the cat’s meow
There was a container in his front door.
Shouta looked down at the pink lunch box adorned with Hello Kitty’s cheerful, winking face. He could tell without even picking it up that the food inside was still warm, fresh from the stove.
His sleep-heavy eyes flicked to the closed door next to his apartment.
It’s been two weeks since his encounter with his neighbour and the awkward misunderstanding of his cat’s living status was filled with embarrassed apologies from her, interspersed with Shouta’s verses of ‘it’s fine’, ‘don’t worry about it’, and ‘it’s okay’. Since that day, their paths hadn’t crossed again, much to Mochi’s chagrin, as there had been no more offerings of expensive tuna left outside her door.
“You know what you did,” Shouta glared at the calico glowering at him from the window sill.
He assumed that would be the end of things—that he could return to his usual routine, focusing on getting Mochi to a healthier weight. Work, patrol, eat, sleep, and repeat. He figured the awkwardness between him and his next-door neighbor would dissipate with time, or perhaps she would choose to avoid him out of embarrassment and leave him in peace. But then the food containers started appearing.
Almost a week ago, the first of the food deliveries made itself known just as he was leaving for work at UA, he had nearly stepped on the brown paper bag holding some fresh pastries, his quick reflexes just saving the savoury delights from meeting an untimely end underfoot. He had placed the paper bag on his neighbour’s door, thinking it was a misplaced delivery.
The next day, he came home from teaching to find a still-warm food container sitting in front of his door, and then again on the next day, and the next day until he couldn’t deny that the food was left specifically for him and the main culprit was his elusive neighbour herself, though he never could catch her in the act. Even when he returned from patrol in the crack of dawn a container of warm food waited at his doorstep for him. Still, he ate none of them, leaving them at his doorstep untouched until they would eventually be taken back and a freshly made one would take its place the next day.
That his neighbour persisted in giving him cooked meals made him all kinds of suspicious as any hero worth their licence would. He did his background check the same night he met his new neighbour.
Harini Lily Potter, 28 years old, parents deceased, only child, emigrated from England, on a resident visa and currently works in a pet rescue.
The basics, really. Any additional requests would only complicate his simple background check—especially for foreigners. He doubted they’d be too impressed if his only reason for making such a request was ‘she’s giving me home-cooked meals and it’s a waste of food because I’m too paranoid to eat it’.
With a sigh, Shouta picked up the lunchbox, feeling its warmth against the early morning chill, and set it down at his neighbor’s front door. Then, he set off for another day at UA, putting the fiasco in the back of his mind to focus on the lesson plan for the day.
There were would-be heroes to break in after all.
≽^-⩊-^≼ ≽^•⩊•^≼≽^-⩊-^≼ ≽^•⩊•^≼
It’s a well known fact that Mochi owns the whole building. The top tom. The landlord. The alpha.
The Tsuki Apartment Complex is undeniably his domain. The neighbourhood strays are acutely aware of his authority, and Mochi takes great pleasure in reminding the residents of their place. Scritches and treats are not just welcomed; they’re mandatory. In return, he offers them his protective watch. But peace is a fragile thing, and it was recently shattered by an uninvited guest.
About a month ago, a swaggering tom cat intruded into Mochi’s territory, shamelessly hogging the food meant for the strays and flirting with the females, even those nursing their litters. He was upending the well-maintained order of Mochi’s kingdom, and Mochi did not tolerate it one bit.
He and the intruding tom cat battled it out in the apartment roof tops. Claws unsheathed, kicks thrown, and bites exchanged—the two toms fought fiercely. In the end, it was Mochi who emerged victorious (as if there were any doubt). He had driven the black and white tom out of his territory with half an ear and marks to remember him by. Though, he had left Mochi with some nasty marks on his own, nothing life threatening but he knew one look at the state of him and Shouta would rush him straight to that awful, terrible place where all the other sick animals go and the he’d have to be confined by that horrible contraption! The Panini Press, the humans running that house of horrors called it.
It would be nothing short of a humiliating display, and Mochi, as the top cat in the neighbourhood, had too much pride for that. What would the female cats think if he returned home donning the cone of shame and smelling of that wretched odour from the vet? No way was he risking his reputation!
His dilemma found a solution with her arrival—a new scent wafting through his apartment block. She smelled like the afternoon sunlight hitting his favourite spot in the carpet, floral whispers of blooming lavenders and the aroma of something baked and sweet. It was an alluring scent and Mochi had sauntered in while she was moving her things inside the bare apartment (Shouta had been away to something he calls work, which is always followed by a tired sigh) to properly scope out the new resident in his property.
She had been shocked at the state of him: patches of fur stained with dirt and blood, and face littered with scratches— the visage of a strong and triumphant feline. The new human had promptly rummaged around her cold box that he recognised housed the foods that Shouta deemed ‘not allowed’ and pulled out a hefty chunk of fatty tuna. To his surprise and delight, she had chopped and served it to him on a nice little bowl.
“You poor thing…You must be toughing it out on the streets for a while now, huh?” She crouched near him, not hovering but close enough that her presence was noted. Mochi, however, was too engrossed in devouring the delectable fish, his contented grumbles resonating as long as she kept supplying him with tuna.
His contentment granted her the liberty to run her hand gently down his back.
“Let’s sort out those scratches…” she murmured. “Stay still, kitty.”
Droplets began to fall on Mochi’s face, soaking his wounds, prompting him to shake his head in an attempt to dispel the strange sensation. What was that? Medicine? Like the unpleasant-smelling stuff the humans smeared on his fur? With a disapproving noise, he glanced at the smiling lady but quickly became distracted by a plate of tuna she presented to him.
As he savoured a second serving, he was blissfully ignorant of the scratches that healed without leaving a mark on his body. One thing was certain in Mochi’s mind: he would be making frequent visits to this place, especially if she continued to dish out such gourmet meals fit for a feline of his calibre.
Shouta could certainly learn a thing or two from her.
(In the teacher’s lounge, Eraserhead let out a sneeze. “Better not be catching anything,” he muttered to himself and cast his gaze back to the paperwork in front of him.)