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The rain ebbed and flowed, a sprinkle one minute, a deluge the next. Loop wondered idly if the water would extinguish them, but they knew this was merely hypothetical. Of course the Universe wasn’t going to let them off that easy.
They stuck to covered areas out of habit, even though the wetness meant little to their dulled senses. Walking brazenly around in the open in such weather would raise eyebrows. They drew enough attention to themself as it was — glowing head, “skin” textured like the night sky. Cool costume, some had told them, or, what fun Body Craft. No one would believe that this was the result of neither, but at least Vaugardians didn’t ask questions.
When the first clap of thunder had sounded, the children who’d occupied this playground had run screaming to the nearest building. Loop then took refuge in the abandoned jungle gym. Water cascaded off the roof of the structure, and puddles grew in the divots underneath the swingset and at the base of the slide.
Cloudy sky in every direction. They leaned against the wall and settled in for an indefinite wait.
Without any random people to watch, or the ability to sleep, they had few options for staving off boredom, and stars forbid they be alone with their thoughts. They didn’t want to potentially ruin the library book they carried. The last few times they’d tried to call Stardust, he’d been busy, and Loop didn’t want to bother him again.
They remembered the kalimba they’d acquired from that Mwudu traveling musician just weeks ago. It barely fit in the biggest pocket of Loop’s hooded cloak. They pulled it out and examined the polished wood, the thin metal tines. Then they plucked at it. Nobody was around to hear them be bad, and the rain muffled sound anyway, so now was as good a time as any to start practicing. Once they figured out which tine played which note, they approximated the opening movement of some plodding song they couldn’t remember the name of.
Everything mattered so much now that they were outside the time loops. For this moment, they could indulge in something temporary. A song was like a life, they thought: beautiful, devastating, and ephemeral. If only their unfeeling fingertips would cooperate to make this particular one more pleasant. The rain encased them in this bubble of sound, this singularity of meaning.
A squeak slipped between the notes like a paper under a door. They paused, just for a second or two. That was likely the jungle gym structure creaking in the humidity. They started from the top — there was that squeak again.
Loop leaned forward and peered through the porthole in the side wall. Their surroundings hadn’t changed. Another squeak, and they whirled to look in the opposite direction. No movements, but the noises became persistent, steady. Squeak squeak squeak. This couldn’t be the structure settling.
They pocketed the kalimba, flipped the hood up over their head, and slinked out from under the roof. Their bare heel plunged straight into a dark puddle, which made them cringe even though they didn’t feel anything. Old habits. First, they skulked the perimeter of the playground, keeping their gaze low. They saw no sign of anything amongst the playground equipment. Squeak squeak squeak.
They approached the small patch of foliage nearby, where a dormant shrub stood above a carpet of wild ginger. Squeak squeak squeak. Judging from the volume, the sound had to be coming from this area — but plants didn’t make noise.
Was this some rodent or bird? Their eyes swept back and forth. Rain pattered on the ginger leaves, though nothing else seemed to disturb them. It was subtle, but they could make out a dark spot amongst the brush. They crouched down to study it, and discovered a hole the size of a grapefruit. The longer they stared, the more confident they became that the squeaking sound came from inside. And that it sounded like a kitten.
It took, by rough estimate, about three hours for Loop to get the kitten. Both of them were soaked, splattered with dirt and mud. With the kitten swaddled in their cloak, they ducked into a bodega just a couple of blocks away.
The shopkeeper looked at them with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Like he had no idea what to make of them, only that they made him apprehensive.
In his defense, it was not every day someone had a star walk through their door. The kitten had stopped struggling in Loop’s grasp, and now they were tracking a veritable stream of water through this unassuming store. They stood there probably a little too long before a word came out of them: “Towels?”
The man put up a hand, as if to tell them to stay put. His gaze lingered on them as he stepped out from behind the counter and disappeared behind a shelving unit. He came back about a minute later with two bundles of terry cloth rolled up in his hands.
They thanked him, tucked one of the rolls under their arm, and peeled back the layers of wet cloak.
“Oh. That little guy.”
They glanced up at the shopkeeper and lifted the kitten slightly. “This one?”
“Yeah.” The man’s look had softened. “People have been trying to catch it for days.”
They transferred it carefully from the cloak to the towel, giving it as little opportunity as possible to slip out. Not that it would have made much of an effort — it seemed pretty tired.
“I’m surprised it’s letting you manhandle it,” he said.
Loop was a little surprised too. “Does it belong to someone?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, shrugging. “It appeared out of nowhere last week. I think it got separated from its mama somehow.”
He cocked his head at something behind them, prompting Loop to look over their shoulder. There was a large corkboard on the wall between the door and the counter, on which locals had posted flyers for accordion lessons, an estate sale, a lost rooster. Nothing about a cat.
When they faced forward again, the man was leaving to grab a mop. The kitten, with the fur mussed on its damp head, peered about the room.
“Stars and comets.”
Loop ran clumsily out of the alleyway and threw looks up and down the street. The kitten was nowhere to be found. They’d been gone for two minutes! They should have known better than to assume a simple box would keep it penned.
Only after barreling halfway down the block did they remember cats were prey animals and would not be willing to approach something as big and fast as they were right now. They slowed down and poured more carefully over their surroundings. There were too many hiding spots to even count.
“Pichichi,” they called in a high voice, “pichichichichi.”
This accomplished nothing, except for the few early risers around them giving them funny looks. They sighed curtly and dropped their arms to their sides.
Some time ago, some way, they’d heard that darkless cats like this one were often deaf. Cats were not obedient listeners as they were. If noises couldn’t attract it, maybe food could?
