Curiosity killed the cat

Ten minutes later, both of them — dressed and shod —stood in the parking lot. He held the keys in his hand, but his hands were trembling.

“You know…” he began, “the car is technically mine, but…”— he extended his shaking hands forward.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t offer,” Frau Schicklbraun smiled. “Hand me the keys. Let me drive your car myself.”

He nodded gratefully.

The engine started without complaint, and they pulled out of the yard.

“There’s a decent supermarket not far from here,” she began. “It just opened recently. They’ve got everything —from cotton to cat food.”

“Why would we need cotton?”

“No reason. That’s just their specialty.”

She drove, and he remained silent. The city looked battered, but actively recovering — like a hurricane had swept through and people, having survived the disaster, were now emerging from their shelters and working hard to restore the streets.

“No, it wasn’t a hurricane,” Frau Schicklbraun said, as if reading his thoughts.

“Then what was it?”

They sped down Triumphators Avenue — blackened and scarred — until they turned onto a side street and ran into a checkpoint.

“Oh right, you haven’t been reading the papers,” she smiled at him as if he were a naïve child.

Frau Schicklbraun rolled down the window. A check was performed. It went smoothly, and they moved on. She had everything under control, while he understood absolutely nothing. They rode in silence for a while before he asked:

“That was…”

“Military police.”

“From where?”

“Read the papers,” she snapped.

Now he wanted to read them even more than to go shopping. This was going to be interesting.

“We’re here.”

Frau Schicklbraun parked the car. The shopping mall gleamed with opulence against the backdrop of a mangled city.

“Shopping Center Bavovna,” he read the sign aloud.

“It’s new. There was so much cotton lately, now there’s an oversupply.”

“That much?”

“Across all of Chernostok. Cotton and stores.”

Only inside the store did he realize that Frau Schicklbraun was, in effect, his guardian — his everything. All the time he’d spent in his cozy little apartment, she had been the one bringing him groceries bought with his own money, keeping the fridge just full enough for a week. By guardianship agreement, she also kept a casual eye on him, sipped tea with him in the evenings, gave him the violet pills when things got unbearable, and occasionally let him pet Fluffie. She had figured out right away that he liked cats. In fact, he had the impression she understood everything about him right from the start, though he preferred to attribute it to his “openness.” In any case, he didn’t mind. Quite the opposite — he didn’t even find it surprising. It was nice to have his suspicions confirmed.

“So that’s how you take care of me?” he asked on the way back, after they passed back through the military police checkpoint.

“Yes. Don’t worry, I’m paid for it. Nothing personal.”

“But you’re so kind…”

“No one pays old hags, but kind grandmothers — oh yes, very well.”

“But are you really required to be this kind?”

“Read the papers,” Frau Schicklbraun smiled again, but this time not gently — more like to a simpleton.

He even took offense. Didn’t say another word on the way home, thanked her curtly, took his keys and the groceries, and went inside to bury himself in the newspapers. She’d brought them up at least three times that morning — it was starting to irritate him.

He started from the top of the pile. A newspaper from three weeks ago. Front page: Explosion in Chernostok. Terrorists. Revolutionaries. One thousand seven hundred and fifty killed, thousands injured. Triangle Square blown to shreds.

He looked at the calendar, then at the date on the paper: three weeks ago.

“November 19.” He vaguely recalled first noticing the 21st on the calendar when he arrived. Could be.

He pressed his glasses tighter against his nose.

“20th: La Liga, expressing deep concern over yesterday’s terrorist attack on Chernostok’s Triangle Square, announces a special operation to restore order.”

“21st: La Liga Command, represented by Supreme Commanders Le Compostier and Alderhagen, declares full control over the situation in Chernostok.”

“22nd: In accordance with agreements, the governor of Chernostok is removed from office for failure to ensure security.”

“23rd: Until the situation stabilizes, Chernostok will be governed by La Liga commandants. To prevent further incidents, law enforcement in the city will be handled by La Liga’s Military Police until further notice.”

So that’s what those checkpoints were. It made more sense now — but didn’t feel any better.

The rest of the day he spent buried in newspapers and making a simple dinner. He hadn’t read this much in a long time, and his head ached. He rubbed his lower back with ointment, swallowed three violet pills, and tried to sleep. But it didn’t work.

About half an hour later, he turned over, facing the TV.

And froze.

A digital demon was crawling out of the screen.

He could’ve sworn the TV was off — he hadn’t turned it on in days, convinced it emitted nothing but white noise. But now — it glowed with a faint, hissing light.

He was paralyzed with fear. When he regained some movement, he turned to face the wall and started thinking hard.

“Again, some weird nonsense. Why, why didn’t I tell Frau Schicklbraun about the frozen lips last night? Ah right — I almost forgot about them myself. Would’ve forgotten completely if not…” — he turned his head. The TV glowed a ghostly green —“…if not for the newspapers. And now more damn nonsense is happening.”

