Three Sentence Ficathon

Look out, I making a sequel for this fill from here.

Susan picks up Diana on a whim and the little kitten is making her reconsider that decision by the time she gets her back to her flat that afternoon. The tiny ball of fur is terrified out of her wits and has done a commendable job savaging Susan's hands before Susan can set her down on the floor. Instantly, the kitten disappears, probably hiding under the sofa. While her family never kept a cat when she was a child, this doesn't worry her too much--she sets up the litter box in visible part of the room in hopes that Diana will realize what it is instead of befouling the rugs and leaves the cat to her own devices while Susan sets about making dinner for herself and the cat.

Diana still hasn't appeared by the time Susan goes to bed that night and the only reason she doesn't think the kitten escaped is because she can occasionally hear movement in the living room. Still, she is definitely wondering how on earth she's supposed to look after this clearly anxiety stricken bundle of nerves as she goes to sleep that night and she's still wondering that by the next morning. Checking the litter box, however, proves that Diana was smart enough to figure out its purpose and she had polished off the food Susan had left out for her the night before. Feeling reassured she hadn't killed the cat yet, Susan leaves for work after refilling the food and water without once seeing the kitten in question.

She then fails to spot the cat for nearly two weeks after that--she hears Diana still running around, the food is obviously eaten, and the litter box is consistently used, but Diana herself remains a ghost in the flat. Susan begins to wonder if maybe the kitten really did escape that first night and she's just been accidentally raising a rat for the last two weeks.

And then, finally, after twelve whole days, Susan comes home from a long night of dancing and drinks and handsome men and lovely women and she falls on the sofa, almost instantly asleep. She probably looks like hell, she knows there is a run in her stocking (again), and certainly knows she's going to regret all those mixed drinks. Just before she drifts off, however, a sound startles her back into consciousness--a tiny thump and then tearing as something light latches onto the sofa. Mystified, Susan looks down and watches as Diana fights her way up to the top, until at last she pulls herself up with a wobble.

The kitten has gotten bigger since she saw her last--certainly wider but also quite a bit taller. Maybe her sibling was eating all her food and now she has been getting more nutrients? Her large head bobbles in the shadows and, slowly, she creeps forward to come examine Susan, starting first with her stomach and working her way upward until she's nearly nose to nose with Susan.

"Oh, really?" Susan tries to sound dry, but the alcohol in her system is making her voice wobble nearly as much as poor Diana (she's just such a little sweetheart! ect). "You come to me now? When I look like this?"

Diana, as if hearing the actual words but not picking up the spirit of them, hisses once.

In spite of herself, Susan chuckles. "Yes, that sounds about right. Came to give me a piece of your mind? What, don't like the food?"

Diana just stares.

"Not talking anymore? Don't make me say the line. You know the one. Cat got your tongue?"

That earns her another hiss. Oh, Edmund would have liked her, Susan thinks suddenly, and then, all at once, she bursts into tears.

If she were honest afterwards, she could not recall what exactly was it to send her over the edge, but she thinks it was honestly just likely the fact she missed her brother, just as she missed all of her family. Maybe it could have been because there was just so much wasted time and wasted opportunities, or maybe it was just because her life was a goddamn mess. Whatever it was, she sobbed harder that night than she since in years.

By the time Susan came back to herself, she half expected that Diana would have vanished, startled by the sudden noise of Susan losing her composure, and for a moment, Susan doesn't see her at all. Her stomach twisted as she darkly thought typical. Not even a cat will stay for me.

And then, just as she tried to crane her head around to take a better look around the room, she felt a weight against the side of her face that she'd been too distraught to notice before. Cleanly startled out of her tears, she reached up and felt frizzy fur, tucked carefully into her messy hair. At her touch, a loud, raucous purring began, startling Susan all over again.

Diana was purring. At her.

Stunned, Susan stayed as still as she could, focusing only on the loud, constant purring going on just above and slightly behind her skull. Slowly, as if carried away by a gentle lullaby, but perhaps more likely caused by the cathartic bout of tears, Susan felt a deep calm fill her up. Quite without meaning to, she fell asleep.

Come the morning, she'd find she hadn't had a single nightmare the entire night; no ghosts had called out to her, tricking her into momentarily forgetting her tragedies.

Slowly, carefully, Susan turned herself over--Diana had relocated from her hair to down near the small of her back, and now she slept (somehow, despite the jostling), face squashed up against Susan's belly. "You," she begins, watching the tiny kitten, "were a great investment."

Diana slept on, content, and for once, Susan felt that too.