Three Quarters of My Doomsday

Are you there, God? It’s me… Ludwig. Do you ever listen?

No. I should have known you’re deaf. If you did hear me out, I wouldn’t be sitting here, on this couch, dressed in black, picking cat hair from my clothes. And Mitzi wouldn’t be staring at me with a thousand questions in those shimmering, green eyes. The most pressing, obviously – where’s dinner? And secondly, where the hell is my owner? Can you answer that, big guy? Because I’ve got nothing. How do I explain this to a beast that barely understands basic words?

I’d grown used to this place over the past few weeks. I had a routine: come in the morning, before work, fill the bowls. Scratch the spot on Mitzi’s back, at the base of her tail, her butt lifting off to meet my hand. Check the list Helen sent me the day before.

I felt a weird pinch in my lower back when I first opened the wardrobe, even though I just followed her instructions – it still felt like a brute invasion of her privacy. The clothes were all folded neatly, little rectangular towers rising on the wooden shelves, steeped in the smell of floral detergent. I might as well have woven her pyjamas from nettles – it stung sharply, even when made of soft cotton.

Every day, the hospital provided a new sterile ziplock bag with Helen’s nametag, accompanied by a QR code, just to make sure it doesn’t get lost on the way from the reception up to the fifth floor. I created chaos on the shelves while pulling out the clothes she’d asked me to pack. I tried to fold them back, but it never looked quite the same. I already imagined her disappointed Tsk! when she got home and saw the disaster. But she never did.

Tell me, Lord – what am I supposed to do with all the free time, now that everything is over?

***

When this all began, Helen asked me to pick up books from her collection. She was bored, staring at the ceiling all day, and the ebook reader was tiring out her eyes. A whole wall in her living room was occupied by a custom-made bookshelf. There was a system I never fully understood. The books were sorted – by genre, author’s name, year of publication, her personal rating. But lately, she told me to stop bringing them. The tumour gnawing at her liver left her drained of energy. She couldn’t hold even the paperbacks anymore. So, once or twice a week, I sat by her bed and read out her favourite excerpts. They were easy to find – always marked by a pair of brackets, scribbled with a thin pencil, delimiting the part that caught her eyes on the first read.

This is not how I’d imagined my world would end. Weren’t we promised fire and brimstone, Father? I’d prefer that over the silence and calls to the funeral home.

***

Mitzi’s wet food time was in the evening. While she licked the gravy, I cleaned the litterbox, swept the floors and refilled the water bowl. On warm days, I let Mitzi into the secured garden – she took a couple of laps around her property before flopping onto the catbed to sunbathe in the twilight. The dark spots of her fur would get warm even in the dying sunlight.

Every time I looked at that green, bite-proof net, I remembered Helen struggling to fasten it around the poles of the fence, too short to reach the hooks. I was walking home, carrying a heavy bag of groceries. I’d just moved to the building, and only met a couple of neighbours, annoyed by my furniture blocking the elevator. But I stopped. Asked if she needed help. She brushed me off first, but when the net slid down to the ground, I saw a tear in the corner of her eye. Helen couldn’t bear the shame of having to ask for help, and decided to turn it into a transaction, offering something in return. So, I found myself sitting at the garden table on a Sunday morning, Mitzi strolling through the grass. A slice of marbled cake waiting to destroy my daily caloric limit — cocoa, vanilla and lemon zest slowly dissolving on my palate, washed down by fresh coffee.

The only thing that made it better? She had sniffed out I’d just started seeing someone. Naturally, she’d insisted we repeat this little coffee and cake session, the three of us. So there we were, a week later, sitting on the beige wooden chairs, our hands intertwined on the table. She smiled proudly, watching us share a kiss full of Apfelstrudel. Snickered and told us to get a room. But not before we finish our plates. I let him have the last bit of whipped cream.

Until the last week, I still clung to the hope I’d once again taste those cinnamon-spiced apple slices, wrapped in paper-thin dough. Especially when I was standing on the porch, breathing the cold evening air. As I waited for Mitzi to come back from the garden, I prayed silently, barely remembering the words. Begged you to stop taking everything I ever held dear. Couldn’t you measure the thread of Helen’s life just one more time? Or did you cut it so short on purpose, just because it was me who pleaded with you to keep her here?

I know I’m a sinner, but did she really deserve this?

Mitzi was fortunate to be oblivious. At first. As time passed, and Helen’s absence stretched on, even Mitzi started to change. The sunshine no longer cheered her up. She no longer inhaled the kibble the moment it hit the bowl. Instead, I threw out stale cat food she refused to touch with her royal snout.

