“No, no, no, no, no,” the black cat hears the girl on the ground beneath his branch mutter. She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her head on them, wrapping her arms around them, feigning sleep. Fully on edge once again, he scanned their surroundings for something that would rattle someone who wasn’t affected by war spirits. The only presence that was focused on the heap of anxiety below was an Obvious teen in long burgundy board shorts and a white tee with sleeves rolled up. His long dark hair is tied in a low tail at his neck, and he wears a black sling bag across his chest. Head tilted to the side, taking in her alleged napping form, he huffs.
“Wakey-wakey sunshine,” he says, getting closer. No, I don’t like it, the cat thinks, seeing her slightly cringe before jumping down from the branch, landing in front of her, and hissing at the boy.
The cat stands at a sideways angle, hair raised and back arched, a snarling shield between the teens, both looking at him in surprise.
“Wow, who’s your bodyguard, Lenore?” he says, wide-eyed after a step back.
“I don’t know,” she says, squinting up at him. “But if he runs you off, I will give him all the tuna he wants.”
To this, the cat takes a step forward, voice an increasing yowl. The teen scowls. “So mean to your oldest friend.”
She picks up her book and zips it into her bag, “Pronouncing yourself someone’s friend doesn’t make it so, Simon.” The cat narrowed his eyes at the boy.
“You called me by my name!”
“What?”
“You don’t normally call me anything.”
She frowns. Is that true? She cannot recall. Standing, she hoists her bag back onto her shoulder, pulling her ponytail out of the way. “I need to go,” she says, reaching down and holding her hand out to the cat. He bypasses it and rubs against her shins. “Oh!” She reaches down and scritches his head. “Mrrrrp!” he trills, laying it on thick.
“Coming with?” she asks.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Simon says cheerfully.
“I was talking to my friend,” she points down to the cat.
Simon snorts. “So mean.”
“Did you need something from me?” she asks, with troubled brows. The black cat looks at him warily.
Feeling very judged, Simon grumbles, “I thought maybe we could go get some food and catch up if you weren’t busy.”
“Sorry, I’ve got plans with someone else.”
“Jasper?” he asks and immediately cringes.
“No? Why?” she looks at her watch and cringes herself. “I need to go.” She gives the cat a long pet down from his head down his spine that arches under her hand and follows the long black plume of his tail, shocking him with her forwardness. The Obvious are so handsy!
“Maybe another time,” Simon sighs as she nods and takes off toward a clump of buildings with chimneys sending up trails of smoke from a kiln and a small forge used by the sculpture and metalworking studios. The cat trots behind her, pausing only to send a final hiss toward Simon.
Lenore doesn’t notice him following her, too preoccupied with her task. He hops up on the low brick wall surrounding the entranceway of the largest of the Arts cluster and turns in a circle before sitting down to wait for her. Inside, she finds a frosted glass door with gilded lettering reading “Office of the Dean, Fine Arts” and knocks.
“Come in!” calls out an enthusiastic soprano. Lenore steps in and is instantly overwhelmed with the number of plants circling the central desk and climbing up shelves hung along the inside of a ceiling niche carved out to accommodate a skylight. As if the surprise was mutual, their leaves shift to gaze down at her.
“Hello, I have a 1 pm appointment,” she starts.
“Eleanor Kistler?” the small, round woman asks, flipping through a file folder.
“Yes, ma’am,” she nods and closes the door behind her.
The woman beams up at her. “Excellent. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Kistler.”
“Oh please, Eleanor or Lenore is fine,” she offers.
“Lenore then,” the woman accepts. “I’m Betony Iwadottir. Mr. Desta recommended you when I told him about our upcoming illuminated manuscript project.” She slides a printed scan of one of her journals from the English class she’d had with him, the margins filled with flowers and insects that she’d broken out the metallic ink to detail. “These are beautiful.”
Lenore’s surprise was betrayed by a small gasp. She says, “He docked points because he said it was a distraction.”
Miss Iwadottir laughed, “He’s such a little shit. Pardon my French. Anyway, that scoundrel clearly enjoyed you immensely, so I gather he did not show it one bit. So like him.”
Lenore grinned, “Oh, I like you a lot. And your project sounds like something I would be interested in. What can I do to help?”
With her backpack stuffed with books, a few borrowed and some given, and a lot of notes, Lenore leaves campus unaware of the cat openly trailing her this time. She does notice that a few folks are smiling at her as they pass. She nods back at them, unsure why Ottarstedt is suddenly Melitown-level friendly but doesn’t hate it.
At the smaller side door of the Spin Cycle Laundromat and Bike Repair building, she checks the mailbox and pulls out her keys. She hears a “mmmmrp?” behind her and turns, shocked.
“My champion! Did you… oh. Oh! I owe you all the tuna you can eat, huh?”
The cat is sitting on the step below her, looking up with giant green eyes, his fluffy tail wrapped delicately around his front paws. She notes the luxurious black ruff and wants to push her face into it. What if… Do you think? Maybe I can coax him inside…
The cat tilted his head as he’d practiced in training. “Awww! You’re so cute,” the girl cooed. “Just give me a minute to put my stuff down and get, uh, my sister. She’d be sad if I left her behind again.”
A sister? Left behind? The door shuts, and he hears her call, “Ellie, wanna go to the store? You need to meet my new friend.”
The air fills with the scent of strawberry jam and whipped cream. A smaller version of Lenore peeks out of the door, “You made a friend for real!?” she asks.
“Mmmrow?” the cat asks in the baby talk reserved for the Obvious.
The little girl looks down and squeaks. “Oh! A beautiful friend! This is a good start, Lenore!”
Lenore herds her out of the doorway and to the sidewalk. “C’mon, I owe this handsome gentleman some tuna. Let’s see if they have some good cat food while we’re there. I am hoping if we’re on our best behavior, he’ll decide to stick around?”
She stopped before she had the key in the door. “Oh wait, I left my wallet in my bag. One sec,” she says and steps back inside.
“So what’s your name, buddy? You should hurry and tell me before she gives you a weird one you won’t like,” Ellie whispers, leaning down.
The cat looks up, startled, as she stares at him. “Lenore doesn’t know you all can talk, but I do.” She glows a bit and shifts colors to his amazement. “I would poomph or changearoo my clothes with my powers to show you I’m cool, but we’re outside.”
“Philemon of the Southern Colony,” he whispers as Lenore gets closer to the door again.
“Philip Offensothenly” she repeats to herself.
“Philemon,” he corrects.
Joining them on the sidewalk, Lenore asks, “If he decides to stay with us, what should we call him?”
“Philip!” Ellie says. “His name is Philip.”
“Very formal and dignified. It suits him. Look at how shiny and gorgeous he is!”
Philemon, the heir to the largest cat dynasty in the country, had never experienced such wildly conflicting emotions before. This was not part of the plan, but he would make it work. He’d be a shiny and gorgeous pet if it got him closer to solving the mystery.