The night came and passed. The next day came and passed. Before I knew it, it was the weekend already. Though I continued to replay that Monday evening experience, daydreaming what I could have done differently, I was afforded the leisure to mindlessly conduct my business. Work at the flower shop was uneventful. The commute to and from the city was uneventful. The world had returned to normal once again.
Sort of. Perhaps, a new kind of normal. Now, I did not spend the evenings out on the porch, or settled on the couch, cuddled up with Abbey, reading my present book of choice. Instead, I spent the evenings with the new resident of this secluded wooded cottage; with Alice. Alice required quite a bit of effort to manage. Much like a child, she was curious, and she was restless. She did not leave my side, as if she sought my attention, and peered at everything I touched or looked at. Although she was fairly independent—wandering off on her own in the mornings, managing her own during the day, and returning home in a timely fashion, right after I did—she still relied on me to be fed. We only ate together once a day, but with an extra morsel to feed, I found myself emptying the fridge faster than I had supplied it, urging me to make a quick run down to the market in the middle of the week after closing shop. I did not know how much she needed to eat, and I considered reducing the amount I prepared just to see, but in the end, I did not do so. I thought it a bit cruel, seeing how she gratefully ate every bit I served. I decided I would ask her later.
For the first day or two, after supper was over, I would return to the table after washing up the dishes, feeling the need to attend to my guest. Alice would follow me to and from the sink. I talked with her for a bit, asking her about small things such as what she did that day or what she would normally do in the evenings. The conversations don’t carry on for long, however, given how I could only resort to yes-or-no questions. I always ended up pulling out my book or the newspaper after the awkward silence persisted long enough. She would watch this too, even drawing herself closer to read along with me. For how long she stared, I was surprised the literary articles held her interest. I assumed she could not read the words on the pages, given how they were upside down to her from the other side of the table. Perhaps she was just idly staring.
Eventually, I lightened up and returned to my usual spots for leisure. Alice followed me to these spots as well, and anywhere else, all the way until bedtime. Comfortable with the fact I accepted her into my cottage, she grew attached to my side. It wasn’t until the end of the week when I realised she likely stuck there because she was still spooked by Abbey. Though my presence did not stop the cat from approaching the two of us, I suppose it gave her some kind of comfort. Whichever side Abbey approached, Alice would move to the opposite, looping around me in awkward or bothersome ways; slipping around the front of my legs when I was at the sink, or climbing over the couch when I was sitting in the drawing room. At first, Abbey would follow her for a bit, but after she kept retreating, the cat gave up and instead prodded me for some attention. I felt a little sorry for both the cat and the spirit. Abbey herself was a curious cat who liked to welcome guests with a cordial nuzzle. I hoped Alice would eventually cozy up to letting the cat give her a nudge or a sniff.
When the cat was not around, Alice felt more comfortable to leave my side. Even though she stayed within eyesight of me, she would wander around in the general vicinity, both with her eyes and her little feet. I remember looking up from my reading one evening to find her sat on the carpet in the middle of the room, shoulders slightly slouched, arms drawn between her legs, gazing up high at the wooden supports that lined the ceiling. She did this many times, not just once. Some nights, I could not tell whether she was genuinely intrigued or simply bored. Other nights, I talked to her—or at least, put the effort in. I asked her if there was something she wanted to do, and was met with a blank stare and no other motions. Then, when I asked what she was staring at, she would simply stare back up at the ceiling and become stone-still once more. With that, I would return to my reading, leaving her to her own fancy.