***

Once Helen learned who lived in Top 43, she occasionally knocked, always so small and unsure. At first, I thought she was just lonely – but it turned out she had family, nieces and nephews she visited every month. I looked after Mitzi while she was there.

It always felt like she was confessing to a war crime – she’d ask me how I’d been, we’d chat about work or planned vacations, before she confessed she had a request for me. I never refused – whether it was dusting the kitchen cupboards, or assembling Mitzi’s new scratcher.

I still don’t know why it bothered her so much. Especially when she was so gentle months later, pouring me a glass of wine and wrapping me in a quilt blanket, when I broke down on her couch, narrating my most recent relationship failure. She said I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was eternally grateful she didn’t tell me any reassuring nonsense. Not a word about me being young, still having time to find the right one. Just stated facts. To quote her words – he was lovely, but it sometimes happens that people drift apart. Mitzi watched me warily as I blew my nose, startled by the loud sound.

One night, she messaged, apologizing for bothering me that late. Come on, 10 pm? That was the time when I used to pick the next series to watch. I ran down the stairs in my bathrobe, slippers slapping loudly on the concrete, and knocked quietly on her door. She glanced at me and fussed over the crooked hem on my bathrobe. The edge of her ancient engagement ring caught on a loose string. Then, she moved on to the more pressing matter. She had an early appointment the next day, and needed somebody to go with her. The doctors had told her not to drive. And her dearest nephew had once again flaked. She said she’d understand if I had to refuse because of work. I cut her off, saying I’d have one of my coworkers cover for me in the morning. Didn’t tell her I planned to call in sick. The customers and their beat-up cars could wait.

The next day, we took the elevator down to the garage. She was quiet, gripping the thick folder with her medical documentation. Trapped in the leather seat comfort of my car, I hit the mute button quickly. My loud playlist didn’t feel exactly Helen-friendly. But she perked up. Scrolled through the menu to see what was playing. Told me she loved that album. When I mentioned seeing the band live last year, she gasped and told me she’d never forgive me for not telling her I was going. That she’d had to sell the tickets she bought, because none of her friends were crazy enough to sit through three hours of heavy metal.

Her appointment was inhumanely early. The headlights of my coupe cut through the dark, the cold engine rumbling into the blue hour. I yawned so much my jaw almost dislocated. Rubbing my eyes, I headed straight to the vending machine, praying for sugar and caffeine. The nurse told me we wouldn’t be able to leave before lunch.

On the way back home, I gathered the courage to ask her if something was wrong. She shrugged and casually mentioned a golfball of cancerous cells, swarming in her liver. That the biopsy was supposed to tell her ‘when’, not ‘if’. She told me then she’d like me to take care of the funeral, as I was the closest person she had.

That was the moment I realized adaptive cruise control was worth the extra money. If I’d been in charge of braking, I would have definitely smashed straight into the car in front of us. The brakes squealed, keeping us from harm — a divine intervention, if ever there was one provided by German engineering. I gripped the wheel, looked straight ahead and snarled at her. To stop saying such things. That she’d surely make it. That the doctors would figure it out. She just chuckled softly, patted my forearm and sipped from the iced coffee we picked up in the hospital lobby cafeteria. She never brought the topic up again, until the last week. I should have discussed it back then, over bitterly sweet coffee. Not when her hands were bony and jaundiced, and her mind clouded.

***

The concentrated weight of Mitzi’s viciously soft paw pads lands on my stomach. I wince as the pressure squeezes my insides. Fortunately, she settles down quickly, kneading my shirt. Her needles are now long and sharp, because every time I tried to trim them, she masterfully escaped to the safety of her cat tree. I stood no chance.

“Come on, girl,” I mutter, gently flicking her ear. “You’re coming with me upstairs, okay? You can’t stay here anymore.”

She lies her chin on my chest, purring loudly. She clings to me tightly, trembling with fear. I step out of the apartment and push the elevator button. She hides her face in the crook of my arm after the doors open with a loud beep. I keep talking to her all the way up to my place, despite the possibility she doesn’t understand a word I’m saying.

“We’re not going to the vet, I promise,” I whisper into her fur, patting her belly. She growls quietly, but allows my arrogant gesture to slide with grace.

Opening the door to my apartment with one hand is difficult, especially if Mitzi keeps scanning the hallway for escape routes. But I manage and set her down on all fours, letting her explore her new home.

