Riddles in the Break Room

The hairless cat sat on Elena's desk like a raw chicken breast contemplating existence. Her coworkers called it Cleopatra, but Elena knew the truth: it was a sphinx in the crudest sense—bald, demanding, and watching with judgment in its almond eyes.

"She missed you," Marcus said, leaning against her cubicle wall with that easy smile that had once charmed her into a two-year marriage and now only signaled he wanted something. Usually money. Sometimes sex. Once, both.

"The cat or your ex-wife?" Elena didn't look up from her spreadsheet. The quarterly review was due Friday, and the numbers weren't lying to anyone.

"Both. Cleo stopped eating after you left. Said she needed her person."\n"You need a lawyer, Marcus. I gave you the name."

"And I need you to sign the papers. Tonight. Drinks at O'Malley's?"\nElena finally looked at him. At thirty-eight, she'd learned that some men were like dogs—loyal to a fault, simple in their needs, grateful for the smallest kindness. Marcus was not one of those men. Marcus was a creature of appetite disguised as a creature of duty.

"Bring the papers to my apartment. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."\n

The sphinx cat purred as Elena scratched its wrinkled neck that evening, the creature's furless warmth seeping into her palm like something ancient and patient. Marcus arrived at eight-fifteen, papers clutched in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other—his version of an apology, or perhaps a seduction. He'd never learned which was which.

"You kept the cat," he noted, setting the wine on her counter like it might earn him forgiveness.

"She's mine on paper. Your lawyer missed that clause."

"I missed you." He stepped closer, his cologne familiar and expensive. "Maybe we could—"\n"Answer the riddle, Marcus."

"What?"

"What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?" The sphinx cat wound between his ankles, purring like a small engine.

"Man," he said automatically. "It's man. You told me that on our first date. You said it was the only riddle that mattered."

"Wrong." Elena took the divorce papers from his hand. "The answer is: whoever leaves before they break."

She signed her name with a sharp, decisive motion, like cutting a thread she'd been unraveling for years. The sphinx cat jumped onto the counter, blinking its enigmatic eyes, and Elena thought she saw approval in its wrinkled face. Some creatures understood endings better than beginnings.

"I'll send Cleo's things tomorrow," Marcus said, and for once, there was no smile in his voice.

Elena watched him go, the apartment settling around her like a truth finally spoken. The cat purred against her hand, naked and warm and hers. Some sphinxes didn't need riddles—just the courage to demand their answers.