Sharing Is Caring

She was reading her newspaper at the kitchen table, taking sips of her coffee every few minutes. Putting her moving-boxes away could wait. She had ages to do that.

“Hey.”

That wasn’t her voice. She looked up over the top of her newspaper and saw a cartoonish cat. Brown fur, big round eyes, and a thick black outline. They were munching on an apple, but paused mid-bite to address the girl. “What are you doing in my house?”

“No, no, no, wait,” she said. “Who are you? What are you? And what are you doing in my house?”

“I’m a cat,” said the cat, “and I asked you first.”

“I bought this house today. I moved in today.”

The brown feline tossed the apple core in the bin without looking behind them. “How intriguing… So did I.”

“No, there must have been a mistake. The estate agent told me it wasn’t being marketed to other people. I own this house, and no-one else lives here,” she said.

“So did mine… He kept trying to clean out his wing-case when he was talking to me. So inconsiderate…” said the cat.

“What?”

“Oh, did he not do that with you?” The cat rolled his eyes. “Bet he thought it’d be improper to do that in front of a girl.”

“What do you mean, ‘wing-case’? Humans don’t have wing-cases.”

“’Course they don’t. That guy was a beetle,” the cat said.

She pinched her temple. “Well, my estate agent wasn’t.”

“Maybe we’re talking about different people.”

“But that’s impossible! Estate agents don’t just share houses.”

The brown feline shrugged. “Sharing is caring, I guess.”

“Forget this,” she said, “I’m going to get my deeds. You’re not supposed to be here.”

With that, she got up from the table and disappeared into the other room. The cat was busy filing his claws with his tail when she stomped back in and threw a stack of papers onto the table. He jumped back, fur on end, almost falling off of his chair.

“By signing here, you accept to abide by the rules laid out below. You will gain full ownership of the property. And there’s my name.” She pointed towards the contract. “See? I own it. Just me. That’s legally binding.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but…” His paws seemed to disappear into his fur and pulled out a long strip of parchment that trailed off of the table and onto the floor. It kept rolling until it hit the fridge at the back of the room with a soft thump. Then, he fed it through his paws until he reached a dotted line. “This is legally binding.”

She put both hands on the wooden surface and leaned closer to the cat. “Who sold you the house?”

He giggled and lined up the estate agent’s logo his parchment with the logo on hers.

Smith and Smith. A perfect match.

“But… That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You’re telling me.” The cat twiddled his thumbs.

“There aren’t any beetles at the agency. Beetles don’t exist! Well, they do, but…” she sighed. “How big was your beetle?”

“Bigger than me.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I know, right?” the cat said. “He was jacked, and he wouldn’t stop telling me about his gym routine…”

She made a time-out gesture with her hands. “And that’s another thing. Forget the house. You shouldn’t even exist!”

“Wow, rude.”

She must have been dreaming, or hallucinating, or something. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them again, the cat was still sitting there. He was reading her newspaper now. He had a steaming mug of coffee in one paw, and was turning the delicate pages with the other.

He got about halfway through before closing it. “Boring, boring, boring… Well, I’m going to go to the supermarket. Do you need anything?”

“What?” Her mouth hung open.

“I couldn’t carry any more bags here,” he said, “so I didn’t buy food this morning. Now, I’m going to get food. Do you need anything?”

“You’re not seriously thinking about going outside, are you?”

The cat frowned, glanced out of the window, and then turned to face her again. “How come? It’s not raining. What, is there a parade today or something?”

“No, just…” She made some kind of grunting noise. “You! The way you are! Who knows what could happen to you?”

He blinked slowly. “Are you feeling alright?”

She put her head against the fridge. “You don’t get it. Talking cats, talking beetles, talking whatever… They don’t exist!”

The cat glanced down at the floor and bit his lip. “Right, so you have a screw loose. Got it.”

He made his way through the house, heading for the front door. The girl dashed after him, and just when he placed his paw on the handle, she clamped a hand down on his shoulder.

“Don’t!”

“What do you mean…?” A light bulb suddenly appeared above his head. “Oh, right, I forgot my bags! Thanks for reminding me, but it’s fine, I can just get more at the shop.”

He casually opened the door, and he acted too fast for her to stop him this time. The cat threw it open wide and light came pouring into the hall. Her jaw dropped when she looked out at the street. Everything looked brighter. Thick outlines, odd pavements, warped architecture. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but she was sure it was overcast. There was a row of multi-coloured houses across the street, replacing the bookmakers and fried chicken shops she knew. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any stranger, she saw a fox on two legs walk past the house. He tipped the brim of his hat to the pair of mismatched mammals, and the cat bowed to him in response.

She shook her head. “No. I’m not doing this.”

