(Tags: NSFW, M/F, /hmofa/, cat, contemporary, second person, short, in-progress) (Last update on 2020-07-27, starting on line 28) You get off the train and take a deep breath in the cold night air. Finally done for the week. Even your boss's shitty attitude can't get to you now, on your way home with a do-nothing weekend in front of you. Walking down the street from the station you feel some of the stress of the week melt away as you're thinking about what to watch after dinner. There was that movie you got recommended to you... But maybe something lighter would be better for tonight, or maybe that series you've been meaning to watch? You'll need some snacks and drink either way, and so you stop by the nearby convenience store to supply. Stocked up and ready to party - just in a very relaxed sort of way - you set off for home. But before you've walked for more than a few minutes you spot a weird pile on the sidewalk, half-hidden behind a bench. Like a garbage bag lying in the fetal position, just outside the reach of the nearby street light. You take a step closer only for the bag to move. Fuck this, you think, and make a wide berth, until you hear the bag sobbing. Instinctively you stop, wondering if you should maybe call the police. You turn toward it and look down, trying to make out what it is, but all you see is shapeless black on black. You take a careful step forward and lean in, and suddenly the bag turns to face you. Bright orange eyes peer out at you from among black fur, dirty and unkempt, with tear-soaked cheeks and a look of genuine fear across the face. "P-Please don't h-hurt me!" you hear a soft, feminine whimper. "I won't hurt you," you quickly reply, suddenly feeling like an intruder. "You're n-not going to throw r-rocks at me?" The cat girl pulls her legs in and sits up shakily. "What? Why would I do that?" "The kids... from before..." She wipes away her tears and hugs her knees. "Do I look like a kid?" You ask, trying to play it up to ease the mood. "No..." she replies, looking down at her feet, causing a tear to fall down onto the black garbage bag she's sitting in. "What happened to you?" You squat down, but the sudden movement makes her jump and you nearly lose your balance trying to put your hands up in a sign of peace. "Sorry," you say, steadying yourself. She looks at you a while before saying anything, still sniffling at times. "I got locked out of my car." She finally says, lowering her eyes as if in shame. "Your car? And you can't get home without it?" "I... I don't have a home right now," she says, hugging her knees tighter. "What do you mean?" "I got evicted... I got the wrong date for the payment and my landlord always hated me, so..." "So you're sleeping in your car?" "Yeah." "And now you're locked out of your car?" "Yeah..." "And so you're sleeping on the street... In a garbage bag..." She doesn't answer, and instead goes back to staring at her garbage bag-covered feet. You find yourself at a loss. What now? Do you just leave her here? Do you... invite her to come with you? It's almost fall and she's not wearing much. It must be cold to sleep out here, and it would only be for a night - she has her car, after all. You watch her shuffle around on the hard ground, wiping one of her cheeks with a hand that's just as damp from tears, resulting in no noticeable improvement. She's pretty cute, garbage bag notwithstanding. "Do you want to crash at my place tonight? I have a pretty comfortable couch." She looks up at you, her bright eyes wide and it looks like she's about to cry again. "C-Can I?" "Yeah - but only for tonight." She tries to stand up only to immediately trip on the garbage bag and fall forward, nearly knocking you over. You drop your bag, hearing a loud crunch as you put your hand right on top of your chips while catching your fall. She's up on all fours, looking at you with the same fearful eyes as earlier. "I-I'm so sorry," she whimpers, tears rolling down her cheeks again. "It's alright. They're just chips," you say, feeling like you might have bitten off more than you can chew with this one. She gets up, slowly this time, and steps out of the garbage bag. You pick up your bag and stand up. Her eyes almost look to big for her face, as she's watching you nervously, waiting for you to show her the way. "Do you have everything?" you ask, feeling you like you already know the answer. "This is all I have with me at the moment..." She raises her arms and lets them fall to her side in a sign of defeats. Her black or dark-gray jacket makes that swishing sound that nylon always does, and coupled with the fact that it seems a bit too larger for her, it gives her the air of a lost child in a supermarket aisle. "Let's go then," you say, and start walking. She follows, but hangs back a few steps behind you. Whether out of caution or because she doesn't want to be a bother you can't say. After walking a few minutes in silence you start to feel awkward. "So... What's your name?" you finally ask. "Amanda... You?" "I'm Rich. Nice to meet you." "You too." And just like that the silence grows once more. You find yourself increasingly unsure about the whole affair, hoping you're not making a big mistake by inviting a stranger into your home. Who knows - maybe she was lying about the car and she's really homeless, hoping to trick some poor sap into opening his door for her so she can rob him blind. "Where - eh - where did you use to live?" you ask, as much to break the silence as to try to figure out if she's telling the truth. "Chrysanthemum Lane, the apartment building on 41." "That old-looking one with the mismatched windows?" "Yeah, I actually had the window with the red frame." Her voice perks up a bit as she talks about her old home, clearly remembering happier times. "The outside looked kind of awful, but the apartments was really nice. Small but comfy. I really feel... felt... at home... there..." Oh no, this immediately took a bad turn. You try to change the subject: "So... So where do you work? Or do you go to collage, or what? "I'm... between work right now. I got fired from the last one - the coffee shop on Marigold Road - because I spilled coffee on some influencer's white sneakers... Apparently its on Instagram with, like, a hundred-thousand views..." You look back at her over your shoulder and she's staring at the ground as she's walking, her ears back and flat against her head. You're reminded of a shuffling zombie, aimlessly following a trail in the establishing shot of some cheap horror movie. God damn it. "Well, we're almost at my apartment now. You should probably take a hot shower and warm up first and I'll get started with