At the ground level was a simple wooden table, in which sat a rather bored looking freckled grey cat, reading a picture book. The cat didn’t seem interested in the first edition of Illustrations from Children’s Nightmares, instead longingly glaring towards an empty rubber bowl. How long had he been waiting for food, she wondered?
(unedited)
Something was familiar about the cat, whose fur looked slightly wet and damp. Had he been sitting in the rain, and how exactly had he found a way inside, especially this high up? Iris approached slowly, careful to not cause further twitches; around his neck was a tiny collar with a strand of information. His name was Lance, a Nebelung—a rather rare breed, especially around cooler environments. As she crossed the precipice of the library her movements caught Lance’s attention, causing him to become stiff, wearing an expression that seemed almost petrified.
“Hi,” Iris offered gently, though a moment later she felt rather idiotic. It was unlikely that Lance understood her intentions, though there was one language that was easily-enough translated. Carefully, she trotted towards the far left side of the room, in which housed a mostly empty cabinet—expect for a nondescript black bag of cat food and jug of water.
“Are you hungry?”
Lance did not respond, which did not surprise her, though his interest in the odd girl was renewed; suddenly, he hopped off the chair, briskly lurching towards the bowl. He knew what exactly he wanted, which although was annoying also brought upon a smile. Iris assumed his attitude change as an invitation to approach, and so she came to a whisper of the cat, pouring a half-bag full of the feed and water. He slurped the water as if stranded in the dessert for several days, causing splashes which bounced onto the nearby ground as well as his paws. His attention next turned to the food, frothing with hunger so-much-so that the bowl was half empty within seconds, despite being filled to the top.
“Hey, slow down,” she scorned, dropping to one knee and very gently caressing his fur. Lance’s coat was soft and delicate, with lines of silvery whisks flowing freely; it was illustrious, expect for a scorched, blackened spot on his back, which stood out. He had to be several years old, she guessed, appearing quite heavy with sturdy, muscled arms and legs. Despite her inscrutable warnings, he continued eating with ferocious speed, raving through the food bowl before it was almost entirely empty.
“Damn. You were rather hungry, weren’t you?” she asked with a chuckle, watching as his vivid green eyes met hers. The eyes were the colors of emerald, which certainly fit with the over extravagance. “Your eyes are like mine,” she said with a random happiness, extending her palm out openly, hoping to make further contact.
For a moment both loomed, making no sudden moves towards the other. Like two soldiers on a battlefield, they stared not with contempt or disgust, but complete curiosity. Was he evaluating her person, determining the moral righteous of one so heinously corrupted that anything remotely decent was taken by atrophy? Iris went pale, preparing to leave as certainly his only evaluation could be rather critical, but then something happened. Instead of turning away, Lance dived into her arms, trampling her dress with wet splotches. Both flushed as Iris dropped to her back, the cat hopping around with giddy excitement, intently licking at her bleached arms and sore legs, playing to his heart’s content. If only it was easy to make friends, she might have gained several; as she slid back onto the wall, Lance followed. The cat seemed to have found a temporary owner.
“A bit of a traitor, isn’t he?” asked a mysterious voice, reverberating off the walls and echoing across the library.