1 After six months of unemployment, I finally landed a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. The pay was great, the benefits even better. The only unusual requirement was that I had to like animals. Looking at the calico cat that had been rubbing against my leg since I arrived for the interview, and the walls covered in photos of cats and dogs, I nodded. Must be a pet-friendly hotel. My first shift was the night shift. Before the manager left, he kept looking at me like he wanted to say something, but couldn't. I just patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” At eleven o'clock, the revolving doors started to turn. A few seconds later, a soaking wet, battered tuxedo cat leaped onto the stool in front of the reception desk. “Human,” it said, its voice a gravelly hiss. “Get this cat a room. King-sized bed.” “This cat needs a room.” 2 I stared at the cat, wondering if the two sleepless nights I’d just pulled had finally made me hallucinate. A talking cat? A cat demanding a hotel room? Either one was enough to get me committed. The cat, seeing my inaction, impatiently pawed at my arm. “Are your ears broken, human? This cat said, this cat needs a room!” It was real. The cat was really talking. Just then, the hotel’s resident calico, who had been dozing at my feet, tugged on my pant leg, signaling me to step back. He then gracefully leaped onto the counter. The calico cleared his throat. “Meow. She’s new, hasn’t been trained yet,” he said to the tuxedo. “Respected feline guest, please direct your requests to me. I will see that they are met.” The tuxedo cat began licking a bloody patch of fur on its paw. “This cat’s room needs to have pine litter. This cat can’t use anything else. And a tall cat tree. And some lukewarm spring water. This cat doesn’t drink purified.” The calico sat primly, taking mental notes. The tuxedo’s voice grew more agitated as it spoke, its fur starting to stand on end. The calico quickly put a paw on its shoulder. “This cat understands your requirements. Is there anything else?” The tuxedo cat stopped, thinking. Suddenly, its whole body went rigid, fur bristling. “Meow! You have to tell this cat’s human to run! Now!” 3 “Tell me everything,” the calico said, his tone serious. The tuxedo paced the counter, frantic. “There’s a bad man in this cat’s house. He’s the human’s mate. He came over once, and now he sneaks in every day while she’s out hunting.” (Hunting, I presumed, meant working.) “This cat does not like him! He kicks this cat, pulls this cat’s tail. And he puts strange things in the house. In the living room, the bathroom, even where the human sleeps!” “This morning, after the human left, he came again! He hid a metal block and a long rope next to the pipes in the bathroom. This cat smelled a very bad, very dangerous smell on him today. This cat heard him say he was going to do something tonight.” “The human will be hurt when she comes home. This cat has to protect the human. But this cat could not win the fight. This cat was defeated.” The tuxedo’s head drooped. “The human always comes home when the moon is high. The moon is almost high now. This cat will give you all of this cat’s cans and toys. You must save the human!” My jaw dropped. This was serious. The metal block and rope sounded like a weapon. “I’ll call the police,” I said immediately. “Where do you live?” The cat gave me a jumbled set of directions. It took me a few minutes to pinpoint the location on a map. It was close to the hotel, but far from the police station. The calico stood on his hind legs and patted my shoulder. “Human, there is one more thing you must do.” At this point, I wasn’t questioning any of it. “Name it.” “You must go to the guest’s building and intercept her before she goes inside. This cat will follow and protect you.” He pointed to the name tag on my uniform. “As long as you wear that, you can understand us.” 4 I grabbed my electric scooter and sped off. The apartment building was old and run-down, with no doorman and flickering lights. I saw that the lights in the tuxedo cat’s apartment were off. The human wasn’t home yet. The calico and the tuxedo, now in some kind of transparent, ghostly form, scouted ahead. “Human, it’s clear for now,” the calico reported. “This cat kissed an orange cat in these bushes!” the tuxedo announced, rolling around in a patch of grass. “And this is where this cat fought the human! The human won. This cat was gloriously defeated.” She pranced over to a dumpster by the building’s entrance. “This is where the human found this cat!” That’s when I saw a dark figure sitting on the steps. My hair stood on end. But the tuxedo cat just trotted happily toward it. “Human, human, human! It’s my human!” She tried to rub against the figure but passed right through. The figure, a young woman, saw me and jumped up, apologizing for startling me. She was about to go inside. “Wait,” I said. “Do you have a tuxedo cat?” She spun around, her eyes wide. “Yes! Have you seen her? She has a collar with a name tag. Her name is Oreo.” She was practically vibrating with anxiety. 