Part 4

You woke early. Earlier than dawn. I heard you pacing the hallway, feet tapping an irregular pattern against the floorboards. I glimpsed through the gap in the doorway you must have left for that purpose. When I emerged, you jumped as if I’d startled you.

“Sorry,” you said with a strained smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You always apologized for things that weren’t your fault.

I watched as you drained a glass of water in small, shaking gulps.

I waited for you to offer me a drink.

“It happened again,” you whispered.

Of course it did.

You gestured into the living room as if the memory clung to the windowpanes.

“This time it hit the sill hard enough that I felt it in my dream. Felt the vibration. I woke up shaking.”

Your eyes were paled by sleeplessness.

“Majestic creature. Norwegian Forest Cat, I believe. Long-haired, clumpy with burrs and grass seed stuck to it. Plumed tail. Ears with those points, like a lynx. Big tufted paws.” You paused, recollecting. “So big it practically slipped back off the sill.”

I nodded.

“Do you believe dreams mean anything?” you asked. “Like… messages?”

I shrugged. You took it as thoughtfulness instead of discomfort.

Your unease was beginning to concentrate, thickening the air around you. And yet you hovered near me constantly, as though afraid I’d slip out if you stopped talking.

“It washed its face,” you said, after a moment. “That means something, right?”

Cats wash their faces all the time.

You insisted I stay close while you made breakfast. You moved over the counter hesitantly, fingers searching for some steadying point. You burned the toast. Laughed without humour and tossed it away.

“I keep expecting to see them,” you said quietly. “The cats. In real life, I mean. Walking around a corner with knowing glances.” You exhaled through your nose. “Jumping on a wall to stop me passing. Approach me.”

Your voice trembled.

“With messages.”

I ate the food you offered me. Thanked you.

The sunlight through the window was too sharp, too keen. It lit the edges of your face like a blade.

Your breathing hitched like you’d been stabbed.

Your eyes bore into mine.

“Stay with me?” you pleaded.

I didn’t want to. I’d already overstayed.

“We suit each other,” you suggested. “We’re both sad boys.”

Maybe. I’m more shy than sad, I thought. But maybe, maybe.

I stayed, planning to leave before nightfall.

You climbed into bed. Your breathing was ragged. Too fast. Too shallow. I watched your chest rise and fall unevenly.

The shadows in the corners of the room felt alive. Padding in on cat’s paws toward the bed.

You murmured something, a garbled word. Your body jerked.

The dream slid its claws into you.

You gasped like something had stolen your air. Your fingers spasmed. Your chest hitched.

I moved closer – not because I wanted to, but out of instinct, dread.

Your breaths grew tight, sharp.

It was beginning.

I knew.

I had known since our eyes first met.

On the third night, everything broke.

You barely ate that day. You paced the apartment in jittering circuits, mumbling to yourself. You apologized for being distracted. Foggy, you said. Your hands were cold and damp. You spoke of the dreams incessantly.

“They look at me like they see the end,” you whispered. “Like they want me to see it too.”

You laughed once. A thin, cracking sound.

“I think one of them was outside the apartment today.”

I noticed the way the leaf-patterned curtains had been drawn against the light, against whatever was out there.

“I heard it. I swear I heard it. It wasn’t a dream.”

I froze.

You didn’t notice.

“I keep thinking if I look out the window, they’ll be right there. All of them. All of the dream cats. Lined up. Waiting.”

Your eyes were so wide I felt they’d swallow me.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

I did.

But I didn’t know how to comfort you. That’s the sadness you see in me. The sadness I feel on your behalf. Or maybe I do… comfort you, I mean. Maybe this is all the comfort you seek. But I’m not sad. At least, I’m more shy than sad. Too shy to be of real comfort. Maybe a bit sad because of that.