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    Summary

    “It’s defective,” Satoru announces as he swings into the morgue, purple cat-carrier in hand. “You got me a defective cat.”

    She’s defective,” Shoko sighs, peeling off her gloves. She peers into the carrier when Satoru places it down on the slab, brows pinching. She tilts her head left, then right. The creature inside snuffles. “Looks fine to me.”

    “It breathes wrong,” he complains, “and it keeps making this coughing noise. It snores like a fucking pensioner – look, let me just—”

    “Don’t you dare release your cat into a sterile environment,” Shoko snaps, slapping his hands away from the clips. “She shouldn’t even be in here.”

    Satoru looks pointedly at the cursed blood dripping, violet and viscous, from the opposite mortuary cot. “Right,” he drawls. Then: “Can you send it back?”

    She stares at him. “You did not just ask that.”

     

    (Following the tragedy of Christmas Eve 2017, Shoko gets Satoru a cat. She has asthma.)

    Language:
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