Stray

When Ayana had finally decided to go to the shelter she was absolutely sure she had never expected to come home with an ex-stray. 

A shelter worker had explained that he’d been on the streets since birth. His mother disappeared shortly after having him and he seemed to have survived miraculously until he was found at age fourteen and more cat than boy. 

The shelter worker warned Ayana that although he’d mellowed out somewhat in his five years at the shelter he was still hostile and prone to violent fits when he felt threatened. Ayana believed it. After the ex-stray — Ace — was told he’d be going home with her, he spat at her feet. 

He’d been somewhat cooperative though. Ace had sat quietly in the front seat of her car on the way home, arms crossed over his chest, looking out the window with his lilac ears pinned back and his tail twitching angrily. He didn’t speak much. Ayana had tried to ease the mood with a couple of casual questions about himself. What’s your favorite color? Favorite food? She was met with a hand raised warningly in the air, little claws extended. 

Okay, so; he was going to be difficult. She knew that when she agreed to house him. She wanted to house him. Someone so troubled. She was sure there weren’t many people in the world who’d be patient enough or wouldn’t seriously heed the shelter worker’s warnings. And she had a spare room in her apartment — though small — so it was only fitting. Ace would need a space to himself, considering… well… him. 

The second she opened the door to the apartment he’d disappeared. It took hours to find him again. He’d gone under her bed and refused to come out. He wouldn’t even speak. Ayana had to just explain which room was his and hope he was even listening. That evening, after she’d set dinner on the table for him and left for the living room, she’d heard him creep quietly into the kitchen and take his dinner away to his room. That brought a little smile to her face. Baby steps. 

By the week’s end, she’d come home with some more clothes for him. Clothes he’d quickly turned his nose up at. 

“You don’t like them?” Ayana held up a plain gray sweater confusedly. It was just like the one he was wearing from the shelter. 

“No. I want it black,” Ace had hissed bitterly. “I want all of them in black.” 

Ayana had raised her brow but said nothing more before she’d nodded and tiptoed her way back to her room. Luckily, she’d kept all the tags so they could be returned. Maybe next time she’d bring him with her to shop.

Taking Ace shopping was a nightmare. He’d nearly piled Ayana high with clothing that couldn’t even be discernible from one another. They were all the same shade! 

“You really like black, huh?” Ayana spoke around the mountain of clothes as she walked him to the changing rooms to try them on. No response. 

Of course, in the end, they’d argued because Ayana said she couldn’t possibly buy them all and that he’d have to pick five items out of the mountain that he liked the most. He threw a hissy fit. 

For a stray, he acts awfully spoiled, Ayana thought as she’d walked with him back to the car carrying two bags, each with five items. Yeah. She’d caved and allowed him five more after he put on a whiny act that was just as cute as it was embarrassing. 

As the months passed, Ayana grew used to his mannerisms. 

After every two months or so she’d have to add one box of lilac hair dye to her grocery list so that he could touch up his roots. They were dark brown naturally, she came to find out. 

The couch was his if he was on it. If she sat down next to him she was met with a bunch of hissing and kicking until she got off. Hearing him hiss was scary the first time it happened. The hiss of someone who’s half cat is much louder than an actual cat — and much scarier because they could actually kill you if they felt like it. 

He never ate at the table with her and he’d rather starve than let her see him take his food to his room. She always found a clean plate left on the dinner table the next morning though, so he must have liked her cooking, 

He left disgusting wads of hair on the shower wall when he did shower. His hair was almost longer than hers, just barely reaching past his shoulders. It was cut thinner though, so she didn’t get what the deal with all the hair was and often had thoughts of confronting him on it until she imagined seeing his claws come flying. 

Oh, and he’d give himself haircuts with her razor. Ayana was nearly getting fed up with lathering her legs up to shave only to find her razor clumped with purple hair. That one she did confront him on since it was costing her wallet. It ended with an attempted swipe at her and then radio silence for around three days.

