My Cat, My Teacher, and Her Declaration of War

The stairwell to Rome's apartment building smelled like someone had given up on life and decided to make it everyone else's problem.

Old takeout. Damp carpet that hadn't been properly cleaned since the Clinton administration. Something vaguely biological coming from the second floor that he'd learned not to investigate.

He took the stairs two at a time. Each step groaned like it was personally offended by his weight.

Home sweet home.

The second-floor landing greeted him with its usual soundtrack. The rhythmic thump of a bed frame hitting a shared wall. Muffled moaning that could've been pleasure or pain or both.

Nine AM on a Thursday. Mr. Henderson's either having the time of his life or his speakers are still broken.

Rome didn't slow down. You learned not to make eye contact with mysteries in buildings like these.

Third floor. His door was still the same shade of beige-that-used-to-be-white. The number 3C hung crooked from a single screw. He'd meant to fix that for six months.

He fished out his keys. Paused.

Reached for his pocket. Found nothing.

Oh shit.

My phone.

Yeah... I'm definitely fired.

No-call, no-show on a workday. Didn't matter that he'd been busy fighting for his life. Construction sites didn't care about supernatural excuses.

Rome unlocked the door. Stepped inside.

The apartment greeted him with its usual enthusiasm. Which is to say, none at all.

Studio. One room doing the heavy lifting for bedroom, living room, kitchen, and general storage. A mattress on the floor in the corner, sheets tangled from when he'd rolled out of bed yesterday morning. A desk from IKEA that he'd assembled wrong, so it wobbled whenever he wrote anything. A single chair. A milk crate full of textbooks.

The boxes were still there. Three of them, stacked by the door. Still taped shut from his last move. He'd been here four months and hadn't bothered unpacking.

Why bother? I'll just have to pack it all again in another few months.

The walls were bare except for the original beige paint. No posters. No photos. Nothing that would make this place feel like his.

The only thing in the entire apartment that felt real was currently nowhere in sight.

"Freya?"

A soft chirp answered from behind the desk.

Then she appeared. Black fur, sleek and shining. Green eyes that always looked like she knew secrets you didn't. She trotted across the cheap linoleum floor, tail high, and immediately started rubbing against his legs.

Rome dropped to one knee. Scooped her up. She started purring before he'd even gotten her settled against his chest.

Thank God.

He buried his face in her fur. She smelled like the cheap kibble he bought in bulk and the sunbeam that came through the window every afternoon. She smelled like home, which was saying something since this apartment sure as hell didn't.

"Missed you too, girl."

She nuzzled under his chin. Purred louder.

Then she went rigid.

Her nose twitched. Once. Twice. She pulled back slightly, sniffing at his torn shirt. At his neck. At the air around him.

The purring stopped.

Her ears flattened against her skull.

A low, guttural hiss escaped her throat.

"Whoa, hey." Rome pulled her back, confused. "What's wrong?"

She'd never done this before. Not once in the year since he'd found her half-dead in an alley and spent his grocery money getting her patched up.

She hissed again. Louder. Her claws dug into his forearm, not breaking skin, just holding on.

"Freya, it's me. It's just..."

"This is where you live?"

Rome spun around so fast he nearly dropped his cat.

Amelia stood in the doorway. Leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.

"It's... quaint."

She stepped inside and kicked off her slides.

Just like that. Casual as breathing. Two quick motions and she was standing in his apartment in nothing but those sheer black stockings.

The sight of her perfect feet on his stained linoleum floor was obscene. Two different worlds colliding. Silk and concrete. Champagne and tap water.

She'd made herself comfortable. In his space. Without asking.

Of course she did. Why would she ask? She probably doesn't ask for anything.

Rome stood there holding his hissing cat, completely frozen. His brain had stopped working. There was a beautiful woman in his apartment. A woman who could break him in half without breaking a sweat. A woman who was technically his teacher now.

"I'll be quick." He turned away from her. Started grabbing things. Anything. "Just need to pack some stuff."

His duffel bag was under the desk. He yanked it out. Started throwing clothes into it without looking. Didn't matter what. He wasn't going to be picky about wardrobe choices right now.

