by Detergent
The covers mounded over him. At first, the weight felt comforting but then the sheets felt like an avalanche crushing his chest. After a while, the covers did nothing for the chill that made the marrow of his bones ache. Then the heat stifled him. It was so hard to breathe. He stewed in his sweat, then swore he was shivering in a frozen sea. In the dark of the night, he must have floated near shore, the current in his dreams leading him to warmer, soothing waters; the scent of flowers came to him. The fragrant wind blew across him, bringing some hope but before sunrise, the ice came back and then the heat.
Then the weight came back.
"Allô!" Something tickled his nose, then his cheeks.
"You should wake up now," encouraged a pleasant male voice that Dara couldn't place. He felt so weak. He sighed and felt himself drifting off again.
"Non, non," admonished the voice. And then something bonked his nose. "You should wake up."
Dara exhaled and swam up through the layers of fatigue and malaise, opening his eyes with effort.
A handsome orange tabby cat with white socks, a white muzzle, and a white ruff sat on his chest. The cat's eyes were light gold and he wore a white pointed dress-shirt collar and a dapper burgundy paisley bow tie. The cat looked him in the eyes, the strangest, most intelligent expression on its face Dara had ever seen on a feline.
"Allô. I am Eugène Arnaud. It is time we introduce ourselves and get better acquainted." The cat then turned around and pointed his behind into Dara's face. "You may scent me," offered the... talking cat. Dara was sure at this point his brain had rotted out on the drugs forced upon him in captivity or that his temperature had climbed so high that he was now trapped in a fever dream with this talking cat who wanted him to sniff his behind.
"Ah, I don't want to be impolite but... you can turn around," he told the cat and managed to raise a hand to pat him awkwardly on his orange-striped flank.
"I understand," Eugène assured him, facing his new acquaintance once more. "I will not ask to scent you. You don't seem well enough to present your behind to me. And most humans don't understand cat etiquette anyway. We will dispense with the formalities. I want to get to know you, and so we need to talk. I brought you tea."
Eugène looked over his shoulder and Dara watched as a wooden bed tray lifted itself into the air from the floor at the foot of the bed. The cat watched it as it floated above its head and then settled itself over Dara's lap. The pillows behind him began to move, fluffing and propping him into something of a seated position. He didn't have the energy to fear what was happening, he simply accepted that the talking cat named Eugène had the power to make this all happen. Eugène was infinitely better than the visions that usually happened to him: The cat was not armed in any way he could see, so he was sure it had not developed from his horrifying nightmares and flashbacks of desolation, impalement, and despair. He glanced down at the tray Eugène had brought him. The food seemed real and solid as did the nice china and the cutlery.
Eugène removed himself from Dara's chest. "I did not know what you would like, so I have brought you several things. There is the human delicacy called 'macarons'," and here several colourful macarons floated up off of their plate and settled back onto the china. "And here is Maman's favourite, called 'pain au chocolat' which kitties shouldn't have. It is safe for you though. And finally, and what I cannot recommend enough: I have brought you the hard food." Eugène tapped one of the bowls on the tray with a paw and rattled the hard food against the china. "For tea, I brought both black tea and catnip. I am told catnip makes humans sleepy, so none for you, I'm afraid."
"You made all of this?" Dara's head swam. Remember, it's the drugs. If someone walks by now, they'll think you're entirely out of your mind. You're for a rubber room, lad, he told himself. Still, the tea's fragrance started to affect him and the pain au chocolat beckoned. The teapot lifted and poured a stream of dark amber liquid into a cup.
"Non. Maman makes these things in her spare time or she and Papa make them together. Papa helped me put the tray together."
Dara blinked and blinked again. The hallucinations were becoming more elaborate. Still... he was going to try the pain au chocolat, illusion or no.
"Sugar?" inquired the cat. A teaspoon hovered above a sugar bowl, waiting.
Dara decided to commit himself to the hallucination. He had felt like death for days but in Eugène's company, felt nearly well. He wanted that feeling to last and the simplest way to do that was to keep the cat with him, even if the affable orange tabby turned out to be a hallucination.
"One please." The spoon dipped up some sugar and dunked into the teacup, stirring.
Noticing a pretty floral napkin folded on the tray, Dara reached for it, fingers still clumsy, though he managed to spread it across his chest. The cat seemed to smile at this as if Dara's fumbling attempt at etiquette had scored him points in its estimation. Eugène served himself a cup of catnip tea.
"I have heard your name is Dara. Is that your only name? I have several names, such as 'His Majesty'." Eugène bent down and lapped some of the greenish tea from his cup.
