Summertime Saga: New Life, New Saga

Chapter 3 - Shovel of Misunderstanding?

The soft padding of footsteps grew closer. Mark's heart raced as he crouched behind the statue, struggling to make himself as small as possible.

His furry companion, however, seemed completely unbothered by the tension in the air. The cat sat calmly, licking its paws, its nonchalance a stark contrast to Mark's anxiety.

"Traitor," he muttered under his breath, feeling a pang of betrayal from the one creature that was supposed to have his back. The cat, seemingly unfazed, leaped to the top of the block stone where the statue was standing and perched there, watching the scene unfold.

"Hey there, little kitty," came a soft, familiar voice. "Looks like our gravekeeper is doing a great job guarding the cemetery from bad spirits" Mark's pulse quickened.

Peeking just behind the statue, he caught sight of the nun—the same one who had been watering the flowers earlier. She was a striking figure, with a loose grey tunic that brushed the tops of her sensible shoes, her head framed by a black veil that concealed most of her blonde braid. The bright blue eyes under her guimpe were intense, almost piercing, even as she cooed softly at the cat.

Meow.

"Oh, someone's hungry after a long patrol?" she mused, her voice lighthearted. The woman reached into her habit's pocket and, with a soft shing, produced a small can of cat food.

"Here you go, eat as much as you can, kitty," she said as she popped it open. The cat meowed appreciatively and dove into the meal with gusto.

Meanwhile, Mark was still huddled behind the statue, sweating bullets. The smell of fishy cat food wafted over, and with every contented purr from the cat, Mark could feel his tension rise.

"Crazy little bastard," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow and trying to calm his racing heart. He tried to control his breathing, hoping the woman wouldn't catch sight of him.

The smug little furball was taking its sweet time eating, as if it knew exactly how to make Mark sweat. Each slow, deliberate bite of its meal seemed designed to prolong his agony. "Are you doing this on purpose?" Mark muttered under his breath, glaring at the cat.

It gave no sign of hearing him—or caring—its entire focus on savoring every last morsel, pausing occasionally just to lick its paws.

This cat wasn't just lazy; it was downright mischievous. Mark's fists clenched, watching helplessly as the seconds ticked by. Every purr, every flick of the cat's tail felt like a taunt. The longer it ate, the more it seemed like the universe really did have it out for him.

Minutes stretched on like an eternity. After what felt like hours, the cat finally finished its meal and let out a satisfied meow. The nun, seemingly pleased, took the empty can and stood up.

"Looks like you're finally done, kitty. That took longer than usual." Mark's annoyance flared. The cat had not only led him straight into danger, but now it was dragging things out even further.

The nun gave a soft chuckle. "Since you're full now, and I'm busy at the church today, feel free to head over to Diane's house for lunch if I don't make it. Just don't piss on tombstones or bury your 'treasures' under it, okay?"

Meow.

Mark raised an eyebrow at the nun's casual use of "treasures" If she only knew what sort of treasure the cat was hiding behind this statue right now—namely, himself.

With her chores done, the nun walked back toward the church and disappeared through its doors.

The cat, now looking even smugger, remained perched on the statue. He sighed in relief, finally able to relax after the heart-pounding encounter.