Started In June

01 - Cat Cafe

A new cafe opened up on the corner a couple blocks from my apartment. It's called Folds and Catkins, and from the name, you'd think it was a cat cafe, and I guess in a way it is. The baristas all wear headbands with different types of cat ears attached to them. Their aprons are pale with black paw prints that trail down into the pockets, and their name badges are in the shape of fishbones.

I'd barely gotten in the door yet.

"Good morning, Cain. Your usual?" Simon says. He has light brown hair, white cat ears, and the uniform black shirt underneath his pale blue apron. He's lean, tall, a runner in when he was in high school, but he's been out of it for a few years now. He looks like he still goes running every morning though.

I cover my face with my hand and rub my eyes. They're heavy from my sleepless night and I can feel the residual sadness sagging them down. "Am I that predictable?" I say with a weak laugh.

Simon wrote across the paper cup with a sharpie then moved to the espresso machine. "Same order for the last two years you've been coming in."

I step up to the counter. "And how many days is that?"

The espresso machine begins frothing the milk. Simon steps behind the register. My order is already rung up: white chocolate mocha with coconut milk and a vanilla and walnut scone. I run my card, Simon taps through the transaction, he disappears to remove the milk from the frothing wand. "Four, five times a week for two years? I'm not the greatest at math, so I'll leave that there."

"That's 520 days," Caesar says. "How do you afford this much freaking coffee? The coffee's basically six dollars and the scone you throw on top of it, another three. That's nearly fifty dollars a week you blow here. Around $250 a month and $10,400 a year. What are you doing with your life?"

"All the wrong things, apparently." I rub my eyes again.

Caesar has dark blond hair cut short and a little bit on the punk side. He looks like someone who listens to KPOP while riding the bus. He has thick, black-rimmed glasses, and the prescription is so strong, it makes his eyes look much larger than they are. His ears are gray Scottish folds. His name tag reads "King Caesar" though the 'King' is in different handwriting than the name.

Simon lays my coffee down at the out counter. My scone is warmed and placed in a bag. When he lays it down on the counter, I reach a little early and grab his hand. "Sorry--" I draw my hand back.

He smiles and slides the bag closer. "Don't take him too offensively. If he didn't work here, he'd be spending much more than you."

"I'm not too worried about until I can't make my rent or fit through the door anymore," I say.

"Don't worry. I'll switch you to sugar free way before that happens," Simon says.

I slip the scone into my bag. "Thanks for looking out for me."

"Any time. Can't have our most loyal customer stop coming... and replacing the door for a whale is a bit on the no budgetable side." Simon laughed.

"Oh god." The pressure builds up in my eyes. I suck in a noisy breath through my nose, it catches on the building snot. I wipe my nose with my arm. "I'll never get that big. But if I start, I only hope my arms balloon up first so I--" I look away, hold my eyes closed for a moment. "I can't reach my food. Get me back on track."

The cafe door rings. One person comes in, then another, then a couple more as the morning rush hour picks up.

I turn around to make my escape.

"Have a good day," Simon says."

"I'll try." A wave the scone over my head. I press my back into the door and push it open and walk out. The winter cold hits me immediately and chills my skin. There's a little bit of snow on the sidewalk, most of it pushed aside from the city's shoveling program. I take a sip of the mocha and it warms my body as it goes down my throat. Then I notice the markings on the cup. They know me well enough there, Simon shouldn't have to write anything on the cup. But instead of my order or my name, it says, "FOLDS @ 9PM TONITE. U SHOULD COME." There's the small drawing of a cat head beside the words.

"What the hell?" My nose runs from the cold. "They just want me to spend twenty-five dollars a week instead of whatever I was already spending." I laugh and keep moving to get to work.

But all day, I keep the cup on my desk and I look at the invitation written across it. The cup is empty and my coworker asks if I want it to be thrown away and I say no, it's fine, I'm still drinking it. He picks it up to see if there's anything left then asks what I'm finishing. He asks if I'm on a new diet. He says, "I noticed your ass was getting kinda big. Probably a good decision. Next good decision: cut off those mocho cho chos."

"It's not a mocho chocho. I don't even know what a mocho cho cho is."

"It's all that sugar in your cup."

"God, Mark. Go away."

I go back and forth trying to decide if I wanted to go to this cafe like Simon told me. There wasn't anything in the newspaper about the cat cafe being open at night. There wasn't anything on social media, I couldn't find anything anywhere. As I leave the office, I figure, Folds was only a block or two away from my house... I could wonder there after dark and see what was going on. It'd be just a peak because I have to get up in the morning and Simon made it seem like this important kind of thing. Why else would he write it on my cup?

I put on my boots and jacket and left my house. The night, winter air has become much more vicious in the last few hours. It nips at my skin through the jacket and stings a little bit. I go to the cafe, the light bleeding out into the street is dim, but there is a light on. I try the cafe door and it's unlocked. The bell rings. Behind the counter are a pair of hippie-looking girls, the type that wear jewels from their ears, streaks of color in their hair, and bright, patterned skirts to the floor. "Hey," I say, a nervous swallow constricts my through. "I..." I look around. "Simon told me to come. Have you seen him?" The girls share a look. They're mirror images of one another. Long brown hair, a pink streak on the opposite side, so when they look at each other, they're reflections. Their blue eyes meet, they smile, one points to a nearby table where a thin, white cat sits.

"Is that where he's sitting?" I ask.

"Yup." Her voice is monotone.

I go over to the table. The cat stares up at me from the plush seat. "Uh, hi." I say. "What's your name?" I reach for his collar slowly. The small, fish-shaped tag reads Simon. "That's weird." I sit down at the table. "Did you know, you have the same name as a barista here? God--how weird is it that I'm talking to a cat..."