Sunrise Glitch

Remote work. Preston found it advantageous at the onset, especially for a job which amounted to nothing more than data entry. Coding, in fact. Though he wished it were for some ISP or a startup’s website. It was just medical coding. An easy nine-to-five, with benefits to boot. An entry-level job into the workforce as it were, as he was fresh out of school. Just starting out, he also was grateful for the roof over his head; rent was more affordable than most. His parents had hooked him up with a nicely furnished basement. From a therapeutic mattress set to an executive desk in one corner of his room. Complete with a black leather and mesh, high back chair on rollers.

And his work day had come to begin every morning rising from the warmth and snuggle of bed to the overnight chilling of his parent’s home. Dad was serious about saving energy, so when everyone slept, the house slept. Completely shut down for the most part. Save for a few well-placed night lights, the security system, and the central air’ low setting. It had been as though he lived on a starship; only those systems necessary for life support had remained powered up. Guided to the door of his room by a low light slipping under it from the outside, it would have been cool if it opened automatically, or slid into the wall like on a spaceship. To fumble for the door’s knob while half sleep was, without the pun, a rude awakening.

Pulling the door open, the tiny glare of a nightlight greeted him. If Preston had been wide-eyed at seven-something in the morning, the twinkle of the nightlight’s source would have annoyed him. As cranky as he was about the house lights being on a timer, and the chilliness of the air. However, its illumination of the six-by-six vestibule to his room, the garage, and a staircase was as if veiled by moonlight. Arms folded across his chests, hands rubbing his arms for a bit of warmth, he was at least grateful the weather was in transition. Last winter was brutal; they usually are though. By midday, however, he and the house would be much warmer, and more active and lit up than his slumbering one, two steps through the dimness for the stairs to the kitchen.

Almost without fail, Preston stubbed a big toe against the first rise at the bottom of the steps. A misjudgment of depth perception in the dimness, through squinting eyes. It was fortunate it was warmer than winter. Then, with the central air kicking on periodically throughout the night—three or four times to be exact, for what seemed like a short duration—coldness would still manage to seep through his heavy blanket and nip at his feet. He was uncertain which was worse, actually. The jamming of his big toe, or the jamming of his numb big toe. Exhaling heavy breath to mediate and mitigate the throbbing of his foot, Preston looked to the top of the stair, to the slivers of orange-reddish light around the kitchen door. Behind it awaited deliverance from the crude start of every morning.

Preston lumbered up the steps, to get the coffee maker going. Once coffee began brewing, filling the house with a hearty, cocoa aroma, the day would only get better. Of course, the appliance would be automated as well, but he and Dad preferred freshly ground coffee beans. Though the temperature of the house at night could hold the freshness, if the grind set out or in the coffee maker overnight. They had tried that once, and as fickle coffee drinkers, they both decided grinding the coffee first thing in the morning was best. Whoever was first up, which was more often him.

The doorknob for the kitchen door was easier to spot and grab; and opening it, Preston was showered by sunrise. The bath of sunlight was warm and glorious in its shine through the bay window, washing the breakfast nook in a radiance that relaxed him. The manner in which indirect sunlight illuminated the kitchen affirmed to Preston that the house could operate off solar. Convincing his dad was another matter. He moved into the breakfast area to stand closer to the window and bask in the sunlight. Beyond the window panes, the sun just gleamed over the tree top behind the empty house next door, which was for sale. Preston enjoyed this perk of remote work, which he rarely shared with anyone. It was a moment to connect with himself and nature, and to reflect on his college crush who helped him land his job, and … to watch the feral resident stroll through the backyard like it was king of the jungle.

The tabby was of some size and relaxed wherever it was going. It had to be a tom. Its marbled coat of brown and white shadowed within the shadow of the vacant house, as it slinked across the Kentucky bluegrass. The only mornings Preston never saw the cat was when there was a downpour. Oddly, when Preston thought about it, the cat had been crossing the yard ever since he was a child. Chances of an offspring of it inheriting the same circular, Stonehenge pattern on its side, or even the butterfly-like pattern on its shoulders were plausible, but questionable. As were where it was coming from and where it was going.

Preston left the window. Whisking from the breakfast area and into a short hall for its closet, he retrieved his sneakers and was quick to dress his feet. Disarming the house alarm at the front door, he was outside before the door closed behind him. Preston prowled around the side of the house to intercept the cat. He hoped no one spotted him; even he had to admit tiptoeing outside in a tee and boxers was strange. Snap. He froze; his weight on a twig had whipped the cat’s attention to him; and it looked at him dead in the eyes, its pupils contracting to thin slits. Preston straightened to the tabby sitting at the corner of the house, and it purred. Loudly.

Preston gave the feline a peculiar glance, but facing him, it meowed, or rather called to him. And not just called, it meowed the syllables of his name. “Purrrse-grrr,” it said, before lowering close to the ground to resonate its meowing and purring.

Preston stepped cautiously toward it, somewhat nervous. He hoped the cat was friendly because he would hate to be seen fleeing from the stray, in his underwear. The closer he neared it, the softer its meowing became, until it walked off. Yep, it was a tom; its testicles swiveled side-to-side between its hind legs. The cat was still meowing though, calling his name. Preston followed the cat around to the front of the vacant house. It had hopped onto the porch and slipped by its front door. Preston thought it was strange the front door would be unlocked and without a realtor’s key box.

Slam! Startled, Preston jumped as if he were a cat, ready to book. However, curiosity made him wonder if the cat had closed the front door. So, he approached the vacant house to investigate, leaping on its porch and tiptoeing to the front door. Through undressed windows he saw the tabby disappear deeper into the house, and he hastened to the front door.

The front door doorknob was much easier to see and grab under the porch shade; and opening the front door, Preston was showered by sunrise. The bath of sunlight was warm and glorious in its beam through the tree top behind and over an empty house for sale, and with the bay window filtering and washing the breakfast nook in its light. The manner in which indirect sunlight illuminated the kitchen affirmed to Preston that the house could operate off solar. Convincing his dad was another matter though. He moved into the breakfast area to stand closer to the window and bask in the sunlight. Preston enjoyed this perk of remote work rarely shared with anyone. It was a moment to connect with self and nature, and to reflect on his college crush who helped him land his job, and … to watch the feral resident stroll through the backyard like it was king of the neighborhood.

END