text: Eugene was tired. It was four o'clock, Friday the 29th, and he had to post his rent by five. His scumbag landlord; a sweaty, short Italian named Leon was threatening to kick him out for the third time in as many months. Eugene was out collecting debts from customers. Eugene considered himself a modern businessman, pulling himself up by the bootstraps in the greatest place in the world, the city of New York. He loved New York, but the feeling wasn't mutual; He called himself an 'Entrepreneur', the City of New York preferred the term 'Drug Dealer'. Eugene stood in the cramped, poky sitting room, trying not to move or breathe. Every available surface was covered in cats. Cat figurines on the small worn coffee table, cat pictures on the walls, magazines about cats, cat baskets, cat scratching posts, a cat clock on the wall, and of course an actual, real life cat. Though the moniker cat was loosely applied here: The thing was about as big as a dog, and as ugly as a sewer rat. It stared Eugene down with its one eye, almost daring him to move closer so it could pounce and sink its claws and teeth into him. He'd been on the wrong end of it before and still bore the evidence to prove it. He hated that bastard cat. The cat leapt, and Eugene instinctively flinched, but it wasn't an attack, it instead landed in the lap of the old woman sitting on the frayed couch, settled in and began to purr, its eyes fixed again on Eugene and he tried to ignore it. A tiny withered hand appeared from within the purple shawls and layers and began to stroke it idly. The other hand held a slim cigarette, absent-mindedly shedding ash and embers like little snowflakes on the threadbare carpet. She exhaled like a death rattle, blowing blue smoke into the air where it hung like a thick fog and made Eugenes' nostrils burn and his eyes water. "So, Ive got your order here, and well.." Eugene fumbled in his messenger bad and produced a little shoebox, pulling out the bag of weed, ".. its coming up to the end of the month and I think we should talk about your tab". He tossed the bag into the faded china bowl on the table (Cat shaped) and disappeared the box back into the messenger bag. The old woman pursed her lips and she sucked on the cigarette, a long draw burning it almost down to the filter, before discarding it in an ashtray on the arm and immediately lighting another. "Ah, dah, dah, boy" she drawled in her rough slavic accent. "Is tough time for me and the little Pushkin" she scratched the cats ears and it let out a rumble of enjoyment. "Many cold nights. Many bills for the heat and light, so the money is tight, yes?". "Look, I get that, but I've got bills that need paying too, see?" She pursed her lips and pulled on the cigarette again, avoiding Eugenes gaze, staring instead at the ancient television in the corner, its screen dulled by years of smoke and dust, as if simply refusing to acknowledge Eugene would make him disappear. He sighed, exasperated: "Listen" he started, "I'm not leaving here without my money, ok? If you cant pay it all right away, thats fine, just give me something, anything, so I can get on my way and keep the wolves from my door." She scoffed, and mumbled something about Eugene not knowing what wolves at the door was really like, but he ignored it. The cat jumped down from the babushkas lap and skulked around the furniture, Eugene made a mental note to be worried, it looked like it was trying to flank him behind the couch. He side stepped around the coffee table to put some kind of barrier between him and it. The elderly lady had lit another cigarette, and was studiously ignoring him. He bent down and picked up a small silver statuette of two cats playing with a ball of yarn from the end table. "How about this" he said, holding the figurine out for the woman to see, "Ill take one of these, and pawn it to cover your expenses, and we'll clear the rest of the debts, but from here on out, we deal in cash only. Upfront payment. Deal?" The elderly woman leapt from the settee with speed and ferocity that startled Eugene, he stepped back, bumping into a musical box that plinked a few notes of an East-European folk tune. The elderly womans face was inches from his, eyes ablaze, and teeth bared. "You would take from me!? An old woman?! What could you take from that Stalin and his army did not?" Eugene backed away as she spat on the ground and hurled insults in her mother tounge. As he moved, he felt something soft brush against his leg and he remembered the cat as it launched its attack. Tumbling backwards over the couch in a flurry of fur and arms, Eugene came up quick and bolted for the door. The elderly woman cut him off, blocking the door wielding a ancient and metal tipped walking cane. She let out a ferocious battle cry and swung the stick, he ducked, diving across the couch as the stick collided with a shelf, shattering the figurines and raining shards of glass and porciline down on him. He scrambled to his feet, right as the cat, who had positioned itself on the back of the couch, leaped into the air aimed at him. In a panic, Eugene lashed out with his foot. He connected with the feline predator, punting it across the room, it sailed through the air, twisting in a panic as it tried to right itself, but its efforts were in vain. With a splintering crash, the cat burst through the small curtained window and disappeared into the void with an ear splitting howl. Eugene froze for a second. The apartment was deathly quiet, except for the low hum from the ancient television, and then he heard the faint -thump-. "Fuck." The old woman erupted in a moan that escalated to a wail, and then full blown howling agony as she crossed the room, her gnarled hands framing her face, to look out the window. Eugene took this moment of distraction to make his exit. He tried to not look at the tangled lump of silk and fur that sat on the pavement outside the apartment building, from the corner of his eye it looked like the cat was snugly wrapped in a blanket, and sleeping in the afternoon sun. He hurriedly limped towards the subway station, his hands clutching the small silver figurine of the two cats playing with the ball of yarn. He promised himself he would get the old woman a new cat, and he made a mental note to clear her debt entirely. Behind him on the pavement, the silk curtain stirred slightly.