Still Waters

The cat appeared on Marcus's fire escape at 3 AM, a ragged calico with one ear shredded from something — maybe a fight, maybe life itself. Marcus had been awake for thirty-six hours, preparing for the merger meeting that would determine whether his department survived the fiscal bloodbath. The cat stared at him through rain-streaked glass, its eyes reflecting the ghostly glow of his laptop screen.

"You're not sleeping either," Marcus whispered, sliding the window open. The cat didn't move, just watched him with that unnerving stillness that only prey animals possess. Marcus poured water into a saucer — not the fancy sparkling stuff his wife used to drink, but tap water, lukewarm and uninspiring, like everything else in his life lately.

Sheila had left three months ago. Said she couldn't breathe anymore, couldn't stand watching him turn into something unrecognizable. She'd taken the good crystal, the sense of order, the ability to feel anything beyond stress and ambition.

The merger presentation was due at 9 AM. Marcus was the bull — the stubborn, relentless force who'd driven his team through endless rounds of cuts and restructuring. His boss called him "the bulldozer," said it with admiration, but Marcus heard something else in his voice: the sound of a man who'd already sacrificed the next bull to the shareholders.

The cat lapped the water delicately, then looked at Marcus.

"You think I should just walk away?" Marcus asked. "Forty-seven years old, and start over?"

The cat began to groom itself, slow deliberate strokes, as if Marcus's existential crisis was far less interesting than the knot in its fur.

Outside, rain pummeled the city. Marcus remembered the last vacation he and Sheila had taken — a cabin by a lake, how she'd floated on her back in the water at dusk, told him she felt like she could dissolve into something peaceful. He'd spent the weekend on his phone, answering emails.

The cat finished grooming and leaped onto his desk, knocking aside a stack of financial projections. It settled on his keyboard, purring loudly.

"Fine," Marcus said. He closed his laptop. For the first time in six years, he watched the sunrise. The cat curled against his chest, and for the first time in forever, Marcus didn't feel like a bull about to charge. He felt like someone who might finally learn to swim.