The Cat Who Knew I Wasn't Dead

I felt like a zombie walking into school Monday morning. Three hours of sleep, thanks to that group project that somehow became my entire responsibility, and I was literally shambling down the hallway, eyes half-closed, brain on power-saving mode.

"Dude, you look dead," Jayla said, falling into step beside me. "Did you even sleep?"

"Sleep is for people who don't have APUSH teachers who think their class is the only one that exists," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "I need, like, an IV of coffee or something."

My phone buzzed. Mom: "Don't forget to take your vitamin D! It's winter, you're not getting enough sun!"

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain. Typical. Meanwhile, my cat Bean had been my only actual living interaction this weekend. He'd sat on my desk while I typed that ridiculous essay, occasionally batting at the cursor like it was a personal offense to his existence.

Bean got it. He knew I wasn't actually dead inside, just operating at 20% battery.

"You're coming to Maya's party tonight, right?" Jayla asked, already knowing the answer.

"I literally cannot. I have to finish—"

"Finish dying? Yeah, we know." Jayla sighed. "Look, even zombies need to socialize sometimes. It's, like, scientifically proven."

I skipped the party. I went home, fed Bean, and actually took the vitamin D because whatever, maybe Mom was right about me needing something. Then I sat on my floor and let Bean crawl into my lap, purring like a tiny, furry motor.

For the first time all week, I didn't feel like a zombie. I just felt like a person with a cat who liked me, even when I was running on empty.

"You're the only one who gets it, Bean," I whispered. He head-butted my chin.

Maybe that was enough. Maybe I didn't need to be everything to everyone. Maybe I could just be a tired person with a cat and a vitamin deficiency and that was okay.

Bean purred harder. I closed my eyes and finally, actually, slept.