There were two Vincents in Rody Lamoree's life, and neither one was particularly thrilled about it. The first Vincent was his quiet, brooding, slightly unhinged roommate who seemed allergic to fun and human emotions. The second Vincent was a cat.
Manon Vacher, their third roommate, had been watching this absurd rivalry unfold with glee for weeks, and today she was thoroughly enjoying herself. You see, there are few things in life more entertaining than watching a grown man engage in a subtle, psychological war with a cat.
It all started the day Rody brought the tabby home.
"I found him outside the bakery! Isn't he cute?" Rody beamed, holding up a rather unimpressed-looking ball of fur. The cat blinked slowly, already giving off an aura of superiority.
Manon, sitting at the kitchen table, stared at the cat, then at Vincent (the human), then back to the cat. "What are you gonna name him?" she asked, hiding her smirk behind her coffee cup.
Rody grinned, like he had just come up with the best idea in the world. "I'm gonna name him... Vincent."
There was a silence, during which Vincent (the human), who had been peacefully brewing his tea, froze.
Manon's face lit up in pure, unadulterated amusement. She quickly glanced at Vincent (the human), who was looking at Rody as though he had just been personally betrayed. "Vincent," he repeated, deadpan.
"Yup!" Rody said, setting the cat down on the kitchen floor. "Doesn't he look like a Vincent? All mysterious and stuff."
Vincent (the human)'s eye twitched ever so slightly.
Manon was beside herself, desperately holding back laughter. "Oh yeah, definitely mysterious," she said, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
---
The first battle took place in the kitchen, naturally.
Vincent (the human) prided himself on being an early riser. He liked to start his mornings with a cup of tea in silence, before Rody burst into the day like a particularly excited golden retriever. But when he came downstairs the next morning, there was an intruder.
Vincent (the cat) was sitting on the counter, his green eyes half-lidded, judging the world from his lofty perch. He yawned lazily when Vincent (the human) walked in, as though daring him to try something.
Vincent (the human) narrowed his eyes. "Off," he said flatly, pointing at the floor. The cat blinked, as if to say, *Who do you think you're talking to, peasant?*
Not one to be outdone, Vincent (the human) stepped closer and swatted the cat off the counter. Vincent (the cat) landed gracefully and promptly leaped back up, his tail swishing in Vincent's face like an arrogant little flag of victory.
"Vincent, hey!" Rody's voice interrupted, and both Vincents turned. Vincent (the human) realized, too late, that the name now applied to both of them. "There you are, buddy!" Rody scratched the cat's head, beaming. "You're up early too, huh?"
Vincent (the human) frowned, watching in growing horror as Rody lavished attention on his feline rival.
---
By mid-week, the cat had cemented his place in Rody's heart, and Vincent (the human) was *not* pleased.
The living room became a new battlefield. Rody, as oblivious as ever, loved relaxing on the couch with Vincent (the cat) curled up in his lap. Vincent (the human) would sit in the armchair, watching the cat soak up all the attention with a simmering intensity that could've boiled water.
"Hey, Vince," Rody said one evening, looking up from his spot on the couch where the cat was sprawled luxuriously across his legs. "Wanna join us? We're just chilling."