They lifted their foot — and felt resistance. On the ground, on their blind side, the kitten stumbled away. They set their foot back down and the kitten padded back and forth with its tail in the air, rubbing its tiny body against them.
Stardust was doing that thing again where they kept turning the subject away from himself. Loop almost didn’t notice — but, at least this time, they would let it slide.
Because they could tell he was jealous.
“Someone brought up getting a therapy animal,” he said. “I don’t know if I’d be able to take good care of one, though, since I’m not exactly settled down.”
“You do you,” they said, “but I am literally playing with my cat right now, and she is sooo cute.” She balanced on her hind feet and clapped her paws around the ribbon dangling in front of her.
“I’m sure she—oh.” A beat. “Odile says hi. She just walked in.”
“Maybe you could ask her about getting a cat,” Loop said, as if the suggestion were more for him than for themself.
“I can…”
They felt the connection go thin, but not cut off entirely. For nearly a minute, they sat in silence, and continued dragging the ribbon back and forth. The kitten started to lose interest — were they playing with her wrong?
Stardust’s voice finally manifested in their mind again. “She wants to talk to you directly.”
Oh, no.
“Why?” Loop tried to hide their bristling behind a light tone.
“She said it would just be easier that way,” he replied.
When the Universe had forced Loop somewhere else, they’d taken some time to process, and concluded that they didn’t want to see the party again for a very long time, if ever. They entertained Stardust’s efforts to reach out after a few months apart. Some days, maintaining that relationship felt like a chore on the same level as deep-cleaning an apartment. But he seemed lost without them, so how could they say no? They were content to avoid Stardust’s friends, though, as much as possible.
They hummed skeptically. “Easier for whom? What would she even have to talk to me about?”
“She wants to know about your cat,” he explained.
The kitten stopped caring about the ribbon and walked off to find some other entertainment. They held onto the toy anyway, so they could have something in their hand.
“The cat and I are doing just fine.” Their bubbly tone faltered.
They could imagine the face he was making: squinting eyes, pursing lips. “You don’t need any help with her?”
“Nope!”
And then a scowl. “Are you—”
“I’m sure.” They nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of business to attend to.” They dispeled the hand shape with a flick of the wrist before Stardust could get a response in.
Being a star had many drawbacks: the deeper level of social outcastness than they thought they could experience, the loss of the simple pleasures and comforts that used to get them through day by day as Siffrin, the doubts surrounding their autonomy and whether they even counted as alive.
On the bright side (pun not intended), the light cast by their head allowed them to function better at night. They didn’t feel pain or exhaustion physically. They didn’t have to worry about food, shelter, or anything else they’d have to work for.
Not for themself, at least.
They found themself carrying a small tent and a cushion and tinder. They remembered how to trap small game. They got back into the habit of picking up random objects — twist ties, feathers, bells, a small cloth toy that had fallen off a baby’s mobile — and stuffing them in their pockets, simply because the cat took interest in them.
The kitten made for a surprisingly low-maintenance traveling companion. She spent half her time asleep. Loop discovered early on that she could use the hood of their cloak like a hammock, and if they turned it backward, they could keep an eye on her while she slept. Sometimes she would climb out of the hood and sit on their shoulder.
A few times a day they’d stop. They would either set up camp in the wilderness or find a room in the city. They would play with her, feed her, let her stretch her legs, whatever she wanted. They’d let her explore while they sat in the corner. She’d distract them while they tried to read. They would make embarrassing sounds to get her attention and she would ignore them on purpose. She would curl up on their lap and zonk out, and they would be perfectly okay with staying still for hours.
The rest stop was a welcome sight after a long day on the road. Loop seated themself in a small dining area. As they were the only patron in the place, a barmaid came to them right away.
“Do you have any meat?” they asked.
The barmaid glanced at the kitten in the hood just below their chin. “Meat for people or meat for cats?”
Loop smiled, not that anyone could see. “For cats.”
“Uh…?” The barmaid shifted her weight and looked at the counter. “I think everything we have on hand is seasoned, but if you give me a few minutes I can get them to boil some offal.”
They nodded, and she dutifully walked to the kitchen.
They gently lifted the kitten out of the hood, letting her step onto the top of the table. She immediately made for the edge as if to jump down. They held up their hands to corral her and watched with both amusement and guilt as she seemed to grow frustrated at the attempts to block her in place. “I know, baby,” they cooed. “Just wait.”
The barmaid came back just a couple minutes later with a glass of water. Loop prepared to dismiss the offer before realizing the water may have been for the cat.
“You can let it loose,” she said. “The restaurant is slow right now. I don’t think anyone will mind.”
They doubted that was such a good idea in a place where folks were supposed to eat, but it wasn’t like they worked here. They lifted their hands out of the way and the kitten took off. For as eager as she had been to get off the table, she moved cautiously about the dining room — slinking under chairs, sniffing different spots on the floor.
“That’s an adorable cat.” The barmaid brought her attention from the kitten to Loop. “How long have you had it?”
“A few weeks.”
She hummed and smiled. “What’s its name?”
“I haven’t decided one yet,” they said honestly. Knowing themself, they’d probably forget every option and come up with something stupid on the spot the second they needed to actually give it a name. Until then, they could hem and haw.
The barmaid clicked her tongue and cocked her hip. “What about Cendre?” She glanced at the kitten again, then back at Loop. “Because its paws make it look like it’s stepped in soot.”
“That’s cute.” Cendre could go on the list alongside Kali, Rainy, Grubbins, Simone the Crosseyed Wonder, Crown Princess Garbáge, and (The Cooler) Stardust.