing on my bladder. Sleep is pointless at this point.”

A little over a year. That’s all. It feels like I’ve known her my whole life. Maybe longer. She existed somewhere in me before I ever saw her face. Every day with her is another day I don’t drown. The dark thoughts stay away, the angry ones, the ones that used to sit in the folds of my mind and wait. They don’t come anymore. She doesn’t let them.

Kitty tilts her head, watching Mr. Ned and me like we are the most ridiculous thing she's ever seen. Then she smiles. That smile. It wipes me out every time. Makes me forget my own name, my own age, what year it is. She reaches over and runs her hand down Mr. Ned's neck, then cups my jaw. Just like that. I want it to always feel like this. She's here. She's mine. She's exactly where she belongs.

We’ve passed the anniversary of her dad's death by a day. And here she is, smiling. A win. Kitty might not have remembered yet. It’s early, the cats are extra this AM, they probably sense it already, and her brain is probably still half-asleep. But I remember. I always will.

“Kitty,” I urge. “Tell me one thing about your dad that makes you smile.”

“A story?” She bats Sunny Bun’s tail away from her mouth. That thing had been one inch from going in.

“Yes.” I roll over. Mr. Ned goes with me, then stands slowly and shoots me a look that could stripped paint. He turns in his little circle like he is performing a ritual and drops himself right between Kitty and me.

“Privacy,” I chastise. “Never gonna happen for us, is it? Two cats and a baby. Romance with you is officially a plus-three situation.”

“Come on.” She giggles. “You love every second of it.” She reaches over to scratch Mr. Ned, which sets Sunny off with another chirp, begging for her own pets, still half-asleep, still completely unbothered about it.

“I love these fuzzballs,” I state. “But I love alone time with you more.” She smiles, then laughs. “So, your dad. Give me a good one.”

Eyes drifting up to the ceiling as she taps her lip. “Hmm.” A pause. Then—“OH. Okay. Okay, I’ve got one.” She turns toward me, already fighting a grin. “So. High school. I was driving this old Suburban, and I mean old. Like, ooooold. My dad told me not to take it out for lunch and not to drive my friends in it because the seats were getting new covers. But I still had to get to school, so I was still driving it. Without the seats.” Kitty turns to look at me and then continues, “He’d put a tree stump in the driver’s spot. I’m not kidding. A literal tree stump. And there were a few folding camping chairs in the back for passengers.”

She giggles again. “And, okay, it gets better. My dad had also ordered a part for the back passenger door. Which meant every time we turned a corner—” She pauses for effect. “—that door flew open.” She laughs, dropping her head back on the pillow. “We had a bungee cord running from the front driver's door all the way to the back passenger door. Just living like that. Totally normal.

“My best friend Carla thought it was hilarious. We’d pile in it anyways at lunch time, like twelve of us, and drive to the bakery next to our school in Seattle for bagels before the bell.” Kitty pauses, the best part hitting her. “What I didn’t know was that my dad followed me that day.” She turns to face me, smiling widely now. “When I got home, he asked about my lunch. All casual. I tried to lie.” She shakes her head. “He just looked at me and said, ‘So the kids I saw piled into the Suburban heading to the bakery, that was a misjudgment on my part?’” She laughs. “He held out his hand, palm up. I put the keys in it. That was the last time I ever lied to him.”

I snort a laugh, and she giggles again. “Why didn’t you just Uber?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I was broke, my dad just said, ‘Behave.’” Her smile returns. “I didn’t.”

“You okay?” I lean over Mr. Ned, who refuses to move, and kiss her forehead. Run my hand down her face. She nods. I sit up and press my lips to her belly. “Good. Let's go feed this kid and the rest of the residents before there's a full mutiny downstairs.” I roll out of bed and turn back to look at her still lying there, hair everywhere, belly round, cats draped across her like she is furniture.

“That’s why they’re still here, you know.” She smiles at me. “Subtle reminder. Their bellies don’t feed themselves.” She holds out her hand. I take it, pull her up and straight into me.

We head downstairs. The new residents are waiting. All of them. Lined up in a row, tails ticking like metronomes, staring at the back door. Creepy. Perfectly on-brand for Halloween eve. We get them fed, get the bakery delivery sorted, dairy in the fridge, and flip the sign. Kitty is already arranging pastries in the display case when Greg walks in, and he hasn’t come alone. There is a younger man with him who has Greg’s eyes, the same mouth, basically Greg’s whole face. Two little boys trail behind. The Greg gene is clearly dominant. "Good morning, Ms. Kitty." Greg stands a little straighter. "Thought I’d bring in one of my sons and his boys, show them where I spend my mornings."

Kitty straightens up from the display case and smiles. “I hope to see you come by our store for the Trunk-or-Treat tonight!”

“Yes, ma’am. My grandsons are excited to scoop their candy from the famous kitty litter.” Kitty claps her hands and starts talking to the young boys, asking them what their costumes will be.

“I’ll get your coffee, Greg,” I say, and our morning settles into our normal routine of chatter and steaming pumpkin muffins.

The last customers drift out into the cold, their voices fading down the street until all that is left is the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of Kitty at the sink working through the last of the dishes. Hair up, a few strands loose around her face. She doesn't hear me crossing the floor. I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her shoulders, feeling the weight of her, and put my mouth to the nape of her neck. She exhales and leans back into me without a word. My hands find the curve of her belly, and I feel it. A small kick. Then another.

Gets me every time.

I step back and look at her. Really look. Then I start pulling up her skirt slowly, deliberately, and she lets me. Every necessary layer gone like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because it is. Her back against my front. She is greedy, and I work fast to feed that hungry need of hers; then I am gone, her body taking mine like she's been waiting for it all day. Maybe she has. Maybe I have too. Afterward, the kitchen is quiet.

I think about the leaves outside. Think about Mr. Ned, how his grumpiness matches mine, but slides away when we’re around Kitty. My thoughts drift while watching Kitty adjust her skirt, and I fasten my pants back together. A year ago, I was a different person in a different mindset. And then a breeze blew through and dropped this café into my world.

I wasn’t a man who believed in much. But I believe that our two different paths were led together for a reason. And I also believe that Trunk-of-Treat is absolutely necessary because seeing Kitty in curlers, robe, and a green face mask…turns into my highlight of the year. I didn’t know that would be on my BINGO card, but here we are.

THE END