Cecil Gershwin Palmer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holdingacat) wrote2018-07-31 09:06 pm
holdingacat) wrote2018-07-31 09:06 pm
Kitten
There was always an odd, almost... spooky quality to the station in the very late or very, very early hours. This was, of course, setting aside the mild to moderate feeling of existential dread that was normal for working near where Station Management chose to den. No, it was something... other than that. Something almost like when the Faceless Old Woman Who Lives In Your House touches your face as you lie awake sleepless in the middle of the night.
Which is why, if Cecil had screamed like a little girl when the intruder in the men's bathroom of the radio station yeowled at him, he was totally justified.
Which he hadn't.
Definitely.
Not that you could prove, anyway.
The yeowl had come, he found, from a black cat. This wouldn't necessarily have been so odd, sometimes stray cats get in the darnedest places... but this one was hovering four feet off the ground near the sink.
Clearly hovering.
Little paws touching nothing but air.
Cecil would leave it to it's own devices but... man, it was cute. And it rubbed up against him (thankfully the necessary antitoxins were found in the first aid kit) just like a normal cat would, once he was close enough. He couldn't just leave it there.
Well, he could, it turned out, the cat was stuck - four feet off the ground, near the sink, in the men's bathroom. However, he could bring it some food (meat raided from a sandwich left unattended and un-named in the staff fridge) and a little bowl of water, and he spent a quiet, contemplative half-hour sitting in the men's bathroom with his first morning cup of coffee, watching the new cat (he was pretty sure he should name it Khoshekh) groom himself.
Which is why, if Cecil had screamed like a little girl when the intruder in the men's bathroom of the radio station yeowled at him, he was totally justified.
Which he hadn't.
Definitely.
Not that you could prove, anyway.
The yeowl had come, he found, from a black cat. This wouldn't necessarily have been so odd, sometimes stray cats get in the darnedest places... but this one was hovering four feet off the ground near the sink.
Clearly hovering.
Little paws touching nothing but air.
Cecil would leave it to it's own devices but... man, it was cute. And it rubbed up against him (thankfully the necessary antitoxins were found in the first aid kit) just like a normal cat would, once he was close enough. He couldn't just leave it there.
Well, he could, it turned out, the cat was stuck - four feet off the ground, near the sink, in the men's bathroom. However, he could bring it some food (meat raided from a sandwich left unattended and un-named in the staff fridge) and a little bowl of water, and he spent a quiet, contemplative half-hour sitting in the men's bathroom with his first morning cup of coffee, watching the new cat (he was pretty sure he should name it Khoshekh) groom himself.