She’s nervous. Keeps her profile low, ears pulled backwards. The tip of her tail touches the ground, flicking uncertainly. Exploring my place, she finds my couch. It’s ancient, left here by the previous tenants. The fabric is rough and scratchy – my friends keep complaining about it, but since they don’t chime in for a new one, I just brush it off indefinitely. Mitzi sniffs the edge and raises her paws, arching her back. Her claws dig into the upholstery, pulling filaments out, destroying the fabric with measured precision. My first instinct is to shoo her… but then I notice the tension in her body thawing. Her back claws stick out in pure bliss. She blinks and purrs, ripping the couch frantically, marking it as her own. After all – I invited her to stay. Practically kidnapped her from her old life. The disintegrating couch should be the least of my offerings.

Once she’s finished, the loaded energy explodes and she darts to my bedroom, crawling under my bed. The space is narrow – her back legs still stick out, as she squeezes past the storage compartment.

“Mitzi!” I call her, but only hear her scratching, trying to hide further. I lay down on the cold floor, gazing into the dusty underworld of my bedroom. Mitzi’s eyes flash in the darkness.

“You okay there?” I ask foolishly, extending my arm. She retreats further, her pupils wide, whiskers pulled back. “Mitzi. Come on, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

She hisses at me. Maybe I deserved that. Pathetically lying here, on the hard wooden planks, unable to reach her puffed-up back. My breath swirling under the bed, chasing the dust bunnies.

Mitzi starts to calm down. Slowly. She shifts, tucks her front paws in, and blinks once… a peace treaty to be signed with the blood she’ll draw if I try to grab her. I shouldn’t have lied down on my right side, squishing the phone in my pocket. It vibrates sharply against my hip. The incoming call rings through my jeans, fracturing our fragile serenity.

Mitzi yowls, licks her pink nose, and presses her shaking body to the wall.

I squirm, cursing whoever’s calling, trying to fish out the device buzzing under my weight. The displayed name stiffens my jaw. See, Helen? I was right not to block the number, despite your advice. The green button pulses on the display, daring me to answer. I pick up the call, hearing the rustle of digital switches, connecting me to my past. The phone’s cold screen prickles my ear. I stay silent. Even my heart skips a beat.

“Ludwig?”

Every time I hovered over that phone number, I imagined a different opening line. Smart. Witty. And now that I finally have the chance? I stutter. “Hi…” is all I manage.

“I… I’m sorry. I saw the obituary.”

“Mhm,” I hum, dragging my knees involuntarily all the way to my chest.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. Mitzi crawls to me, sniffing the air. “Oh, now you’re coming out, because he spoke?” I shake my head, squinting at her cautious approach. “You ungrateful little piece of… I fed you for weeks! And all I get is a hiss?” I scoff at her infidelity. She shows it off proudly, rubbing against the phone’s sharp edge.

“What?” he laughs softly.

“No… nothing. Mitzi’s here…” I begin, but the words crumble at the tip of my tongue. I’m tempted to ask if he remembers how soft her fur is. How cozy it feels when she curls up beside you at night. If he’s still mad at me. If he could ever forgive everything I shouted in anger.

Instead, there’s only my ragged breathing. Not the best phone conversation I’ve ever had.

He also hesitates. Coughs once to clear his throat. “I could come over, if you want. Just to… talk. I’ve missed you.”

I blink and shiver. Not that I haven’t imagined this exact sentence for the past ten months.

“I mean… I’d lo— uh, like to see you again,” I say, clumsily catching the dangerous word. “But maybe not today. I still have to move Mitzi’s stuff from Helen’s.”

“Can I help you with that?”

“No… you don’t need to.” I wave my hand, forgetting he can’t see me. “It’s just a litterbox. And some toys. I can carry that upstairs.”

“You sure, Lu? I can be there in like fifteen minutes.”

“Really? Did you move?” I blurt, remembering how it used to take me almost an hour to get through the traffic. They say the public transport here is impeccable. Yeah, sure — until you’re dating someone living in a district the U-Bahn doesn’t reach. Or, God forbid, across the Danube.

“I did. A while ago. Felt like… I needed a change. Anyways, what do you say? Would you open the door for me?” he asks, half-jokingly, with a faint line of self-doubt. I slammed the door behind him just once. Not making that mistake again.

“Yeah,” I exhale finally, the phone resting on my ear. I snatch Mitzi with both hands, pulling her into a tight hug. She stills, but doesn’t run away — a small victory. “If you insist.”

His voice is full of amber, warm, steady and slightly off-key. Of course I’m already imagining my forehead falling onto his shoulder, broad enough to carry the weight of my cross.

“See you in a bit then.”