Grow Stripes

“C’mon, wizard.” June didn’t know what expression was on her face, but it made Peter snicker. “I’ve got breakfast on the way.”

She looked down at her fuzzy purple robe and frowned in protest. “It’s a bathrobe.” She wiggled her feet inside fuzzy sheepskin slippers, a gift from his parents last year, and sneezed again. Her sinuses were on fire. “Ow. It was cheap. Professors make peanuts, you know that.”

He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Yes. And all you need is a pointy hat to go with your robe when you cosplay.”

A kettle whistled from June’s kitchen. “What’s that noise?” She shuffled past him and turned the corner into her kitchen. “When did I get a teapot?”

Peter leaned around her and turned off the burner. “When you got sick, and I’m either immune or doomed to it in a few days.” A mug and teabag were already on the counter next to a small jar of honey and a spoon.

She dug out a tissue from her bathrobe pocket and tried not to think about how much she sounded like a dying goose. “I told you, you should go before you get sick.”

He spooned honey into the mug. “And I told you, I’m taking care of you.” He gave her a sideways grin, emerald eyes shining. “Of course, I expect reciprocity.”

She huffed, threw out her tissue, and headed back for the living room. The grow light for her yucca plant was already on, bright light shining onto the worn cushions of her secondhand loveseat. It was hideously ugly, mustard yellow with purple flowers, but comfortable and spacious. She curled up, dragging a blanket over her weary and aching limbs. If she didn’t think hard about it, it almost seemed like sitting in sunlight.

Almost, because it was also next to the drafty window and New Hampshire had over a foot of snow. Clinking silverware and plates sounded from the kitchen as June leaned back to close the blinds. She stretched out an arm for the manual control rod and froze at the sight outside her window.

Peter found her a few minutes later, standing outside and shivering, coaxing a tiny kitten with bright yellow eyes to come closer. “Do we have any tuna?”

He sighed and stepped behind the bush the kitten was hiding behind, snagging it with one hand while its wide eyes and shaking body were fixed on June. “Please go inside. I will check on the tuna.”

She sneezed and went, pulling off wet slippers and tucking her feet into the heavy fleece blanket. A tray next to the loveseat held tea and breakfast. “Oh, pancakes. Thank you.”

Peter stomped the snow off, cat offering frightened mewls between his hands. The fur was barely visible, the kitten was so small. “Well now, that wouldn’t be a bad name for her. Him? Can’t tell. I think it’s a him.”

“What, Pancake?” June took a bite and tried to look innocent. It made her face hurt. “Mmm. Blueberry. That assumes he wants to stay.”

He glared at her and plopped the kitten onto her lap. “I would have gotten him for you.” Peter stalked into the kitchen, his shoulders stiff under his blue sweater.

The kitchen’s closet door squeaked as it opened. June tried not to feel guilty about eating a hot breakfast while his cooled on the battered foldable table she used for both eating and work. Clanking and a few thumps sounded from the other side of the wall as he searched her pantry.

“Found a can of tuna and a can of chicken. And some odd canned sausage thing no one should eat because it’s not real food.” June opened her mouth to protest and he held up a hand. “I’m tossing it in the bin. Just because you can’t cook doesn’t mean you should eat like this.”

She looked down at the kitten in her lap, one hand covering its wet fur. “Tuna or chicken?” It wasn’t like she expected an answer, but the kitten let out a soft blrrp at the word chicken and stretched out a paw. Needlelike claws flexed out and returned as Pancake rolled his head upside down and blinked yellow eyes several times.

“Interesting.” Peter went back into the kitchen. She heard the manual can opener puncture and rattle its way around the tin. “I wouldn’t have guessed the chicken.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed he’d get this comfortable with us this fast.” Paw met finger, and tiny pads closed around the tip in a stronger grip than she’d anticipated. She freed her finger and stroked the soft, damp fur, following the M marking on his forehead behind his ears and down his neck. “Gorgeous stripes you’ve got, little guy. You’ve got that tiger look going on, don’t you, all black and grey?”