5 It took me a second to process. Oreo had been attacked that morning. Her owner had come home for lunch and found her missing, and had been searching ever since, which is why she wasn’t home when the attacker was there. She’d been saved by a series of lucky chances. I pulled her aside. “You can’t go into your apartment. It’s not safe.” She looked at me like I was crazy. Just then, a police car pulled up. I waved, and together, we all went upstairs. The police had the woman unlock her door. The moment she turned the key, the door was yanked open from the inside, and she was pulled in. I grabbed her, pulling her back as the officers rushed past. After a brief struggle, they emerged with two men in handcuffs. The woman gasped. “My landlord?!” Oreo, who had followed us in, arched her back and hissed. “Bad man! That’s the bad man!” After the police left, the woman was still in shock. “How did you know? And… have you seen my Oreo?” 6 Oreo’s ghost trotted over to a trash chute in the hallway and rubbed against her owner’s leg. “Human, this cat is in here.” I led the woman to the chute. Oreo circled her feet. “It stinks in here, human. You just gave this cat a bath.” The woman’s hands were trembling as she opened the metal door. “Oreo loves to explore,” she said, her voice strained. “She probably got herself stuck. She’s going to be in so much trouble when I get her out.” Then she saw the small, bloody body lying on top of the garbage bags. A gut-wrenching scream tore from her throat. She collapsed, pulling the lifeless cat into her arms. Oreo nudged her. “Okay, okay, you can give this cat one more bath. This cat will endure it. Just don’t be sad, human.” The woman was sobbing hysterically. I put my arm around her. “She’s the one who sent me to save you,” I whispered. “Was it the landlord…?” I nodded. “He’s been watching you. Oreo said he installed cameras in your apartment. If it wasn’t for her…” Oreo was jumping up and down. “Human, tell the other human to stop talking! She’s making her cry more! Tell her… tell her this cat is her bodyguard. It is this cat’s duty to protect her. This cat was defeated, but this cat died to protect the human. This cat is proud!” When I relayed the message, the woman’s sobs finally quieted. She looked at the empty space beside her, where I had pointed. She reached out and stroked the air. “Oreo,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “My little hero. Thank you, my baby.” 7 The woman went to stay with a friend. Oreo came back to the hotel with me and the calico. “This cat misses the human,” she said sadly from the big bed in her room. “Can this cat go see her?” The calico shook his head. “Once you check in, you must wait for the ferry.” “Heartless,” Oreo muttered, and disappeared under the bed. As we walked back to the front desk, the calico rubbed against my leg. “This cat’s name is Tiger. Aren’t you curious, human?” “Tiger,” I said, stroking his fur. “Like the animal?” He just flicked his tail and leaped into my arms. “Human, this cat observed you for a long time before offering you this job. This cat is newly in charge here and cannot yet take human form. This cat needs a human to handle the… human aspects of the hotel. This hotel does not serve living people. It is a waystation for the souls of animals. The ferry comes to take them to the other side.” He hopped onto the front desk. “But do not be afraid. This cat will be with you.” He was with me, alright. He spent the rest of the night snoring on my lap. I was exhausted when my shift ended at 8 AM. When I got home, I collapsed into bed. I woke up at 6 PM, scarfed down some ramen, and headed back to the hotel. On my way out, I almost ran into an old man who was taping a flyer to a telephone pole. It was a lost-pet poster. 8 The hotel was quiet again. Tiger had me prepare him a gourmet meal of chicken and egg yolk, then spent an hour grooming himself before our first guest arrived. It was the old man from the street. “I thought you said this hotel only served animals,” I whispered to Tiger. He rolled his eyes. “Are you blind, human? Can’t you see he’s not alive?” I ignored him and went to greet the man. He shyly handed me one of his flyers. The drawing of the cat on it was surprisingly good. “Have you seen my cat?” he asked, his voice trembling. “He’s a good boy. I found him a few years ago. We… we were a team. We collected recyclables together.” I shook my head. He asked me to keep an eye out and then shuffled away. “It’s a good thing you haven’t seen his cat,” Tiger said. “I know,” I replied. “It means he’s still alive.” 9 The first half of the night was spent trying to convince a mynah bird that it had not, in fact, been kidnapped. The second half was spent dealing with a beagle who just stood in the lobby, howling mournfully. The sound was so eerie that Tiger woke up, convinced the fire alarm was going off. When I left in the morning, the old man was still wandering the neighborhood. I bought two orders of dumplings and gave one to him. He tried to pay me, but I just asked him if he’d found his cat. He shook his head sadly. I walked him home. He lived in a shack at the local junkyard. Outside were piles of junk, but also a few cat toys and a handmade cat bed. Inside, he pointed to a single framed photo on the wall. “That’s my Smokey. I’ve had him for five years. Found him in a bag in this very junkyard. There were four kittens, but he was the only one still alive. He’s a good cat. Not picky, and a great mouser.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “It’s been three days. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. What if a bigger cat got him? What if some bad person took him?” I asked if I could borrow the photo to make better flyers.
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