“I want mac and cheese!”
I swear the sound of muffled laughter follows my announcement. My neck snaps to look downward to Fat, sitting calmly at my feet by the entryway. I grab my keys off the hall table and shove them in my pocket. The intense eye contact persists throughout the small action.
“What?” Fat’s eyes narrow, trying to dissect the look I give her.
“I’m serious. I want mac and cheese!”
“Boss, calm down. There’s no need to yell.” Fat licks a paw and rubs it against her face.
My eyes widen. Yell? I thought I merely made a statement declaring my strong desire for carbohydrates. I had no idea such a tremendous want came with amplified volume. My voice adjusts to an indoor level. Ever since I started thinking of Bestie’s mac and cheese last week, the memory of its creamy deliciousness haunts me. It’s complete addict behaviour.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Fat finishes washing her face and gives me a knowing gaze. “It’s addict behaviour.”
“I just said that.”
Fat shakes her head, “No, you didn’t.”
My brain abandons its lust of pasta to pursue recent memory. Maybe I just thought the thing about addict behaviour. Either way, it’s concerning.
“I think I’m going crazy.”
“Stating the obvious, lady. That’s why you made me your therapist.”
I mutter, “You’re a self-appointed therapist. If you were court-appointed I might pay more attention.”
“With your stupid behaviour I imagine that is only a matter of time. You need to distract yourself from this fleeting obsession with cheesy, fatty pasta. Get out of the house.”
My phone lights up to show me the time. “I’m trying. I actually need to get to the bank before it closes.” It’s going to be a close one. I might even have to run.
I open the front door as I wrestle to get my sandals on. While bent over, my untamed hair cascades, putting a divide between Fat and I.
“Well that’s interesting.” The sentence sounds broken the way Fat says it. The odd breaks between her words makes me curious. I part my wild hair like an explorer in an overgrown jungle so I can observe the feline. She looks beyond me and at the doorway, head cocked to the side as though perplexed. I turn and see it too.
A lone box of Kraft Dinner occupies the space within the door frame. Fat and I exchange confused looks and both race to look up and down the hallway for a hint as to who left it for us to find.
Fat eyes Jesse’s door with accusation. I follow her stare and recall the laughter after my initial loud announcement.
“You think?” I watch Jesse’s door for a sign of life. Nothing happens.