At the age of 23, Clarice found herself alone in her apartment that she had recently bought with her boyfriend. Clarice was reading, some boring book, filled with information she would never remember nor would she need to after the exam. Sheâd tried to make the room as comfortable as possible. Her window was open, letting a cool breeze into the sweltering heat of the room, sheâd gone and grabbed herself some marmite on toast before sheâd sat down, knowing that would be her first excuse to stop working. Clarice took a bite of her toast, chewing slowly as she stared blankly at her book. This was beginning to get painful.
The pages were blurring together, paragraph, upon paragraph, written in the smallest text as though to save on paper. Not that this space saving technique seemed to have done any good. The tome was large. Heavy enough she couldn't curl up with it on the sofa as she normally would. Instead, opting to sit on the floor, back resting against the sofa, with the book carefully balanced on the edge of the far-too-low coffee table. Sure, it was uncomfortable, and she had to lean across the table to reach her food, but it meant she could keep feeling her legs. It was doable. Just about comfortable enough to get some work done.
Or at least it would have been if Clarice hadnât been staring at the same page for what seemed like a lifetime.
At this point, Clarice was seriously contemplating turning the page. Maybe, if she did that, it would at least feel as though sheâd made progress. She hadn't. But that wasnât the point. She shoved the book fully into the table, groaning as she rubbed her aching eyes. She shoved a mouthful of toast in her mouth before standing. She wasn't giving up, Clarice told herself, she was just taking a well deserved break as she padded her way to the kitchen.
By the time Clarice came back, now holding a cool glass of water in one hand and a coaster, because Richard hated water rings, in the other, sheâd realised something was wrong.
She stared into the room disbelievingly. Everything was as she left it. The window still open, her book lying uselessly on the coffee table, her toast lying on the far endâ her toast that was currently being licked by a mangled and matted animal that had sat next to it, head tilted awkwardly as it had its fill. She cursed under her breath, looking for something to defend herself with. From past experience, Clarice hadnât the best history with animals, but there was nothing, âGo awayâ she shooed the cat lamely, but the cat ignored her. Still licking happily at the toast, âMerlin, do cats even like marmite?" She glared at the cat, fiddling with the coaster in her hand. Sure she didnât want to hurt the bugger, but she definitely did not want it in her home. Testing the weight of the coaster in her hands, after all, she didnât really want to hurt it, Clarice gently threw the coaster onto the table, hoping the sound would scare it away.
The cat gave the coaster a cursory glance, flicking its gaze towards Clarice, then returning to its food. Clarice gritted her teeth, but the cat remained seemingly oblivious, or simply uncaring of Clariceâs predicament. Didnât the cat realise the danger it was in? Clarice liked to think of herself as a nice person but she was still a vampire. She could eat him alive if she wanted to. Most other animals seemed to sense this, immediately pegging the girl as a threat and acting accordingly. This cat however, this mangled, disgusting bastard, wasnât taking it seriously.
Clarice scowled. Whatever. The toast was ruined anyway. There was no way she was eating that now, and there was apparently no way the cat was going to leave before theyâd finished it. Clarice positioned herself back on the floor in front of her book. Watching the cat carefully for any sudden movement. Sheâd tried to ignore it, sparing only cursory glances at the cat to make sure it hadnât moved any closer to her as she read her book. For a while, it had worked. The cat had been happily chewing the toast, and Clarice had almost forgotten it was even there. Then the cat got bored. With the marmite having been cleanly licked off the toast, the cat started making its way over to Clarice, making her freeze in anticipation. The cat stumbled towards her, its legs awkwardly splayed out as he slipped on the smooth surface of the table.
From this close, the cat seemed to look even worse for wear, if that was even possible. Its bones were jutting out at awkward angles, making his head tilt. Its teeth were starkly visible through a cleft palate with ribs prominent even under the layers of thick tortoiseshell fur, âMerlin, you are a mess arenât you?â She sighed, watching the cat practically dragging its way over Clariceâs book to get to her glass âYou want my water?â Like you wanted my toast, she didnât add, assuming the cat could at least perceive that in her tone, âAlright, fine.â she grumbled, moving the glass closer to the cat, rolling her eyes when the cat took that as permission to sit on her books while it drank. Whatever, Clarice lent back against the sofa. She was bored of studying anyway.