Not the Real Alice
You told me once that you were Alice in another life. The Alice. You said this while looking out your fire escape window. Three Tabby cats, well feed and rough looking, stared at you from the outside. At night, their eyes glowed orange, the same color as their fur.
You were always making stuff up. I didn’t believe you about the Alice thing. But that all changed that night you called after midnight. I need you––that’s all you said before hanging up. I ran down the hall in my t-shirt and boxers, skidding through your open door.
The bedroom, the kitchen, everything was bare––whole place was empty but for the table and chairs you’d been painting. They sat in the starkness like some bizarre interrogation room. A shadow detached from the wall, jumped onto the chair, then the table top. A Tabby with flaming eyes looked at me and licked its paw. He smiled at me, I swear he did.
I’m sorry I believed you when it was too late.