Chapter 2: The Cat Mom Queue

As a cubicle worker who clocks overtime every day and barely has a personal life, my only way to unwind is to play a few rounds of League of Legends after work. Half a year ago, I got randomly matched with a wild player who was already Diamond rank. He played aggressively, didn’t talk much, and his voice was deep and a little reserved—strangely attractive.

Every night, after kicking off my heels and nuking some Trader Joe's mac and cheese (the plasticky smell filling my kitchen while the cheese bubbled over the edge), I’d log in. The blue glow of my monitor felt like freedom. Sometimes I'd balance my dinner on the keyboard just to get started faster. Headset on, cats circling my ankles—everything else melted away.

After weeks of shamelessly calling him, "Dude, you’re amazing!" and "Bro, carry me!" I finally won him over and started a wild, reckless online romance.

We’d swap memes and inside jokes after matches, our flirting awkward but perfect. My friends joked my real relationship was with my gaming chair, but I knew better. There was a thrill in hearing someone’s laugh through cheap headphones—a closeness you couldn’t get from a first date at Chili’s.

"Don’t leave the base, I’ll come get you," he’d say in that cool, irresistible voice, sending a shiver down my spine.

My heart fluttered every time. Sometimes I’d replay his voice messages while brushing my teeth, just to hear my name. Who knew a League match could feel like foreplay?

"Dude, this bird guy’s wrecking me—get over here and bail me out!" I whined, stroking my gray tabby, totally in my element as I gave orders from my perch on his in-game character’s shoulders. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my sneaky black-and-white cat up on the kitchen table, reaching for my water glass.

I groaned as Milo’s little paws batted at the rim of my favorite mug—the one from the office Secret Santa. "Milo, don’t touch my water glass!" I tossed my phone aside and bolted after the cat. After a round of chaos, I flopped back onto the couch to find the game already over.

The scene was pure sitcom: me chasing a cat in fuzzy socks, tripping over an extension cord, my headset halfway down my neck. When I finally collapsed, Milo looked totally unbothered, like he’d done me a favor by only breaking half the glass.

"Bro, let’s keep going. If we grind tonight, we can hit Diamond!" I slipped my headset on, voice extra sweet, and waited for the next round. But he didn’t ready up for ages. Just as I started wondering if my headset was busted, he finally spoke.

The seconds dragged, the lobby timer ticking louder with every heartbeat. My palms were sweaty, and not just from my laptop’s heat.

"You... what were you just doing?"

Thinking he was confused about my sudden AFK, I hurried to explain, "Oh, it was Milo—he almost broke my water glass. That’s the fourth this month. If he breaks another, I’ll have nothing left to drink from!"

I tried to sound breezy, even as my heart thudded weirdly. Milo licked his paws like he was totally innocent of the growing pile of broken glassware in my recycling bin.

"...You have a kid?"

I blinked, confused. Who doesn’t have a fur baby these days? He’s always posting his golden retriever on Instagram. What’s the big deal?

I gave a half-laugh, staring at my cats. "Yeah, all my coworkers have them too. But Milo is just too naughty. I think it’s genetic—Charlie is super well-behaved, always cuddling while I play."

Charlie, right on cue, stretched and yawned, curling up against my thigh. The fridge hummed, and both cats purred—a little cocoon of stability.

"You have two?"

He sounded like he was barely holding it together, but I couldn’t figure out why.

I shrugged, a little amused. "Yeah, I just didn’t want Milo to get lonely at home. With Charlie around, the two kids can play together."

I’m really a great cat mom. I proudly stroked Charlie, who sprawled on his back, purring in my arms.

He was my living stress ball—better than any weighted blanket or meditation app. The purring always soothed me, melting away the day’s tension.

"You’ve been playing with me for so long, calling me ‘bro’... does the kids’ dad know?"

For a split second, I was confused—did he mean the cats’ dad? I pictured my two cats in diapers and almost snorted. "What does that have to do with their dad? I haven’t seen him in ages."

Milo the black-and-white cat and Charlie the gray tabby were both abandoned at my door in the middle of the night by their irresponsible parents. It’s all because I feed stray cats out of sympathy, so I keep getting stuck with these deadbeat dads’ kittens. One of these days, I’m going to round up all those tomcats and get them fixed.

Every winter, my stoop turns into a cat motel. I always swear I won’t take in another stray, but the second I hear a mewl outside, I’m out with a bowl and a blanket. My friends call it the "Melissa Cat Rescue Fund."

I grumbled, "If I ever see their dad again, I’ll make sure he never has kids again."

He was silent for a long time. I thought I’d scared him off.

I picked up a squeaky toy and tried to coax Charlie into a game, filling the silence with the crinkle of foil and the jingle of a collar bell. The seconds felt like hours.

"Relax, bro. I’ve already put Milo back in the room—he won’t interrupt our game. How about I let Charlie say hi? I think he really likes you—every time you talk, he climbs right into my lap..."

But before I could finish, my gaming partner suddenly left the lobby and went offline.

The little digital chime as he logged out sounded final, almost brutal. My heart sank, staring at the empty lobby, the cursor blinking like an accusation.

I sent him a question mark on Messenger, watching that little "typing..." bubble for ages.

The blinking dots felt like Morse code for heartbreak. I scrolled through our chat history, all those flirty stickers and late-night confessions, suddenly feeling like I was reading someone else’s story.

"Meow~" Charlie rolled over and purred in my arms. I shrugged, confused. Must be bad internet. I’ll ask him again tomorrow.

As I set the phone aside, I hugged Charlie a little tighter, letting his warmth anchor me in the moment. Whatever this was, it could wait. After all, tomorrow was another day—another chance for things to make sense.