Chapter 12

Back in my apartment, I throw myself passionately into my heart mosaic. I choose a spot opposite the sofa, so it can confront me when I wake in the morning and before I fall asleep at night. I spend an hour pasting the red shards into a fairly accurate depiction of an emoji heart (not an actual heart, though I’d excuse you for thinking that since Mandy has an actual spleen on her wall).

As I admire my handiwork, I hear scratching at my door.

When I open up, Sprite is sitting on my welcome mat. She rubs up against my legs and meows. She sniffs at my door frame with interest.

“You want to come in?” Normally, I wouldn’t offer, but I haven’t had visitors in a long time.

Sprite blinks like maybe she understands, but I know she can’t because she’s an Add-On—an accessory for Cathy, without the same level of agency those animals I saw in the Healing Center elevator have. She scampers into my entryway.

Maybe Sprite has transferred a little of bit of Cathy’s zaniness to me, because I start to pretend Sprite is Zelda visiting me in cat form. To complete the illusion, I fumble in my pants pocket for the silver oxygen pin I found outside the Healing Center elevator the day before yesterday and attach it to Sprite’s silver collar. (Yes, I’ve worn the same pants three days in a row, and I’ll probably wear them again tomorrow. I am a guy.)

Sprite saunters into my living room as if she owns the place. She is at least familiar with the layout and the furniture since Cathy’s unit is identical. All of the units in this complex are standard-issue singles, with the exception of the family units, which are twice as large. Beyond the basics, we can personalize by visiting the Shopping District, but I have to admit I can’t be bothered to spend much of my free time bargain hunting and dodging Mopey Mallrats. Also, collecting experiences trumps having a bunch of trinkets. Regardless, Sprite has to check everything out. She stands on her hind paws to get a better peek at the bookshelf.

“I bought comics to have more in common with you.” I speak to Sprite as if she were Zelda, though I’d probably never be this honest with the actual Zelda. I set my bucket of glass on the top shelf so Sprite can’t get into it and cut herself.

My sleeve catches on the dartboard next to the bookshelf. It reminds me of my marathon games with Finn. He used to come over all the time, and the place seems empty without his constant stream of puns. He claimed to have a disease called Witzelsucht, which is German for “addiction to wisecracking.” The Germans truly do have a word for everything.

Sprite flicks her tail and meanders around the rest of the room, inspecting the two gray fabric wingback chairs and the matching sofa before jumping on the glass top of the coffee table where she leaves a little trail of kitty prints. Good thing housekeeping comes tomorrow. I don’t mind a little disorder, as long as I can find everything, but dirt and grime make me twitchy.

She touches her pink nose against the globe standing on the table, right at the equator in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. “What are those black dots, you ask? Those are all the places I’ve worked.” There are not many dots, as of yet, and I haven’t actually been to those cities and towns, only the facsimiles Authors describe. Most of them fall in the United States, though one dot covers Amsterdam and one covers Cape Town, South Africa.

My guitar leans against the wall, and Sprite rubs up against the strings, producing a hollow sound. For the real Zelda, I might pick up the guitar and play the three chords every dabbler learns to woo women: G, C, and D. I’d make up a sweet yet witty song and Zelda would melt into my waiting arms. Sprite, however, hisses at the guitar, so no song for her!

Next Sprite visits my kitchen, which I splashed with blue paint one day when I felt restless. Finn used to say it looked like mermaids had swum across my granite countertops. Sprite meows in front of my fridge and licks her chops.

“What a neglectful host I am! I forgot to offer you a drink. I’m afraid I’m out of the Double O Cinnamon you hold in such high esteem.” My standing grocery order will come tomorrow, too, though tea is never on my list, because tea is, well, not my cup of tea. I pour her a tiny saucer of almond milk, which she laps up daintily.

After she has her fill, we continue the tour. She scratches the rug in my bathroom and slides around in the tub. I have a vision of Zelda in her place, soaking in a frothy bubble bath, and if I stay any longer in this fantasy, I’m going to need a cold shower. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

Of course, the next place Sprite wants to visit is my bedroom, and when I open the door, she heads straight for my perfectly made bed (pristine, in fact, because I always sleep on the sofa). She stretches out her body and rolls over to expose her tummy. “Whoa! I don’t usually move this fast. Maybe we can chat first? What’s your sun sign?”

I pretend she answers as Zelda, whose sun sign I already know due to her character trait sheet. “Sagittarius? According to the astrology experts, we are highly compatible then.”

I swear to God Sprite winks at me. With the left eye, like Zelda does. Not gonna lie: it kinda freaks me out. I remove the oxygen pin from Sprite’s collar and hide it in my dresser.

“Okay, Sprite. It’s time for you to go.” I pick her up and carry her over to Cathy’s. She climbs the hedge and the window scrapes open to allow her entry before slamming down to keep all the illegal felines from making a great escape.

I must be severely lonely if I’ve resorted to pretending a cat is my crush. I wish I could talk to Finn. Even though I’ve clicked with Mandy and had fun with her today, that friendship is too new to be as deep as what I had with Finn.

And of course, whenever I find myself missing Finn, I end up wondering how he ended up on the Termination Train without a word of warning. It simply does not make sense to me, and I don’t think it ever will.