The Cat Who Could Return

The neon orange padel racket felt ridiculous in my hands, like I was holding a traffic light. Max had texted: *we need a fourth for mixed doubles, u in?* And because I'm pathetically crushing on the girl who'd be playing opposite me, I said yes despite never touching a racquet in my life.

"Your stance is all wrong," Sophie said from across the court. She moved like water, hair in a perfect messy bun, making it look effortless while I stood like a newborn deer. "You're gripping it like it's gonna bite you."

My phone buzzed in my bag. Mom: *Cat got out again. Checking neighborhood.* I groaned. This was the third time this week. Barnaby — my emotional support nightmare — had discovered the doggy flap and decided the world was his scratching post.

"You good?" Max asked, bouncing the ball on his racket. *Dink. Dink. Dink.*

"Yeah. Just... family stuff." I adjusted my grip. The orange racket felt wrong, too bright, screaming *look at me, I don't belong here.*

My first serve hit the net. The second went sideways. Sophie didn't laugh, but she didn't need to. The silence was worse.

*Ring.* My mom again. *Found him. Orange tabby two streets over. Mrs. Chen's porch.*

"I gotta bounce," I said, already grabbing my bag. "Family emergency."

"Dude, seriously?" Max looked at me like I'd suggested we play in reverse.

"Cat stuff. I'll make it up to you."

I jogged home, sweat-sticky and humiliated, retrieving Barnaby from Mrs. Chen's porch. He purred like he'd done something heroic, orange fur glowing in sunset light. And that's when it hit me — the ridiculousness of trying to perform for people, trying to be smooth when you're fundamentally a creature of awkward instinct.

The next day, I showed up to the court with my own racket. Not orange — boring black. "Can we reschedule?" I asked Sophie. "I need to actually learn how to play first."

She smiled. "Finally. Someone who admits they suck."

Maybe being terrible at something was the first step toward being good at it. Maybe the cat had the right idea all along — just be yourself, even if that means escaping through doggy flaps and napping on strangers' porches. I'd learn padel eventually. But first, I had to stop trying to serve a game I didn't know how to play.