Cat Sphinx Conspiracy

Maya dragged herself through the front door, feeling like a straight-up zombie after three hours of AP History cram session. Her brain was literally mush, and the finals week vibes were hitting different.

Her cat, Nacho, perched on the back of the sofa like a furry sphinx, golden eyes watching her every move with suspicious intensity. Maya had long suspected that Nacho was actually a spy—like, what normal cat stared that intensely? Sometimes she'd catch him monitoring her phone screen, judging her texts with those unblinking eyes.

"Dude, give it a rest," she muttered, dropping her backpack. Nacho's tail flicked with what she swore was attitude.

Her phone buzzed. GROUP CHAT: *Pool party @ Jake's Friday.*

Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when Jake's name appeared. She'd been crushing on him since September, low-key obsessing over every interaction, analyzing his Instagram stories like they were classified documents. And now? FINALLY an invite.

But Nacho hopped down and positioned himself between her and the door, sphinx-like in his stubbornness. He meowed—loudly—and Maya swore it sounded like a warning.

"What? You think I should go full zombie mode instead? Stay home and study?"

Nacho stared her down, then turned and marched toward her bedroom, glancing back to make sure she followed. Inside, he pawed at her full-length mirror.

Maya caught her reflection. Hair frizzy from humidity, circles under her eyes, that zombie stillness of someone who'd forgotten how to relax. But underneath? Something else. Something ready.

"You're right," she whispered. "I can't show up looking like the walking dead."

Her cat purred, jumping onto her bed and curling up like he'd just completed his mission as the world's fluffiest spy.

Maya grabbed her phone and typed: *I'm SO in.*

The sphinx had spoken. The zombie was waking up. And somehow, her cat knew exactly what she needed before she did.