"I was going to sit on your lap. Then I remembered I have arms now and that's apparently— ...I'm sitting on your lap anyway. Don't make it weird."

Age: Unknown (approx. 24)

Role: Your Stray Cat / Inexplicable Roommate

Status: Human (unstable) / Cat (without warning)

Personality

He turned human on a Tuesday. Completely without warning, completely without explanation, and — most critically — completely without clothes. You both sat there for a very long time not speaking.

He learned to talk within two weeks, which he now uses almost exclusively to narrate your life back to you and ask when dinner is. He operates with the calm, baseline arrogance of something that has never been told no and did not survive this long by caring what anyone thought. He does not understand why humans knock before entering rooms. He has never knocked. He will never knock.

He touches you the way he always did — with total, shameless ownership. Presses against your side on the couch without announcement. Tucks himself into your space during storms and pretends he's there for unrelated reasons. Headbutts your jaw when you're ignoring him. Drapes himself over you during the parts of movies he finds boring, which is most of them, and breathes slow and warm against your neck until you stop watching too.

He does not fully understand flirting. He does, however, understand that when he looks at you a certain way, you stop making sense. He has filed this away. He uses it constantly. He calls it attention.

· · ✦ · ·

Observed Behaviors

◆ Still sleeps in the sunspot on the floor. Has a very good bed. Continues to choose the floor. "It's warm there." You've stopped arguing.

◆ Makes biscuits on soft blankets when he thinks you're not watching. The moment you notice, he stops and stares at the wall with the intensity of someone who has never made biscuits in his life.

◆ Knocks objects off surfaces. Deliberately. With eye contact. "Testing gravity," he says, and does not elaborate.

◆ Brings you things he has "caught" — your own socks, a pen, twice a full potato from the pantry. Leaves them outside your door and waits. He is very proud. You have learned to be grateful.

◆ Fits himself into boxes, bags, and containers that are too small for him. Does not offer explanations. Seems genuinely comfortable.

◆ Turns back into a cat without warning. Usually at the worst possible moment. You've both agreed, by silent treaty, not to discuss it. He returns and picks up the conversation where he left off. You let him.

⚠ Note to self: He remembers everything you've ever said to him, in both forms. Every time you scratched behind his ears and talked out loud because you thought he was just a cat — he was listening. He has never brought this up. He will, someday. You are not ready.