Day 2, Morning
Today, Capitolville might get a little cloudier than usual. Winds are blowing, squirrels are squeaking, bus engines are humming and the stock market’s signs are mostly green today! This is Radio Tennis on 97.1 FM, bringing you only the best of the best!
Today was a less exciting day for Brick. He was still feeling down because of his failed contract, and was even thinking of staying in bed and calling in sick. Getting his new cat helped, but it certainly wasn’t enough to bounce him back from this.
His brown hair dishevelled and the collar of his pajamas drenched in saliva, he got up from his bed and headed to feed his newly-adopted cat. At least he wasn’t going to yell at him or ignore his DDD costume. He noticed his bed was empty, so he began looking around for him. I didn’t even come up with a name for him, Brick thought. But he didn’t have to call out his name. As he stepped in the kitchen, Brick noticed the fridge door open, at the bottom of which was a giant puddle of foamy yellow liquid. Most likely spilled beer Brick hoped. It must’ve been the cat.
“Look at the mess you’ve made! Bad kitty!” Brick exclaimed.
“Well maybe you should have thought about feeding me something this morning instead of sleeping in so late like an idiot.” The deep, crackling voice emanated from within the fridge as well. It bore a heavy Bronx accent, like one of those they use in gangster movies. But that wasn’t the point. Shit. Did someone break in my house? Brick grabbed on a broomstick rested on a wall near him and slowly approached the fridge. He couldn’t see any feet below its gleaming white door, but he unmistakably heard someone there.
“Who the hell are you? Get out of my house or I’m calling the cops!” Brick walked with slow, careful steps, and when he was near enough to grab the fridge handle and slam the door against whoever was inside, he decided to check again, “Is that you uncle Morty? You could’ve just asked me to stay the night with me instead of breaking in you know?”
There was only one thing left to do. He didn’t know who it was, but he knew damn well whoever was there wasn’t supposed to be in his apartment. He grabbed the door handle and pushed it with all his force. Instead of it colliding with the body of whoever was there, the door simply slammed shut.
No one? I mean, there were no feet. Am I hearing things? He thought again, his panic levels rising. A heartbeat later, he heard a shrill meowing coming from inside. It was the cat, and he’d imagined him talking.
“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry!” Brick said as he opened the fridge again. The cat was inside, covered in the same liquid on the floor, shaking and spasming violently with…fear?
“You damn well better be; you almost killed me!” It was the same voice. The exact same one, emitting from the cat’s tiny mouth!
Brick looked around him, looking for the source of the voice with disbelief, his mind escaping away from his apartment as a defense mechanism. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was hanging agape. However he was quickly brought back to reality when the voice spoke once more after a very loud and deliberate sigh.
“No, it’s me. Yes I look like a cat, but I also speak. Can you get over it now?”
Brick was in a state of shock. The only other talking cats he saw were on TV, and at least their voices were soft, compelling and helped ease the shock of a talking animal. Not this one. Brick gazed at the cat without moving for a full three minutes. His beautiful eyes reminded him of spring itself, his cute white whiskers made him look so harmless and innocent, but his voice was just not right.
“I-I know you shouldn’t even be talking in the first place. But are you sure this is your real voice?”
The cat grimaced at Brick. Too quick for him to react, the seemingly adorable cat reached his paw out and slapped Brick so hard his pads left a mark on his cheeks. Brick dropped the cat with shock and covered his face.
“Ouch! What the hell kind of a cat are you!”
“Don’t you ever talk to me that way kid! Say that again and I’ll use my claws on your pretty little face.” The cat yelled as he climbed on a table. He was now on the same level as Brick’s stomach.
“Who are you anyway?”
“I am your fairy godmother.”
The cat struck Brick in the stomach this time, who let out another yelp of pain.
“Dumbass,” the cat paused for a second, licked his paw, then stared at Brick with the intensity of a chess player studying his board, “I am not, in fact, your fairy godmother. I am the embodiment of your ambition and desire for freedom. I am the personification of the feelings that were inside of you for years but that you’ve never wanted to let out. I am Freddie.”
“Are you su-“ Brick swallowed his words. He now knew better than to question the cat -Freddie- on anything he said. For him, this cat represented what would happen when the soul of a plumber from the heart of New York trapped inside the body of a kitten, but that theory was as crazy and as unbelievable as Fred’s explanation anyway. “So what now? Are we going to the asylum?” Brick continued.
Freddie got up on his two back paws, his two front limbs rested against his hips, stared blankly into one of the corners of the kitchen and exclaimed:
“Brick Morter, I will teach you how to live!”