~A Fairy Tale in the Style of Oscar Wilde~

I. The Lonely Girl and the Whispering Imps

Alyss’s apartment was small, and the walls were thin, and the light from the single window was pale and uncertain, as though it, too, was not sure it belonged. At night, she lay in bed and listened to the mice whispering in the walls, and the imps —Depression and Anxiety —whispered in her own mind.

“You are alone,” murmured Depression.

“You will always be alone,” added Anxiety.

The next morning, Alyss took what little money she had and bought a cat.

II. Tigress, Queen of the Apartment

Tigress was a striped tabby with golden eyes and an air of sharp indifference. She was sleek and sure-footed, with the dignity of a queen and the confidence of one who had never lost a battle. She did not belong to Alyss; rather, she allowed Alyss to belong to her.

The mice, who had grown bold in their conquest of the cupboards, disappeared without a trace. The imps, when they crept too close, were met with a flicking tail and an icy glare.

At first, Tigress wanted nothing to do with Alyss. She accepted the food but did not thank her. She explored every corner of the apartment, inspecting its imperfections with a critical eye, then leapt onto the highest shelf and stared at Alyss as though weighing her worth.

Alyss, patient and quiet, met her gaze and slowly blinked.

Tigress blinked back before catching herself and looking away, tail flicking as if annoyed that she had been caught in a show of affection.

Alyss did not chase her, did not force affection upon her. She left treats beside the couch and let Tigress decide when to come close. When the cat leapt onto the armrest, she simply sat still, watching the television, pretending not to notice.

One evening, Tigress padded up beside her and, ever so slightly, leaned into her hand.

Alyss stroked her head, gentle and slow. A low, hesitant purr rumbled in response.

From that night onward, Tigress sat beside Alyss on the couch, head resting against her leg. She still carried herself with the dignity of a queen, but now she had found a throne.

The imps tried to creep into Alyss’s mind, but the sound of purring drowned them out.

III. The Kitten in the Cold

One evening, as the rain pattered against the windowpanes, Alyss heard a small, sorrowful sound from beneath the porch. When she stepped outside, she found a kitten—a pathetic scrap of fur, drenched and shivering, his eyes too big for his face.

She scooped him up, tucking him into her coat. He burrowed against her with a desperate sort of trust, purring weakly.

Tigress sat upon the kitchen counter, watching this with the dispassion of a queen watching a court jester.

“This is a bad idea,” she announced, though Alyss could not understand her.

“He’s just a little guy,” Alyss said, wrinkling her nose at him, as though that settled it.

The kitten sneezed and purred at the same time.

Tigress turned her back, tail flicking. “Foolish.”

IV. The Tyrant and the Fool

Alyss called him Leo, for he was golden like a lion, though he was small and clumsy and had none of a lion’s grace. He was a creature of boundless enthusiasm, without pride, without dignity.

Tigress despised him immediately.

“You are an offense to our kind,” she told him.

Leo, utterly unaffected, flopped onto his back and wriggled happily. “You’re grumpy.”

Tigress sniffed. “You have no poise, no elegance. You run into walls.”

“I do that on purpose,” said Leo, who did not.

Although Tigress swatted at Leo, demonstrating her displeasure, it soon became clear that their antics brought Alyss cheer. She laughed more often now. The apartment felt less empty, less like a place she was merely borrowing and more like a home.

V. The Stranger at the Door

Then, one day, Darren entered Alyss’s life.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a charming smile and a voice like warm honey. When he laughed, the imps fell silent, retreating into the corners of Alyss’s mind.

For the first time in years, she felt wanted.

Tigress watched him with cold green eyes. “There is something hollow in him.”

Leo hesitated. “She likes him.”

“He speaks softly, but his hands are cold,” Tigress said.

Leo blinked. “He scratches behind my ears.”

Tigress flicked her tail. “Even winter sun can be deceiving.”

But Alyss was happy, and so the cats waited.

VI. The Cracks Begin to Show

Darren did not like the cats. He never said so outright, but his nose wrinkled when Leo jumped onto his lap, and he shooed Tigress from the couch with an impatient hand.

“They track litter across the floor,” he complained, stepping over the empty beer bottles he had left beside the armchair.

“They climb on the tables,” he muttered, pushing aside the dirty dishes he had abandoned there.

“They claw the furniture,” he scowled, as his own boots left muddy streaks across the rug.

Alyss frowned. “They’re part of my home,” she said.

“They ruin a home,” Darren replied.

Tigress sat beside Leo on the windowsill, watching Alyss’s face.

“She is troubled,” Leo whispered.

“She sees the truth,” Tigress murmured, curling her tail around her paws. “She only needs to admit it.”

VII. The Ultimatum

One evening, Darren leaned against the doorway, arms folded, expression tight.

“I can’t do this anymore, Alyss,” he said. “I love you, but I can’t live like this.”

She looked at him in confusion.

“The cats,” he said. “They wreck everything. They don’t belong in a proper home.”

Tigress and Leo sat together on the kitchen floor, silent as statues.

Alyss looked at Darren, and then at them.

Tigress, who had driven out the mice and the imps.

Leo, who had brought laughter into her quiet world.

She looked at Darren again. His smile was beautiful, but his hands were cold.

“It’s me or them,” he said.

VIII. The Choice

Alyss took a deep breath.

Her gaze swept over the apartment—the litter scattered across the tiles, the tiny claw marks in the couch, the paw prints on the table. The life in it, the warmth.

Then she looked at Darren’s empty beer bottles, the plates stacked in the sink, the crumbs on the couch.

She turned to the cats. “Do you two want dinner?”

Leo leapt onto the counter, purring. “Always!”

Tigress flicked her tail. “About time.”

Darren’s face darkened. “Alyss—”

She smiled, and it did not waver. “You should go.”

IX. The Home That Was Built

The door shut behind Darren, and the imps stirred, whispering of loneliness. But Tigress stretched luxuriously and leapt onto Alyss’s lap, settling her weight against the girl’s heart.

Leo clambered onto her shoulders, purring like an engine.

The whispers faded beneath the sound.

Alyss closed her eyes, warm beneath their steady presence.

Her home was not broken.

It had never been more whole.

X. The Moral

A home is not made of pristine floors and unmarked furniture. It is not built from silence and obedience.

A home is made of laughter, of warmth, of tiny claw marks that tell a story.

It is made of love.

And sometimes, love purrs.