Day One of My500Words

Writing Prompt for Day One

I used a writing prompt I had found on Twitter for Day One of #My500Words Challenge. 

An acquaintance suffers from a unique addiction.

— WritingPrompt.Com (@DailyPrompt) October 26, 2018

538 Words

Amanda turned up in the office covered in scratches again. 

“Not another one Mandy, you can’t keep doing this”.

“But he was all alone. You didn’t see him. You weren’t there. I was sitting, looking out of the window as I was trying to get this month’s budget sorted out and there he was. His little ginger, furry face just watching me. And then I was watching him and there was a connection, you know, an understanding".

I asked her to sit and she did, reluctantly. 

“Jesus! Mandy, these are deep. You need to get these seen to.”

The sadness in her eyes was disturbing. I knew that I couldn’t keep this addiction of hers secret any longer. I felt my face flush as I knew that I was going to have to betray her trust, our friendship to get her the help she needed.

It started after Michael left her. It was my fault. She was distraught, heartbroken, lonely. I left her to grieve as long as I could, but after three months she was still tearful. She had lost so much weight. I was worried. So, on her birthday, when she had once again refused to leave her empty flat, I knocked on her door. With me, I had a large bottle of Prosecco, a massive box of her favourite chocolates and a bulky carrier covered in a towel.

I sat her down, opened the carrier and a small, nervous furry head peeped out. Tentatively at first, he inched his way out of the confines of the box, one ginger paw after another. I thought it would take some time for him to become accustomed to his surroundings and I told Mandy so. But I don’t think she heard me. She was watching him intently as he made his way toward her. I expected him to shoot out of the box and hide under a chair or bed for a day or two, but although a little wobbly from his hour of confinement, he headed straight across the sofa, onto Mandy’s lap, curled up into an indistinct ball of fuzziness and purred himself to sleep.

He didn’t leave her lap all night. Even as we drank and laughed and cried. Even as I got up and grabbed my coat. I had to see myself out as he was still on her legs cleaning his head. Licking his tiny little paws and using them on his ears like furry loofahs. They were, from that first moment inseparable. 


A year later, well, almost a year. It was a week before Amanda’s birthday, I think. Biscuit never came home. He would sit on the window sill waiting for Mandy when she got home. Every day, she said. But not that day. After she saw the post on the Lost Cats page on Facebook saying a small, ginger deceased cat had been found laying in the bushes with injuries consistent with a collision with a car, she changed. It was almost half a year before I realised she’d started stealing cats. That was two years ago now. I thought she’d get better on her own. I didn’t think it was serious. But she’s broken. She needs help. And that’s why I’m here.