Two Days Later
I'm jealous of a cat.
Literally.
A four-week-old kitten named Lily who weighs approximately nothing and spends most of her time sleeping or attacking shoelaces.
And I'm jealous of her.
The realization hits me while I'm watching Cecil on the couch, Lily curled up on his chest, his hand gently stroking her soft fur while he reads. He's completely absorbed—in the book, in the rhythm of petting Lily, in this quiet moment that doesn't include me or Dylan.
We're both in the room. Dylan's at his desk, working on something for class. I'm pretending to watch TV.
But really, we're both watching Cecil.
Who is watching Lily.
"This is pathetic," I mutter.
Dylan glances over. "What is?"
"Us. Being jealous of a kitten."
"I'm not jealous," Dylan says automatically.
"You've been staring at them for the past twenty minutes."
"I'm observing."
"You're jealous."
Dylan's lips twitch slightly. "Maybe a little."
I knew it. I KNEW I wasn't the only one!
Cecil shifts on the couch and Lily squeaks in protest, adjusting her position before settling again. Cecil smiles—soft and unguarded and completely focused on this tiny creature.
When was the last time he looked at us like that?
The thought is petty and I know it. But I can't help it.
Ever since Cecil brought Lily home, it's like we've become secondary. Background characters in the story of Cecil and His Kitten.
"We talked to him about it," Dylan points out, correctly reading my expression. "He said he'd make more time."
"That was two days ago and nothing has changed."
"He's trying. Lily is still very young. She needs a lot of care."
"I know that." I slump further into the couch. "I just miss him."
Dylan is quiet for a moment. Then: "Me too."
At least I'm not alone in this ridiculousness.
Lily chooses that moment to wake up, stretching with that exaggerated cat stretch that makes her look twice as long as she actually is. She yawns, showing tiny needle-sharp teeth, then immediately tries to climb up Cecil's chest toward his face.
"Lily, no," Cecil says gently, redirecting her. "We've talked about this. Faces are not for climbing."
Lily mews in protest but settles for curling up on his shoulder instead.
Cecil adjusts his book to accommodate her new position and continues reading like this is completely normal.
Like having a kitten on his shoulder is just part of life now.
I exchange a look with Dylan.
He looks as conflicted as I feel—caught between finding this absolutely adorable and being frustrated that we're not the ones getting that casual affection.
"Maybe we should get our own kitten," I suggest.
"That would just make the problem worse."
"How?"
"Then there would be two kittens competing for Cecil's attention and we'd be even more neglected."
He has a point.
"We could try talking to him again," I offer.
"And say what? 'Please pay attention to us instead of the helpless baby animal you rescued'?"
"When you put it like that it sounds terrible."
"That's because it is terrible."
We fall into silence again, both of us watching Cecil, who is still completely oblivious to our crisis.
Lily starts purring—that impossibly loud purr that shouldn't come from something so small—and Cecil's smile widens.
My chest does something complicated.
He looks happy. Really, genuinely happy in a way I haven't seen since before everything got complicated.
And if Lily is the reason for that happiness...
Can I really be mad about it?
"He looks good," Dylan says quietly, echoing my thoughts.
"Yeah."
"Less stressed. More settled."
"Yeah."
"Taking care of something that needs him is probably good for his mental health."
"I know." I sigh. "I know all of that. I just—"
"Miss him anyway."
"Yeah."
Dylan stands, stretching. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"To sit with him. If he gets to have Lily time, we get to have Cecil time."
That's a bold strategy. Let's see if it works.
We move to the couch—Dylan on one side of Cecil, me on the other. Close but not crowding.
Cecil looks up from his book, surprise flickering across his face. "Hi?"
"Hi," I say. "Don't mind us. Keep reading."
"We're just sitting," Dylan adds.
Cecil looks between us, suspicion dawning. "You're being weird."
"We're not being weird."
"You're definitely being weird."
Lily, apparently deciding we're interesting, climbs down from Cecil's shoulder and investigates Dylan first—sniffing his hand, then his arm, then attempting to climb into his lap.
Dylan carefully lifts her, settling her on his thigh. She immediately starts kneading with her tiny paws, purring loudly.
"She likes you," Cecil observes.
"She has good taste," I say.
Lily finishes with Dylan and moves to investigate me next. I let her sniff my hands, then my face, before she decides my hair is the most interesting thing she's encountered all day.
"Lily, no," Cecil says, but he's smiling. "Hair is not a toy."
"It's fine," I say, even as tiny claws tangle in my hair. "She can explore."
Dylan carefully extracts Lily from my hair and settles her between us on the couch. She immediately flops over, showing her belly in that way kittens do when they feel safe.
All three of us look at her.
She's ridiculously cute.
"Okay, I get it," I admit. "She's pretty great."
"She's perfect," Cecil corrects, his hand moving to gently rub her belly.
Lily immediately attacks his hand with all four paws and her teeth, but gently—just playing.
"She's got your fighting spirit," Dylan observes.
"She does not."
"She absolutely does. Look at her. She's fierce."
Cecil laughs—genuine and warm—and something in my chest loosens.
There. There's the sound I've been missing.
"Can I ask you something?" I say, the question coming out before I can stop it.
Cecil looks at me. "Yeah?"
"Are you happy? With Lily?"