Behind him, he heard the soft rustle of fabric.

Rome glanced back.

Oh no.

Amelia had walked over to his mattress. The mattress on the floor. The only piece of furniture in the entire apartment that said 'I've given up on pretending to be functional.'

She sat down on the edge. Then, she reclined. Propped herself up on one elbow. Let her white hair spill across his pillow.

She was lounging. On his bed. In his apartment. Looking like something out of a magazine spread that he definitely couldn't afford.

"You travel light." Her voice was silk. "Good. Less baggage."

Is she... is this a test?

Rome turned back to his packing. Faster. More frantic.

Socks. Didn't match. Didn't care. Hoodie with a hole in the elbow. Two pairs of jeans. The only button-up shirt he owned that didn't have paint stains.

Freya had retreated to the desk. She was crouched there now, a tiny black gargoyle radiating pure hostility. Her tail lashed. Her eyes never left Amelia.

The growl was continuous. Low and dangerous.

She never acts like this. Not even when the neighbor's dog got loose last month.

Rome zipped the duffel. Grabbed his work boots from by the door. Shoved them in a plastic bag.

"Anything else?" Amelia's voice drifted from behind him.

"Just need to grab Freya's carrier."

It was in the closet. A small plastic crate that Freya hated with every fiber of her being. He pulled it out. Set it on the floor.

"Come here, girl."

Freya didn't move. She was still locked in her staring contest with Amelia.

"Freya."

Nothing.

Rome walked over to the desk. Reached for her.

She let him pick her up and kept that low growl going the entire time.

As he carried her toward the carrier, she twisted in his grip. Focused all her attention on the woman currently lounging on his bed.

He'd never seen her like this. She was always sweet. Affectionate. The kind of cat that made visitors jealous because she actually liked people.

Right now though, she looked ready to commit murder.

Rome got her into the carrier. Closed the latch. She immediately started yowling.

Perfect. Just perfect.

He straightened up. Grabbed his duffel. His keys. Took one last look around the apartment.

Four months. Barely unpacked. Leaving the same way he'd arrived.

Story of my life.

Behind him, Amelia finally sat up. He heard her stretch. Heard the soft sound of her stockings against his sheets.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't...

Rome turned around.

She was standing now. Watching him with that small smile. The one that said she knew exactly what kind of chaos she was causing and found it delightful.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah."

He grabbed the carrier. Freya yowled louder. Scratched at the plastic door.

Amelia walked past him. Paused at the threshold.

Then she turned. Looked back. Not at him.

At Freya.

The smile widened. Became something else. Something knowing and possessive and absolutely terrifying.

"Oh, don't be like that." Her voice dropped lower. A purr that matched the one Freya had stopped making. "You'll have to get used to my smell."

She tilted her head slightly.

"After all, he's mine now."

Freya went berserk. Threw herself against the carrier door. Yowled like Rome had never heard her yowl before.

Amelia just laughed and walked out of his apartment, leaving him standing there with his hissing cat and the sudden, overwhelming realization that his life had just gotten infinitely more complicated.

Rome followed her down the stairs. Each step creaking. Mr. Henderson's activities reaching a crescendo on the second floor.

The convertible was exactly where they'd left it. Gleaming red in the sunlight. Looking like it cost more than this entire building.

Amelia slid into the driver's seat. Put her sunglasses back on.

Rome loaded his stuff into the trunk. Set Freya's carrier in the back seat.

She was still growling. Still glaring at the back of Amelia's head with unfiltered rage.

Great. My cat hates my new teacher. This can only end well.

He got into the passenger seat. Buckled up.

Amelia started the engine. The rumble was deep and expensive.

"So." She pulled into traffic without looking. "Lunch first, or should we handle the registration paperwork?"

"Whatever works."

She laughed. "You're going to have to work on that, you know."

"On what?"

"Sounding like you care." She accelerated. The convertible surged forward. "You can't be this passive about everything. Not where we're going."

Rome looked at her. "I care about not dying."

"Good start." She grinned. "We'll build from there."