The flickering didn’t stop. He lay trembling by the wall. There was only one thing left to do. He wrapped himself in a blanket like a cocoon, leaving only his feet sticking out, and stumbled toward the light switch by memory. Nobody knows if a butterfly always emerges from its cocoon in the bright light, but clearly this one did. His hands shook, his eyes watered, the scattered newspapers burned in his vision, and he looked at the flickering TV not with fear anymore, but with hatred.

Still, it wasn’t the destructive hatred of youth that makes one want to destroy the unknown as soon as the fear passes. The old man slumped onto the couch, pulled the blanket toward him, and thought again. If this TV — this flickering digital monster, this horrifying portal — scared him so much at night, then…

Then it needed to be covered. Not destroyed. Just covered. The blanket — he was using it — was still needed. No throw blanket? Rags and towels? — no, too small.

He looked at the grocery bag they’d brought from the store with Frau Schicklbraun the day before. She’d talked about cotton the whole way. Since Bavovna specialized in cotton, their cotton products were abundant, good quality, and reasonably priced. She’d even picked out a cotton throw for him on sale — to keep his old bones warm.

“But no,” — he joyfully shuffled toward the bag on the floor — “we’ll use you differently!”

He pulled out the throw. Good, solid, thick, opaque —which meant it would reliably block all digital demons trying to crawl from the TV.

He threw the blanket over the TV, swallowed another three violet pills to calm himself after the scare, lay down on the couch, and wrapped himself in the blanket. Sleep came slowly, in rhythm with the fading tremors of fear. As it darkened and blurred into slumber, the graceful gymnast returned with her precise movements. He loved watching her move — until she approached him with feline elegance and began rubbing against his legs. He froze, but before he could say a word, she straightened up, hugged him tightly, and kissed him on the lips again, pushing him out of his dreams.

And once again he woke up with frozen lips in his blanket cocoon. But what were frozen lips compared to what he had just gone through — he had defeated a digital demon from the TV; these icy lips were nothing. Without a trace of embarrassment, he got out of bed, went to the bathroom, turned the hot water tap in the sink on full, and warmed up his lips. Once he was sure he could feel them again, he went back to sleep — this time with a firm intention to discuss everything with Frau Schicklbraun the next day.

Morning caught him off guard again. This time he skipped the tea and cookies, slipped on his slippers immediately, stepped out the door, took two steps to the left, and was just about to ring the neighbor’s bell when the door in front of him swung open.

Fluffie was the first to dart out, instantly rubbing affectionately against his legs. He felt the softness of her fur on his bare skin and only then realized he’d rushed outside as-is — just a tank top and boxers. Frau Schicklbraun, however, wasn’t the least bit flustered.

“Good morning! You're up early,” she said.

He noticed she was dressed more elegantly than usual —clearly, her morning had started long before his.

“And to you. And you look so…”

“Only on Fridays,” she said, lowering her hand as if to signal him to relax.

“And I’m like this every day,” he said, glancing down at his polka-dotted boxers and offering an awkward smile.

A clumsy joke. Painfully clumsy. They both knew it, though Fluffie couldn’t have cared less — still rubbing against his legs like nothing happened.

“Frau Schicklbraun—” he began, wanting to tell her clearly and thoroughly about the frozen lips and the digital demon, hoping for a proper conversation.

But she was standing in the doorway, all dressed up and clearly in a hurry.

He had to act fast.

“Are your lips cold?” he blurted out.

For the first time, he saw her truly taken aback.

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

“Is that…” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “…supposed to be flirting? Or a joke?”

Pause.

Pause.

He realized how it sounded.

“I… could look after your cat.”

Fluffie saved him. She kept rubbing against his legs, reminding him of her presence, as if offering a graceful way out of the awkwardness.

“Oh, that would be just perfect!” — Frau Schicklbraun had fully recovered — “I’ll be out all day today, and poor Fluffie gets so lonely without me… I’ve been meaning to ask you anyway, I can see how much she adores you when you come by, but it always felt a bit awkward. Don’t worry, she’s a good kitty. Loves to play, but if you get tired of her, she won’t pester you. Very sweet, fully litter-trained, no issues… oh right, the litter box, I’ll bring it over” — Frau Schicklbraun disappeared into her apartment and immediately reappeared with the litter box — clean, it’s worth noting — “just washed it this morning… oh and food” — she vanished again, the fridge door slammed, and she came back with a can of cat food— “I fed her this morning already, if she begs for more, don’t give in, but around six in the evening, you can. I’ll be back around ten and pick up Fluffie then—won’t be too late for you? You won’t be asleep yet?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! - she tried to give him a thankful hands squeeze, while being all loaded up with the box and food can — thank you, really! I hope she won’t be any trouble — she’s not a dog, after all, no walks needed… Anyway, thank you so much, I’m off — see you tonight!”

When that human whirlwind of fuss finally burst out the door, the man and the cat stared at each other thoughtfully.

He never did get to talk to Frau Schicklbraun about the digital demon, and the cold lips thing had turned into a ridiculous embarrassment. He shook his head, trying to erase the moment from memory.

“But you still saved me, Fluffie. Come on,” he nodded toward his apartment’s slightly ajar door.

Fluffie fluffed up her tail and walked in with curiosity.