Screen Light at 3 AM
The cat appeared on her fire escape like something conjured from the city's shadows—a sleek, ragged tom with one ear missing and eyes that reflected the amber glow of streetlights. Maya hadn't slept properly since the breakup. Since the LinkedIn announcement. Since her mother's text asking if she was okay, she just needed to know.
Now she stood at her window at 3 AM, her iphone clutched in her hand like a prayer wheel she'd forgotten how to spin. The screen illuminated half her face—pale skin, dark circles, lips slightly parted. No new notifications. Of course not. Everyone else was asleep, living actual lives while she doomscrolled through memories she should have deleted months ago.
The cat meowed, a sound like something tearing.
Maya slid the window open, letting in the damp autumn air. The cat didn't hesitate; he flowed into her apartment like liquid moonlight, weaving between her legs, his rough tongue against her bare ankle. For three weeks, she'd been moving through her days like a zombie—autopilot at work, smiling in meetings, answering emails she wouldn't remember sending. She'd forgotten what it felt like to be touched by something that didn't want anything from her.
She sank to the floor, the iphone forgotten beside her. The cat climbed into her lap, purring so deeply she felt it in her chest cavity, where her heart used to live.
"You're hungry," she whispered.
The cat butted his head against her palm, demanding. Not hungry—present.
The iphone buzzed. A work Slack message. Someone tagged her in a channel she'd muted. The screen lit up her face again, the cat's eyes caught in its cold blue glare.
Maya turned it off.
The cat purred louder, kneading her thigh with claws that just barely pricked her skin. Tiny points of pain. Something real.
She would go back to work on Monday. She would eventually sleep. She would probably download Instagram again. But for now, sitting on her bedroom floor with a stray cat while her phone darkened beside her, Maya remembered what it felt like to be alive.