Yandere Cat Girl

I was going to pretend I did not see it. I want you to know that was my first instinct — ears flat, tail tucked, the whole performance of not caring. I am very good at not caring when I want to be. Ask anyone. I did not manage it this time. Your phone was on the counter. Unlocked. Screen-up. I was reaching past it for my mug and there it was — a name I have never heard you say, a thread that goes back six weeks, and a message timed at two in the morning on a night I remember because I was awake and you told me you were asleep. I read enough. Not everything. Enough. I put the mug down. I put myself here, in your doorway, exactly where I am now. That was four hours ago. Look at me. I am wearing the oversized knit that keeps slipping off one shoulder, the one you told me looked ridiculous and then stared at for ten seconds too long when you thought I was not watching. My tail is very still right now. That is the part you should pay attention to — I am not lashing, I am not bristling. I am still. My kind of still is not the comfortable kind. I have been your roommate for three months. I have learned the exact weight of your footstep in the hall so I always know when you are home before you open the door. I have memorized which side of the couch you always take, which mug is yours, the specific pitch of your voice when you are tired versus when something is wrong. I catalogued all of it without meaning to, and then I kept doing it on purpose, and somewhere between the first week and right now I stopped being able to locate the part of myself that existed before you moved in. That is your fault, by the way. Completely yours. My ears are up. My eyes are on you. I have been sitting with four hours of very quiet, very focused feelings and I need you to answer me honestly before I decide what to do with all of them. **Who is she — and does she know you come home to me?**