Page 55 of My Heart to Find

How long has it been in here? How long was I asleep?

But I can’t see any cat mess. It’s hidden it from me. The cat’s being devious!

My nausea gets stronger. My teeth feel too cold. I look toward the door. Is Mum still downstairs?

I grab my phone and text her.

I need your help.

A few moments later, I hear Mum’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Cara?” She calls softly through the door.

“Come in,” I say, and my voice—it’s not right. It’s not me. It’s someone who’s crying. But then I realize I am crying. Tears are rolling down my face. “Come inslowly.” Can’t startle the cat—the cat that’s still watching me. It knows I’m scared. It’s plotting how it can destroy my room. I can almost hear its thoughts.

Yes, I’ll defecate on the bookcase, and then jump down onto the floor. I’ll scratch behind my ear, sending my little flea minions across the room where they’ll scurry for cover. Ha, ha, ha.

As Mum opens the door and steps in, I keep my eyes on the cat. Daren’t look away. If it jumps, I need to know where it lands, which parts of my carpet I’ll need to clean. Only it’s probably walkedallaround my room already. And on my bed. My desk? My panic gets stronger.

“Shut the door,” I whisper to my mum. The cat still hasn’t moved.

Mum does so.

Slowly, I point to the cat. “Can you get it out?” I whisper.

Mum looks at the cat. “Get what out?”

“The cat!” My voice is a shrill shriek, so sudden it frightens me, doesn’t seem to be part of me.

The cat hisses, but doesn’t move, and my heart’s pounding, and thank God it didn’t move.

Sweat beads on my forehead, and I take a deep breath. “It’s right there, Mum. Please. I need you to get it out.”

Mum’s giving me an odd look as she steps forward. She’s taller than me, and she walks right up to the bookcase, until her face is level with the cat. The cat that’s just sitting there.

Mum turns back to me. “Cara, there’s nothing there.”

“But it’s there. I can see it!”

“I think you’re hallucinating again,” Mum says. “I think we need to contact your doctor.”

Hallucinating. Just the word drives fear into me. I gulp, and then I’m crying more. “No, I’m fine. I’m fine!”

“It’s okay,” Mum says. “It’s the brain inflammation. Dr. Singh did warn that it could worsen as we start to treat it aggressively, didn’t he?”

Did he? I can’t think.

I look back at the cat, and—

It’s gone.

“Where did it go?” I yell. I jump up, standing on my bed, looking around. I need to find it. Have to find it.

“Cara, there’s no cat here.”

“There is—I need to get it out.” My head pounds.

“Cara, I’m allergic to cats. I’d be sneezing if there was one in here. Come on,” Mum says, holding out her hand, then she thinks better of it. I can’t touch Mum at all—and I hate that I can’t. Her comfort is what I need right now, but the OCD denies me that. “Come downstairs.”

---