Chapter Text
It was a Wednesday night when it first happened. Ed walked in the door to his house, threw his keys in the bowl by the door, took off his boots, and hung up his leather jacket. He took his hair down from the messy bun he’d thrown it in toward the end of his shift and combed his fingers through it as he shook it loose.
He stretched his arms above his head and leaned back, trying to get his back to pop. He’d spent the last few hours hunched over a client, working on an intricate back piece at his tattoo studio. He was exhausted and all he wanted was to zone out on the couch with some mindless TV and maybe a bit of light to moderate doom scrolling.
But first, a beer. He flicked on the kitchen light and headed straight for the fridge, grabbing a bottle, twisting off the cap and taking a sip. When he turned away from the fridge, he nearly choked.
There, sitting perfectly still in the middle of his kitchen table, was a cat. An orange, stripey tabby cat. Which was very fucking weird because Ed most assuredly did not have a cat, stripey or otherwise.
It’s a nice looking cat, Ed thought to himself, which he’s never really thought about a cat before.
“Fuck did you come from, mate?” And great, now he’s talking to a cat that’s not his.
The cat slowly blinked its eyes at him. It lifted a paw to its face and began licking.
Ed continued to stare. He then looked around the kitchen for a point of entry, but came up with nothing. As he took a step toward the kitchen table, the cat leapt down. It sauntered towards the living room, pausing to look back at Ed with an expression he could only interpret as “Well, are you coming?” And so what else was Ed supposed to do but follow the strange little visitor into the next room? The cat sat in front of the couch, flicking its tail a bit.
“Mrow.” And then with a determined swish of its tail, up it jumped, settling onto one of the end cushions.
“Read my fuckin’ mind, mate,” Ed said, sighing as he collapsed down in the middle of the couch with his beer in hand. He grabbed the remote and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. He took another pull from the bottle, eyeing the cat.
“Was gonna watch a baking show. You good with that?” What in the actual fuck was he doing? He laughed to himself as he turned on the TV and scrolled to find his current episode. Every few minutes he glanced over to his right, met with wide green eyes staring into his own. As the show continued to play, Ed relaxed further into the couch and soon found himself getting a bit drowsy. Then all of a sudden, he felt something in his lap. The cat had curled up and was purring like mad. Tentatively, Ed reach down his hand and stroked the incredibly soft fur. The purring intensified. Ed eventually drifted off to the sound.
***
The next morning, Ed woke with a start. His back was aching from having fallen asleep on the couch and he was disoriented. He looked down to find his empty beer bottle still in his hand, and a lap full of orange fur. But no cat. With a groan, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen. No cat there, either. He’d chalk it all up to a bizarre dream, but…lap full of hair. Ed figured his little visitor had scarpered off in the night (and by the way, how the fuck did it get out of…and into?!...his house? This was a puzzle that showered, caffeinated Ed would have to solve, he decided).
Ed spent all morning checking his windows and doors, but could not for the life of him figure out how the cat had gotten in. Eventually, it was time to get to the shop so he’d have to leave it an unsolved mystery.
***
“A cat?”
“Yeah, a fuckin’ cat, just sittin’ on my kitchen table.”
Ed was telling Jim about the previous night as they cleaned their stations to prepare for their next clients.
“How’d it get in?”
“Fuck if I know! I looked everywhere and can’t find a point of entry!”
“Fucking weird, man.”
“Sorry, did you say a cat?” Frenchie interjected as he passed by their stations. “Just showed up in your house?”
“Yeah, man.”
“Oooh, that’s a bad sign, friend,” Frenchie gave a low whistle through his teeth.
“How do you mean, mate?”
“Everyone knows cats are bad luck. They’re witches. Got knives in their feet,” Frenchie stated with the utmost sincerity.
Ed chuckled. “Come on, man. It was a nice cat. Curled up with me on the couch. Snuggled, even, you could say. It was…nice.”
“Probably trying to steal your life force.”
Ed quirked a brow at Frenchie. “Well, here I am, fully intact,” he gestured to himself.
“Yeah, that’s what it wants you to think!” Frenchie was starting to get riled. Jim was doing a piss poor job of hiding their amusement.
“Frenchie, it’s cool. Pretty sure I still have my soul and everythin’. Anyway, it was gone when I woke up,” Ed assured him.
“Well, thank Calypso for that,” Frenchie sighed in relief. “Still though, might want to sage the place. I know a guy who can do it, for a fee.”
“Frenchie,” Ed said. “Are you the guy?”
“Might be. Rates are reasonable!”
Ed rolled his eyes. “I don’t think one visit from a random cat warrants a saging, but I’ll think about it, okay? Now, how about we sling some fuckin’ ink, eh?”
And with that, Ed got the crew back on track and all thoughts of felines were overtaken by the hustle and bustle of their packed schedule for the day.
***
It was after ten by the time Ed got home that night. He did his usual routine -- keys in the bowl by the door, shoes off, leather jacket hung on the rack. He walked into the kitchen, half hoping to see the cat again, but the table was empty and the kitchen decidedly feline-free. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled on the couch. Alone. He looked at the cushion next to him, traces of fur still lingering that he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning up that morning. He stroked the cushion absent-mindedly as he watched his show and finished his beer. Determined not to spend another night on the couch, Ed turned off the TV when he felt himself getting drowsy.
He entered his bedroom and shucked off his jeans, grabbing his phone when it fell out on the floor. He tossed it over onto the bed and swapped out the t-shirt he’d worn to work for a well-worn old concert tee that was thrown over a chair. He went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and put his hair into a quick, messy braid. He approached the bedside and switched on the lamp. And then Ed screamed.
There, curled up on his pillow, was the cat. The same cat, all orange and glowy in the lamplight.
“Dickfuck, what the fuck?!” Ed cried.
The cat, for all of Ed’s carrying on, simply lifted its head from where it had been resting on its paws and stared at him, doing that odd slow blink it had done the previous night when he discovered it on the kitchen table.
Ed scrubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously, mate, how the fuck are you gettin’ in here?”
“Mrow.” The cat stood up and stepped gingerly over onto the pillow on the other side of the bed and resettled.
Ed sighed. “Fuck it, I’m too tired to deal with this shit.” Ed climbed into bed and grabbed his phone from where it landed in the middle of the bed. He plugged it into the charging cable on his nightstand and fired off a text to Jim.
Ed: It’s fucking back
Jim: ???
Ed: The cat. It’s back.
Ed: It’s in my fucking bed. Scared the shit out of me.
Ed: DON’T TELL FRENCHIE
Jim sent three crying laughing emojis.
That was all the support it seemed Ed was going to get for the night. He put his phone down and turned off the lamp. He turned on his side to face the cat, who was now purring contentedly on the pillow next to him.
“Good night…hmmm…whoever you are,” he whispered, stroking gently between its ears.
As Ed drifted off, he thought how nice it was not to be falling asleep on his own.