His expression softens. "Yeah. Really happy. She's..." He pauses, searching for words. "She's something that needs me. Something small and helpless that I can protect and care for. After everything—after feeling so broken and useless—it's nice to feel needed. To feel like I can do something right."
Oh.
Oh, that makes sense.
Of course that's what this is about.
Not that Cecil doesn't want to spend time with us. But that Lily gives him something we can't—a way to feel capable and needed in a way that doesn't trigger all his complicated feelings about being a burden.
"You're not useless," Dylan says quietly. "You know that, right?"
"I know. Logically." Cecil's hand stills on Lily's fur. "But knowing something and feeling it are different."
"Yeah." I shift slightly closer. "They are."
"Lily doesn't know about my past," Cecil continues, his voice soft. "She doesn't know I'm broken or damaged or any of that. She just knows I feed her and play with her and keep her warm. It's..." He trails off.
"Simple," Dylan finishes.
"Yeah. Simple."
We sit with that for a moment.
Lily has fallen asleep between us, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath.
"We're not asking you to stop taking care of her," I say carefully. "We just miss you. Miss spending time with you."
"I know. I'm sorry. I've been so focused on Lily that I didn't realize I was pulling away." Cecil looks between us. "I don't mean to. It's just..."
"Easier," Dylan supplies. "To focus on something that doesn't require complicated emotional navigation."
Cecil's laugh is slightly bitter. "Yeah. Exactly that."
"Can we make a deal?" I suggest.
"What kind of deal?"
"Lily gets her time. But we get ours too. Scheduled. Intentional. Not just whenever Lily is sleeping."
Cecil considers this. "Like what?"
"Breakfast together," Dylan suggests. "No Lily. Just us."
"And movie nights," I add. "Regular ones. Lily can join if she wants, but the focus is on us, not her."
"And before bed," Dylan continues. "Thirty minutes where we're all together. Talking or just existing in the same space."
Cecil is quiet for a long moment, processing.
Then he nods. "Okay. That sounds... really nice, actually."
"Yeah?" I feel something loosen in my chest.
"Yeah. I didn't realize how much I was isolating myself until you said it out loud." He reaches over Lily to take my hand. "Thank you. For saying something."
Dylan's hand finds Cecil's other one. "We're not trying to take Lily's time away from you. Just making sure we get ours too."
"I understand." Cecil squeezes both our hands. "And I appreciate it. Really."
Lily wakes up with a squeaky yawn and immediately tries to climb all three of us at once.
We spend the next twenty minutes untangling her from various articles of clothing and hair while she purrs loud enough to be heard across the apartment.
It's chaotic and ridiculous and perfect.
And when we finally settle back down—Lily sprawled across all our laps, Cecil leaning against my shoulder, Dylan's arm around both of us—I realize something.
I'm not jealous anymore.
Or at least, not as jealous.
Because this—all of us together, including the tiny kitten who accidentally became part of our family—is exactly where I want to be.
"Hey, Cecil?" I say quietly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you found her. Lily. I'm glad she's here."
Cecil's smile is soft and genuine. "Me too."
Dylan makes a sound of agreement, his thumb tracing circles on Cecil's shoulder.
Lily purrs louder, apparently satisfied with this arrangement.
And we stay like that—tangled together on the couch, watching the afternoon light fade into evening—and it feels right.
All of us.
Exactly as it should be.
---
That Evening
"Bedtime," Dylan announces around ten PM.
Lily is already passed out in her bed in Cecil's room, exhausted from a full day of terrorizing shoelaces and climbing things she shouldn't.
Cecil looks between us. "Whose room?"
"Yours," I suggest. "Since Lily's already set up there."
We settle into Cecil's bed—the arrangement becoming familiar now. Dylan on one side, me on the other, Cecil in the middle.
Except tonight, instead of immediately falling asleep, we just talk.
About nothing. About everything. About Cecil's classes and Dylan's research and my ongoing struggle to understand modern technology.
Lily wakes up once, mewing for attention. Cecil gets up to feed her and comes back to find Dylan and me having a debate about whether cereal is a soup.
"It's not soup," I insist.
"It fits all the criteria of soup," Dylan counters.
"It's breakfast food. Soup is dinner food."
"That's not a qualifying characteristic—"
"Both of you are ridiculous," Cecil interrupts, climbing back into bed. "It's cereal. It's its own category."
"See?" I gesture at Cecil. "He agrees with me."
"That's not what I said."
"Close enough."
Dylan laughs and we settle back down, Lily's soft purring audible from her bed across the room.
"This is nice," Cecil says quietly after a moment.
"Yeah?" I tighten my arm around him slightly.
"Yeah. Us. Like this."
Dylan presses a kiss to Cecil's temple. "We'll do this every night, baby. If you want."
"I want."
We fall into comfortable silence, the three of us fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
And I think about how just this morning I was jealous of a kitten.
But now, lying here with Cecil between us, Lily purring nearby, everything feeling settled and right—
I'm just grateful.
For all of it.
For Cecil finding Lily.
For Lily accidentally showing us that we needed to be more intentional about our time together.
For this moment, right here, right now.
"Love you both," Cecil murmurs, already half asleep.
"Love you too, beautiful," I whisper.
"Love you, baby," Dylan adds softly.
Cecil makes a content sound and burrows closer to both of us.
And we fall asleep like that—tangled together, Lily's purring a soft soundtrack, everything exactly as it should be.