dinner." She doesn't reply but after a moment you hear sobbing once again. You stop and turn. "Are you okay?" "I'm sorry," she answers, wiping her cheeks clumsily. "I just haven't showered in almost two week..." "Ah..." A few minutes later you're unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. Finally home. It feels like hours ago that you got of the train, without a stray cat in tow. You take off your shoes and jacket and start heading towards the bathroom when you look back and see her standing in the doorway. "Are you a vampire?" you ask, trying to sound jovial. "Come in." She almost jumps in, nearly stepping on one of your shoes, causing her to lose balance and fall against the wall opposite the door. You stare in disbelief as she straightens herself up and looks at you sheepishly. "You sure you're a cat?" you think out loud. "I'm sorry," is all she says as she squats down to untie her shoes. You enter the bathroom and shake your head to yourself once you've closed the door. As you open the door again you see her standing in the entryway, holding her jacket and looking lost. You walk up to her and reach out your hand. "Your jacket, ma'am." She hands it over, startled. "You don't have to be so tense. I didn't invite you in to serve as a coat rack." Finally she smiles, though not without also looking embarrassed as you hang her jacket for her. "The bathroom's over there," you point, "there are clean towels in the top drawer and I'm pretty sure my shampoo says 'fur friendly'. Though you might come out smelling like pine." She nods at you and finally moves into your apartment for real. "Oh, hang on," you call out for her and she looks almost terrified as she turns around. "I'm sorry," you're quick to add, "but I guess you'll want clean clothes after you're done?" "Em..." She looks like she's weighing her options. "Yes," she finally says, "that'd be really nice... If you can spare any." "Of course. Wait a moment and I'll grab some." You make your way to your bedroom and collect up what she might need. She'll have to settle for boxers or re-use her underwear though. Walking back to her you hand over the pile of clothes and smile at her. She returns your smile, a bit more natural this time, and closes the door. You remain where you are for a moment, thinking things through. At least she seems genuine in her need, so she probably won't try to stab you during dinner. She's also naked in there now. First girl in your apartment and it's technically a hobo. Great. You suddenly remember something. "Amanda?" you call through the door. You hear a loud shriek, something halfway between a meow and the noise a rat would probably make if you stepped on its tail. "Just - uh - just put your clothes in the washer and I'll run it during dinner, okay?" "O-Okay," she replies, and you make your way to you kitchen feeling like you're somehow back at work. Maybe three quarters of an hour later, as you're draining the spaghetti, you hear the bathroom door open and close. A soft shuffling follows, only to stop dead in its tracks. "In here," you shout towards the kitchen doorway, and not longer after she enters. Wearing your old, baggy sweater and a pair of sweatpants in the same gray color that are similarly too big for her, she looks pretty comical but also very relaxed. Now that her fur has been restored to its proper sheen, she appears a lot less ragged and forlorn, and a lot more like someone you'd actually want to have over for dinner. Though her fur is still damp and a bit unruly, you can tell she's really quite attractive with her warm orange eyes and pink little button nose, and the way she's gracefully moving now that she's not stressed out. Even her tail, that you hadn't even noticed until now, moves with smooth, almost flowing motions in her wake. "You don't have a furdryer, do you? Or hairdryer, even," she asks, her voice noticeably calmer. "Oh, I - eh - no. I don't." "Figured. I'll just have to stay warm then." She smiles at you, shyly but warmly. Her tail is standing tall behind her, in a relaxed S-curve, and even her ears have perked up, no longer laying flat but instead pointing forward. Your eyes stay on her for long enough that she shifts uncomfortably where she stands. "Sorry," you start, returning your gaze to the spaghetti, "it's just that when I first saw you, I couldn't tell you apart from the garbage bag I found you in." She gives off a snort, quickly covering her nose with a hand, laughing quietly into her palm. "Yeah, I wasn't looking my best. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror." "The last few days must have been rough, eh?" "No kidding. I was almost at my breaking point when you found me." "That's kind of why I invited you home. Didn't want to read about you in the papers tomorrow." "Oh God," she covers her face with her hands. "I know you're joking but I feel like I just dodged a bullet..." "Let's see if you say the same after tasting my cooking," you say, dumping the spaghetti into the pot of sauce. She walks up and look down, a curious smile on her face. "What is it?" she asks. "Spaghetti bolognese, not that any Italian would agree." You stir it around before spooning some up on a plate and handing it to her. "It smells really good!" She grabs the plate happily, her nose twitching excitedly as she's taking in the aroma. "You can start," you say, pointing at the small table by the window. "Just, you know, don't drop the plate on the way over." She gives you a meaningful look but you can tell she's being very careful as she's making her way to the table. Preparing a plate for yourself you join her, bringing a cheap bottle of grated Parmesan from the fridge. As you sit down she's already shoveling food into her mouth with surprising speed. "Fif if scho gud!" She looks at you with those wide eyes again, but this time they're displaying excitement rather than fear. "Glad you're enjoying it. There's more in the pot," you say, realizing you might not get your usual leftovers this time. "Mhhf" is all you get back as she grabs the Parmesan and helps herself. You watch her eat. "I'm still not sure you're really a cat." She gives off another snort, covering her mouth as some spaghetti falls back down onto her plate. She takes her time to chew and swallow before answering: "I'm sorry, but I was really hungry, and this is the best food I've eaten in months." "I'll take that as high praise, so thank you very much." She smiles happily and goes back to eating. You watch her clean her plate with great vigor, taking your time with your own meal. "I... Was there..." she starts, looking towards the stove. "Help yourself," you say, and she does just that.