Page 100 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
SJ is sitting on the top step, hunched over in his hoodie, legs drawn up.
It’s only when I’m closer that I spot Twinklesocks curled into the space between his arms. She’s half-asleep, tail flicking lazily, chin resting against his chest like she’s guarding him.
SJ doesn’t move. Doesn’t look up.
He’s not crying, but there’s a sniff, sharp and quick, and a swipe of his sleeve across his nose like he’s hoping no one notices.
I step in closer and crouch beside the step, keeping my voice low and even.
“Hey,” I say. “What happened?”
He shifts slightly, fingers still tangled in Twinklesocks’ fur. His voice is quiet, flat around the edges.
“I got back from school. Mum texted she was stuck in traffic, so I let myself in with my key.”
He pauses. Breathes.
“The cat gate was open and I didn’t close the door fast enough. Twinklesocks shot past me and ran outside.”
I nod slowly.
“I dropped my bag and stuff inside and closed the door so Thor wouldn’t get out too.” His eyes flick up, and back down again. “Then I ran after her. She nearly got to the side gate, but I caught her by the bins.”
Twinklesocks shifts against him like she remembers none of it.
He looks back at the flat door.
“When I got here again... I realised my key and my phone were still on the side table. Right where I put them.”
There’s a long pause.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he adds, voice smaller now. “So I just waited.”
His arms tighten around the cat. He’s trying not to cry, and trying even harder not to look like he’s trying not to cry.
I sit down on the step beside him.
“You did exactly the right thing,” I say. “And you got the cat back. That’s a win in my book.”
I glance at the door, then back at him.
“How long have you been out here?”
SJ shrugs, eyes still down. “Don’t know. What time is it now? I got here at four-ish.”
Forty-five minutes. That lands harder than I expect.
“Alright,” I say, pushing up from the step. “Let’s get you inside. Come over to mine, we’ll make some hot chocolate. And I’ve got the spare key.”
He hesitates, arms still wrapped around Twinklesocks like she might do a runner the second he lets go.
“She can come too,” I add.
He nods, quiet relief flickering across his face. Slowly, he gets to his feet, careful not to jostle the cat too much. She dangles in his arms like royalty.
I lead the way across the gravel to my front door, unlocking it quickly and holding it open for him.
“Watch your step,” I say. “Shoes off if your socks are decent.”