The nice thing about having Ace around was that Ayana was getting good at dodging quick throws of limbs. 

One particular day, when Ace was seated by the window watching the city outside, Ayana took a moment to really look at him. He was wearing one of the shirts she’d bought for him a while ago, short-sleeved. She realized it was the first time she’d seen his bare arms. They were covered in scars — jagged lines that cut across his dark skin. 

“Um.” 

He’d startled at her sound, whipping around silently with his shoulders tensed. “What?” His tail flicked back and forth angrily.

Ayana fiddled with her fingers for a moment, stepping closer. “I wanted to ask you… How you got those?” She points at his arms, which unfold from their looped position around his raised knees. 

Ace glances at his arms, ears perking up. “I got them from fights.” 

“Fights?” Ayana’s brows furrowed. She supposed that made sense. The shelter worker had said he’d lived on the streets until he was fourteen. 

“Yeah, it’s not like food was that easy to come by when you’re on the streets. I got into a couple of fights. Not to mention unspoken territory or whatever.” 

“There’s really things like that?” 

Ace narrowed his eyes at her. “Of course there is, idiot. Don’t tell me you’re not aware that there are gangs out there.”

Of course, Ayana knew some gangs hung around the city. It wasn't like she was born yesterday. She sighs and looks down at Ace’s scars again. Some looked like they had once been very deep, scar tissue rising a bit higher than the rest of the surrounding skin. “I wish—” 

“Ugh, get lost if you’re gonna get mushy!” Ace narrows his eyes, swiping at her with extended claws to exaggerate how much he really doesn’t care for her sympathy at the current moment. 

Ayana, knowing when she’s overstayed her welcome, lets out a short snicker of breath and makes herself scarce. 

That conversation had been an achievement in and of itself. Ace seemed to have the patience to entertain a few words with her for a short while. 

He started getting weird around month five. Ayana would sometimes catch him watching her while she was watching TV in the living room, scrolling her phone, or reading a book. It didn’t really matter what she was doing; he’d just be sitting there either on the couch or on the other lounge chair glaring at her. One time she even caught him peering in through her cracked bedroom door while she was up late at night watching a show on her laptop. No matter what, every time he realized she’d caught him, he’d disappear to his room. 

“You’ve been watching me.” Ayana stood in the opened door of Ace's room. She was nervous to confront him, honestly, for fear of being torn to shreds. Truthfully, the hand on her hip that she was using to try and look like a good figure of authority was trembling. 

Ace growled from where he sat on his messy bed, ears pinned back and tail whipping from side to side. “Am not.” 

“Are too. You’re not subtle.” Ayana stood her ground, jaw working through her nerves silently. Oh, she could see his hackles rising. The trail of hair that grew just a little more past the nape than a human’s did always fluffed up when he got angry. 

“Am not!” Ace shouted, tumbling off his bed with his claws out and an angry fire in his gray-blue eyes. 

For her own safety, Ayana had slammed the door in his face and had to listen to him pound on the door angrily, screaming, “AyANAAAAAAA!”

Yeah, never doing that again. 

That behavior — the staring — continued for another week or so before Ayana noticed a weird smell coming from Ace’s room. At first, she thought he might have somehow got a hold of some sort of weird room spray. The scent would creep out when he left his door cracked. It was sugary with an undertone of a somewhat vaguely unpleasant musk. It smelled good in a gross sort of way. Not super gross, but it wasn’t long before it was unmistakable; it was him. Or… it was coming from him. 

To top it all off, she’d left for work one morning with a gray pillowcase and had returned to a pale blue one. So, he was getting into her stuff when she was gone. 

One night explained it all. 

Her door had opened after she’d already gotten settled in bed but had yet to turn out the light and that sweet-musky smell caught her nose. Ace had stood there in the doorway in his oversized black sleep shirt and a pair of boxers with his tail dragging limply on the floor behind him. Ayana was sure he’d finally come to kill her… but thought otherwise when she noticed the tan of his face was flushed a deep red.