On a Thursday evening that felt like a misplaced Tuesday, I found a cat sitting outside my apartment door. It was grey, with a faint spiral pattern on its back, like someone had drawn it absent-mindedly during a long phone call.
“You’re late,” the cat said!
I wasn’t surprised it could speak. What surprised me was the accusation.
“I don’t even know you,” I replied.
The cat blinked slowly, as if forgiving my ignorance. “Still late,” it repeated. “Time doesn’t wait, even when you forget you’re supposed to be somewhere.”
It pushed past my legs and entered my apartment like it owned the place. I followed. The apartment looked the same as always, except for one detail: the clock on the wall was running backward
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