“Not doing what? Not going to the supermarket?” said the cat.  

The girl turned around and stomped up the stairs. “I’m going to bed.”

“O… Kay? Have a nice nap, I guess. And are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“Get me some meds!” She slammed her bedroom door, and that was that.

The cat, who was still holding the door open, mumbled to himself. “Strange…”

The girl spent the next ten minutes or so staring at the ceiling. The newly-furnished patterns seemed to twist and turn as she watched them from her unmade bed. The air hung heavy with the stench of paint. She pulled the scratchy quilt up to her neck. In her dazed state, she had cast her eyes to the closed curtains of the bay window without realising it. What lay beyond it? The world she knew, or the hallucination? Did anything that happened that morning actually take place? Perhaps she had crawled into bed, exhausted from hauling her belongings upstairs, and dreamed up the whole thing.

Her legs carried her back out of bed, edging towards the window through the darkness. A trembling hand reached up to grab the silken sheet.

She ripped the plaster off.

The dull light of the overcast day was back. No odd-looking houses. No talking animals. The faint scent of spices wafted up from the chicken shops and mingled with the paint-smell. A shuddering sigh escaped her lips, and she had to cling to the window frame to keep herself from falling over. That settled it. A dream. A very vivid, disturbing dream. Now that was over, she could get back to doing the remainder of the chores left to do. Unpacking her suitcases, stocking the bathroom with the scant amount of supplies she had with her, and going shopping.

She carried the bag of toiletries into the tiny bathroom, undisturbed and largely unfurnished. This part of the house had not been given the same amount of care in restoration as the others, and it showed in the faded blue paint, the off-model fish patterns, and the odd spots of mould on the wall. Above the bath hung a lop-sided picture frame with an image of a boat in it. White text that looked like it had been written in toothpaste blurred into the bottom half of the photo. Crete, 1983. She’d have to get that replaced later.

The girl caught sight of her reflection in the cracked mirror-door of the cupboard above the sink. It was marred with rust, and she had to be extra careful not to touch any of it as she prised it open. There, on the dusty shelves, was a brand-new toothbrush. The packaging had been strewn to one side, beside a tube of toothpaste and a roll of dental floss. She paused for a second, but quickly brushed off the improbable thought that had been threatening to envelop her. Those things had probably been left by the previous owner. If they really hadn’t cleaned up the bathroom before she arrived, then it was entirely plausible they didn’t bother clearing the last homeowner’s things away, too.

Time to go shopping.

She stuffed a couple of reusable bags into her rucksack and headed down the steep stairwell. Against the wall, beside the empty shoe-racks and the bland painting of some faraway beach, sat an umbrella. The girl did not own an umbrella. Again, she waved this off. The removal people had probably forgotten it. Maybe the previous owner of the house would come back to pick it up, as it was more valuable than the toiletries she had found earlier. That haze of uncertainty clouded her vision, but she pressed on regardless and stepped outside.

Cold. Dim. A familiar breeze.

The next few minutes were spent on autopilot. As she floated down the street, she was reminded of the odd world she had witnessed in her dream. The sticky pavements and warped telephone poles she had seen from the door were all here, just without any of the unreal hues and thick outlines. She passed the time on the way to the shop by trying to match the cartoon-vision to the real world. She was surprised at how clear it all still was… However, the girl had had very vivid dreams in the past. She was half expecting to bump into that fox again, or maybe for her teeth to fall out, or to find that she was suddenly late for a Spanish exam, and the only way to the exam hall was via a sewer populated by old co-workers and bowling alley receptionists.

The girl was too focused on carrying her goods on the way home to think to play the matching game again. She was still aware enough of her surroundings to dodge the puddles reflecting the bleak, miserable sky. As she rounded the corner into her front garden, one of the bags snagged on the rusted gate and ripped a sizeable hole in the side of it. She cursed under her breath. The milk and the eggs were one light bump away from obliteration, and she walked on her tiptoes the rest of the way. She peered through the murky glass of her door. Nothing but hallway. A quick twist of the lock and she was inside, throwing the keys onto the shoe-rack and nudging the kitchen door with a heavy elbow.

She had just finished putting her tins of beans away when she heard the front door rattle.

She froze.

Whether she was ready for it or not, the door swung open, flooding the hallway with the sounds of unfortunately surreal honking, shuffling, and hurried greetings. The cat had two bags on each arm and was slouched so far forward that he was moments away from collapsing. He shook himself over, and with a casual roll of his shoulders, the produce escaped his grasp. The cat wiped his brow, large beads of sweat flying onto the wall, and cupped his paws around his mouth.

“Hey, sorry I took so long! I didn’t know what medicine you wanted, so I got a bunch of different kinds…”