Page 171 of Irreversible

Isaac is here.

He’s alive.

And he tracked me down.

A meow echoes from the living room, and I glance over into the sparse space that houses nothing but an ugly loveseat, a coffee table, and a television.

More pressingly, a random cat.

Mr. Binkers swishes his tail from his perch atop the loveseat, eyeing me with judgment. “Judge away, kitty cat. My life is in shambles,” I mutter breezily, strolling over to the ball of black fur.

Before I make it to the living room, there’s a knock on my door.

My heart gallops.

I don’t get many visitors here, save for the mystery cat. Maybe he belongs to Isaac. Clearly, they’re taking notes from the same handbook.

Trudging forward, I unlock the door and am greeted by the elderly lady who lives in the adjacent apartment. “Oh. Hello.”

A cigarette dangles between her fingers as she studies me. “You’re a pretty thing, you know.” Her voice is reminiscent of my most recent bronchial infection. “Binks loves girls with big hair like you.”

I blink at her, my gaze landing on two knobby fingers loosely holding the cigarette. “What?” Looking around, I make sure she’s actually speaking to me, but the hallway is empty. It’s just me, my big hair, and the weird lady, whom I’ve only met in passing over the last few months.

Then the name registers.

Binks.

Binkers.

“Oh! I think I have your cat.”

Smoke billows around her, the ashy cloud blotting out the deep-set wrinkles on her face. “My niece, Freida—she’s prettylike you—got that same kinda hair that Mr. Binkers likes to catch his claws in.” The woman barks a laugh before choking on a mouthful of smoke, until she’s doubled-over coughing. “Anyhoo, it’s no surprise he’s made his way over here. He likes vanilla sponge cake. You got any of that?”

I fiddle with the belt loops on my jeans. “Um…no. But he’s been showing up here a lot lately. Somehow.”

“He’s a Houdini like that.” She shrugs.

“Okay, well, you can have your cat back,” I say, inching away. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

She waves a hand at me as smoke stings my eyes. “No need. I’m on my way out of here. My husband left me, so I can’t afford the rent anymore. Keep the cat.”

“What?”

“Keep him. He likes you.”

“I don’t…” I glance over my shoulder to where Mr. Binkers is now curled up on my counter, looking homey and content. “I’m not sure I have time for a new pet right now.”

“He’s low maintenance. Promise.” The woman leans against the frame, flicking ashes to the floor.

“What about a shelter?”

“Overcrowded. Poor thing won’t stand a chance.”

Damn.

Looks like I have a cat now.

“Okay…I guess. Do you have any belongings for him?”

---