"Well, my full name is Dara Ardal O'Shea," he answered and shakily got the cup to his lips.
"And you are from where originally? I am from the barn."
"Originally? France. I passed through a lot of hands and grew up in Ireland. I'm not Irish."
"I am adopted as well. Maman is, however, MY Maman and Papa is MY Papa. Did you enjoy being adopted?"
"I don't recall the actual adoption, I was still a wee baby. I guess we can say if I'd wound up with a different family, maybe I'd have enjoyed it."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have a profession? Maman the type of doctor called a toxicologist. She helps people who have taken too many drugs or who have been harmed by poisons or who have taken addicting drugs and wish to stop. Papa teaches the study of chemistry. Papa DeKalb is from the police of the forests and such. I am a Prince."
Dara nearly aspirated his tea, snorting. 'I am a Prince,' says the cat, he grinned.
"I'm not a prince. I served in the Légion Étrangère. I..." he stammered for a moment, feeling his throat constricting. Words still caught and refused to come out if he tried to discuss many things related to Afghanistan. He coughed a few times behind his hand to shift the block. The cat looked concerned.
"I, ah, dealt with ordnance disposal. Do you know what that is?"
"Explosives? Like big firecrackers?"
"Ouais, sort of. Do you mind if we don't discuss that further? I dealt with explosive devices. I'm currently unemployed but I have a military pension and other income, like my hobbies."
The cat nodded. "You should eat the food. Food is meant to be eaten," he said as if to distract his companion. He reached his paw into the dish containing the hard food, pulled out a few pieces, brought them to his mouth, and nibbled daintily.
"Hobbies?" inquired Eugène. "I enjoy hunting."
Dara reached for one of the pains au chocolat but his fingers fumbled with it and he dropped it on his napkin. Sighing, he managed to retrieve it, noticing the brown smears on the once-pretty cloth. He frowned and took a bite. As angry as he felt with himself for his unaccustomed clumsiness, the rich pastry made up for it, soothing his temper a touch.
"I've done a bit of wildcrafting in my day, here and there. There's a good market for wild edibles and such. But while I was in ah, inpatient therapy, one of the things they had us doing was taking classes for life skills and picking up new hobbies. I took some jewellery design classes in person and online. I made a signet for my company commander right before my discharge. You can find photos of my work online."
He bit his lip and looked away. Part of that's what got me into this mess, he sighed and took another bite of the confection. He half wished he'd never taken those jewellery classes even though he knew he had a great talent for it. He kept pushing away memories of the American officers, then that plastic-looking idjit, going ape over the few online photos of his work, waving glossies in his face. Lifting his cup with a bit less effort this time, he washed the bitter taste of captivity and everyone acting like fecking loons from his mouth with a gulp of tea. Heaven-sent talent indeed. It had taken hours and hours of practice for him to reach his level of skill. It was all those gobshites wanted to talk about when they weren't treating him like a fecking monster between meetings with Plastic Face. Thank fuck for being such a stupid fecking idjit, Shiny McPlasticface, he half fumed, raising his cup to the cat in thanks.
He scowled, then drained his cup. The teapot lifted and Eugène replenished his drink, adding a spoonful of sugar.
Another sip of tea and he noticed how much better he was starting to feel, better than when he and Eugène had begun their conversation. Looking down, he saw Eugène had stopped eating and was happily working his paws on the covers above Dara's thigh. For a few moments, he felt very well and he considered that perhaps he'd had dreamt the entire thing, that it wasn't the aftermath of all of the drugs that had been forced upon him. He felt at home here.
"You have my approval," the cat looked up into his face. "You may stay here. You're going to get better."
Dara felt his fatigue begin to return, however it now felt different, sweeter. He placed his cup back onto the tray. Warm waves of pleasant sleepiness lapped over him, creating ever greater ripples of contentment as the sound of Eugène's purr rose and fell. His mind grew muzzy but he could feel himself begin to smile. He closed his eyes. A short time later he heard a small clink and supposed Eugène had removed the tray. The bunched pillows behind him slid down until he rested comfortably on his back. He floated away on waves of rest.
Eugène stopped kneading Dara's thigh and sat at the sleeping man's shoulder. His tail swished lazily. He felt the catnip tea begin to kick in but there was something he had to do before he went to chase his tail.
"You aren't going to remember this, so very sorry," Eugène touched his nose to Dara's. "I had a lovely time talking to you. But you can't remember this until later. I'm just a very nice kitty who should be given plenty of hard food and pets but I don't talk. We had tea but you dreamt it. You had a very good dream. It was a nice dream, wasn't it? But it was only a dream."