June broke off into a coughing fit. Pancake squirmed off her lap and onto the more solid loveseat arm. She groped for the tea with one hand, hoping she didn’t knock the tray over.

Peter headed back toward her squashy seat, dish of canned chicken in one hand and a plastic cutting board in the other. He set the cutting board down, Pancake sniffing and dancing around his other hand like a miniature Godzilla on hind legs.

He straightened and pressed the back of his hand against her head. At his feet, Pancake pounced on the dish of chicken before burying his whiskers in the food.

“Poor guy,” June said. She yawned and sank back into the cushion. Her earlier burst of energy was fading fast. “I couldn’t let him sit out there alone. He was sitting on the ledge watching me.”

His forehead creased. “You’re really warm. I’m going to tuck you in here. I bet Pancake will curl up with you when he’s done eating. You want a book?”

She nodded her head, feeling like it had swollen to the size of a watermelon. “I know I’ll fall asleep in a few minutes, but I feel better when a book is nearby.” She smiled up at him from half-shut eyes. “And you. But I still think you should stay away from me before I get you sick.”

Peter was halfway across the room, heading for her bookshelf. “Oh, it’s too late for me in a number of ways.”

A noise penetrated her dreams. “June!” She turned her head, burying her face in a pillow. Her legs wouldn’t move for some reason. Must be tangled in the blanket. “June!”

She opened bleary eyes a fraction and squinted until she found Peter across the room. His hands were held about six inches away from his keyboard, his eyes bulging. “I thought you wanted me to get some sleep.”

“Don’t move,” he said in a strangled whisper. His fingers flexed. A metal cage dropped around the loveseat with a resounding crash. The neighbors she hadn’t yet met from next door would be sure to leave a cranky note at the mailboxes again.

June’s eyes snapped open and she struggled to sit up against the heavy fur blanket. Was she dating some kind of weirdo? “Hey, whoa, this just got weird. Really weird.”

“Stop moving!” Peter bit off the harsh words. “I’m serious – don’t move.”

June kept shoving at the blanket. “Yeah, maybe that would have flown before you put me in a cage.” She could feel panic rising in her chest, heartbeat racing and breathing hard. As if she hadn’t been feeling drained enough already. The adrenaline crash would drain her even more after she made it out of the cage.

Her hand slipped off wool and onto soft fur. She felt the fur flex under her hand. A heavy, curved something touched her hand with a pinprick. June looked at her legs and swallowed a scream. Pancake let out an enormous, two hundred pound yawn that screeched into a roar at the end.

“June, you can get through the bars. The tiger can’t.” His urgent words calmed her thrashing.

“Good kitty. Nice kitty. Holy crap on a cracker, what do we feed the giant kitty?” June wasn’t sure when the last time she’d blinked was, but her eyes were burning as she stared. She tugged on her leg and wondered when Pancake would set her free. “Maybe if we get a shoelace or something to dangle in front of him?”

Peter was on his feet, phone in hand. “I’m about to call animal control. You want me to go get a shoelace?”

“No…” She hesitated. “We can’t put a cryptid in the pound. It wouldn’t be right. We’ll have to find him another home. There must be another way.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t get mauled in the process.” He lowered his phone, but didn’t put it away. “You’re sure?”

“Well, he’s ready to go for another nap, isn’t he?” June reached out and scratched behind his ears. A rumbling purr vibrated the entire apartment like a freight train. Pancake rolled onto his back and kicked his back leg. “Ah, definitely male.”

“I’m glad you have your priorities straight.” He put the phone in his back pocket and reached out a hand through the bars. “If you wouldn’t mind trying to get out from under the giant cat?”

She reached out a tentative hand toward the grow lamp. The bright yellow lamp hadn’t improved the yucca plant any. “You don’t think…?”

***

This week, AC Young challenged me with “The wizard found himself trapped in the tigers’ cage,” and I clearly missed both the pronoun and apostrophe placement. Perhaps Peter will have to have his own adventure soon at a zoo?

My prompt went to Cedar Sanderson: “I’m telling you, that elf is stalking me!”