The Cat Who Knew

I started running because it was better than sitting at dinner while my mom and stepdad argued about credit card bills. Again.

Every evening at 6:45 PM, I'd lace up my beat-up Nikes and bolt. The pavement became my therapist, and my lungs burning was way better than hearing "we can't afford that" for the thousandth time. I wasn't even fast — just running.

Then came the cat.

First time I saw it, I was three blocks from home, wheezing like I'd chain-smoked a pack. Orange tabby, sitting on a porch like it owned the whole damn neighborhood. It watched me with this judgmental stare, like *girl, you call that running?*

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," I muttered, barely able to breathe. The cat actually seemed to nod.

After that, it became our thing. Every evening, Mr. Orange (I'm creative, whatever) would be waiting. Sometimes he'd walk alongside me for a half-block, like he was coaching me. Other times he'd just watch from his porch throne, looking proud when I made it farther without collapsing.

My best friend Sammy thought I was hallucinating from sleep deprivation. "You're talking to a cat now? What's next, you gonna adopt a raccoon?"

"He gets me, unlike some people."

"Sure, Jan."

The weird part? I started getting faster. Like, actually fast. Coach noticed at practice. "Since when can you run a sub-6 mile?"

I didn't tell him about the cat. That was our thing.

Then everything fell apart. Mom and Rick announced they were splitting. I started missing the cat's visits because Mom needed "quality time" which really meant we ate dinner in silence while she stared at her phone.

Two weeks later, I went for my first run in days. No cat. Same porch, empty.

"Mr. Orange?" Nothing.

I ran the whole neighborhood calling for him. Nothing. My chest hurt, but not from running this time.

Turns out, his name was actually Cheddar. The family moved. Taken.

I kept running though. Every evening, 6:45 PM. Sometimes I still talk to no one on the porch. Some days I imagine he's there, nodding like, *that's my girl*.

And honestly? That's enough.