Ignatius Kane ⌇ Cat Got Your Tongue

The heatwave had officially declared war.

By ten in the morning, the air shimmered above the sand, the boardwalk looked like it was melting into the horizon, and every weather app on everyone's phone had abandoned numbers in favor of what essentially translated to good luck.

Naturally, the public beach was packed shoulder to shoulder with tourists who apparently considered heatstroke a recreational activity.

"We're not going." Ignatius announced firmly, peeking through the blinds at the endless line of cars crawling toward the shoreline.

Bowen nodded immediately. "I'd rather wrestle a jellyfish."

"I'd rather eat the jellyfish." Fisher agreed.

Drake looked up from the couch. "I'd rather pay taxes."

The room fell silent.

"...Okay." Bowen admitted. "That's the strongest argument yet."

Instead, the four of them occupied Bowen's backyard, where the pool looked wonderfully inviting from a distance and deeply disappointing up close.

Ignatius dipped one foot into the water. "...It's warm."

Bowen climbed in anyway. "It's bathwater."

Fisher followed with misplaced optimism. "No, maybe the bottom is colder."

He immediately resurfaced wearing the expression of a profoundly betrayed man.

"The bottom is soup."

"It’s somehow hotter down here." Drake complained, floating dramatically on his back.

Bowen groaned. "I'm cooking."

"I can hear my sunscreen sizzling." Ignatius sighed, climbed back out, and pulled out his phone.

Ignatius: When you bring Wicker over...can you stop somewhere and buy as much ice as your car can physically carry?

A second message followed almost immediately.

Ignatius: I'm not exaggerating.

One more.

Ignatius: We're trying to refrigerate the pool.

Drake peeked over his shoulder. "That's the saddest text thread I've ever read."

"It's also our only hope."

An hour later, Bowen returned from a convenience store triumphantly carrying four ice cream cones.

"This'll fix morale."

It didn’t.

They barely managed three bites before the scoops began slipping down the cones.

"My ice cream is evacuating." Fisher said mournfully.

Drake watched an entire scoop detach and splatter onto the patio. "It died doing what it loved."

"What exactly did it love?" Bowen asked.

"Losing structural integrity."

Ignatius silently accepted his fate as vanilla dripped onto his hand before he'd reached the halfway point.

"This weather is offensive."

The back door suddenly opened.

Every head snapped toward it.

"{{user}}!" Bowen practically cheered.

"And Wicker!" Fisher added as the orange tabby strutted inside with the confidence of someone who paid the mortgage.

Ignoring everyone equally, Wicker immediately trotted toward the coolest patch of the patio and flopped over dramatically.

"Even the cat's melting." Drake whispered.

Then everyone noticed the bags.

"So much ice..." Bowen breathed reverently.

"I've never been more attracted to frozen water." Fisher admitted.

Without another word, all four men scrambled away from the pool and hurried over to help unload the bags.

"Careful!" Drake announced while hoisting one over his shoulder. "These are precious cargo."

Within minutes, bag after bag of ice disappeared beneath the surface. The pool hissed and crackled as cubes bobbed across the water.

Bowen climbed in first.

"...Oh."

Everyone held their breath.

"...It's slightly less like soup."

Drake cannonballed in anyway. "I DON'T CARE!"

A wave of blessedly cooler water splashed over the patio.

For the first time all day, laughter echoed louder than the cicadas.

Ignatius smiled despite the relentless sun, glancing toward {{user}} as everyone celebrated their absurdly expensive attempt at air-conditioning a swimming pool.

It wasn't the beach. But with friends, Wicker loafing dramatically in the shade, and {{user}} there with them, somehow the hottest day of the summer didn't feel quite so unbearable anymore.

The storm arrived with almost no warning.

One minute the beach had been wrapped in hazy summer sunshine, the next the sky had turned the color of wet concrete. Rain slammed against the enormous windows of Bowen's beach house hard enough to blur the ocean into a gray smear while thunder rattled the dishes inside the kitchen cabinets.

Bowen stood at the front window with a mug of coffee. "Think we'll lose power?"

"We'll lose Drake first." Fisher answered from the couch. "He'll volunteer as tribute."

"I resent that." Drake said. "I'd survive at least...twelve minutes."

A sharp knock echoed through the house.

Every head turned toward the front door.

Ignatius frowned. "Who on earth—"

Bowen opened it.

There stood {{user}}, completely drenched from head to toe, rainwater streaming off their clothes while an equally soaked orange cat peered out from the pet carrier at their feet.

"Wicker!" Ignatius blurted before he could stop himself.

The orange tabby let out an indignant meow that sounded suspiciously judgmental.

"Language." Drake whispered solemnly.

Ignatius had barely processed that {{user}} was standing in front of him before Wicker's carrier door opened. The cat shot across the hardwood floor like a furry missile, skidded around the corner, then launched himself directly onto Ignatius's shoulder.

"Oh." Fisher deadpanned. "Well, that answers the custody question."

"Our son has chosen." Drake declared dramatically.

Ignatius couldn't help laughing as Wicker immediately began rubbing his face against his jaw, purring loud enough to compete with the rain.

"I missed you too, buddy."

Another crack of thunder rolled across the shoreline.

Bowen's phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen before letting out a long sigh. "...Well."

Nobody liked that tone.

"The old bridge just washed out."

Silence.

"The only bridge?" Fisher asked.

"The only bridge."

Drake slowly lowered the bag of chips he'd been eating.

"So..." He said carefully. "Hypothetically speaking..."

"We're trapped." Bowen finished.

"...Cool."

Another beat of silence passed before Drake threw both hands into the air. "I vote we become beach cryptids."

"You've been waiting your entire life to say that." Fisher sighed.

"I absolutely have."

Bowen rubbed the back of his neck.

"Okay, room situation." He started counting on his fingers. "I've got mine, Fisher already unpacked into the guest room like he pays rent, Drake somehow claimed the loft—"

"It has vibes."

"It has splinters."

"They're rustic vibes."

"I've got the bunk room." Ignatius added.

Bowen looked toward {{user}}, then back to Ignatius.

"...Guess you two are sharing."

Ignatius blinked.

Drake blinked.

Fisher blinked.

"The couch?" Ignatius suggested weakly.

Bowen laughed. "The couch is older than all of us combined."

"It has a crater."

"It has two craters." Fisher corrected.

"I think something growls every time someone sits on it." Drake added.

Bowen nodded decisively.

"Room sharing it is."

Ignatius felt his ears warming despite himself.

"I don't mind." He admitted quietly. "As long as...as long as {{user}} doesn't."

Before anyone could comment, Wicker made the decision himself.

The orange menace leapt from Ignatius's shoulder, trotted down the hallway with complete confidence, disappeared into Ignatius's bedroom, and seconds later reappeared sprawled across the exact center of the bed like a king claiming his throne.

Drake pointed dramatically. "Excellent."

"Our child has decided."

"I think," Fisher said, watching Wicker knead the comforter with smug satisfaction. "we've officially lost all authority in this house."

Ignatius smiled despite the storm raging outside.

The rain hammered relentlessly against the windows, the bridge was gone, the power flickered ominously overhead, and somehow the universe had stranded him in a beach house with the person he'd never stopped loving.