Purrfectly Baked by Newton Locheye and Louis Peacock

Purrfectly Baked
by Newton Locheye and Louis Peacock

Purrfectly Baked
By Newton Locheye and Louis Peacock

“Damn, we’re on a roll! But I’ve gotta go on break, Xana. Hey, if you need anything, give me a challah!”
“But it’s not even ten-thirty!” she shouted at his back, exasperated. 
If Habib had heard her, he didn’t let on. He just sauntered off, whistling a tune which Xana knew full well was from his (supposedly) favourite band — Bread.
For the fifth time since opening, Xana rolled her eyes into the back of her skull. It wasn’t as though Habib was bad to work with necessarily, it was more that whenever he opened his mouth — a more frequent occurrence than she would have preferred — she suddenly was overcome with an overwhelming desire to shove his head into a bread slicer. The fact that he had so obviously ramped up the volume of “humour” in his conversation since she had arrived made the situation even worse.
Xana turned back to the display, intending to fill any empty gaps. She was still miffed that she didn’t land the security gig, but decided she could run the bakery as though she were. Sternly observing a row of glazed donuts like a general inspecting troops on parade, she gave an almost imperceptible start as she noticed there were seven more than their quota demanded.
Her first reaction was, of course, to sigh. Habib. Merciless jokester though he was, the man was a good worker — too good — and had already finished his quota and baked half a baker’s dozen more. Fuming with silent grief for this breach of protocol, Xana was about to storm off to confront her co-worker when a thought occurred to her: she had noticed this phenomena four times already during her brief time at Freshfields, and had blamed Habib for it just as many times. It hadn’t only been the donuts either: the baguettes, pains au chocolat, pies, cookies, and pretty much everything else they made had been baked in record time — much faster than Xana thought was possible. She had chalked it up to Habib, of course; it was perhaps the only credit she could give to the man, jokes considered. But now that she stopped to think about it, she realised that even he couldn’t have baked this much, not in the short time since their shifts had started. She couldn’t even think of many multi-limbed aliens who could manage that much on their own. 

As soon as Habib came back from his break, Xana honed in on him like a lion upon a gazelle.

“Care to explain?” she asked sharply, jabbing a finger in the direction of the overstuffed donut display.
Habib merely frowned. “Isn’t that your late night baking?” he replied. “Your baking skills are clearly flouring!” Despite how innocuous the word was, she had an awful suspicion it was another pun. 
Xana crossed her arms. “No, it's not my ‘late night baking’,” Xana said with a huff. “And from your reaction it isn’t yours either. That leaves us with a conundrum…”
“Who could have baked all that without us knowing?” Habib finished on her behalf., His grin had been replaced with a furrowed frown. “Okay, okay, I’ll grant you, it is kind of concerning. I mean, it's not a crime to bake more than we need, but somebody doing it without you or I knowing? That’s trouble — paycheck affecting trouble if SPIMS decides we’re being negligent.”
“Exactly.” She gave Habib a look which could snuff out a supernova. “And, not to mention a colossal waste issue. Nobody is going to be buying this many baked goods. So we go back there, we check our supplies, and we fix this; understood?”
Habib saluted and began strutting towards the entrance of the in-store bakery, loudly beating out a military-like march on the linoleum floor.
Xana sighed. Even when he was acknowledging that a situation could be serious, he couldn’t help but make light of things. With a shake of her head, she walked over to join him.
The hum of the ovens was almost enough to distract Xana from Habib’s inane commitment to his ‘soldier following orders’ bit, which was growing louder with each step they took towards the store room. She shot him a purposeful look, and Habib soon grew quiet.
They soon became aware of footprints on the floury floor. Placing a finger to her lips, Xana ushered for Habib to follow quietly behind. The door to the store room was ajar and, peering around the frame, Xana gasped. She could hardly believe her eyes! All around the dim lit room were… cats? 
She had encountered their kind on various planets, but never ones that behaved like this before. A quick check to see Habib’s bewildered expression confirmed to her that this wasn’t normal on Earth either. The cats — who, she now realised, had little antennas on their heads — were busy at work, kneading dough, putting baguettes on the ovens trays, sugaring donuts — anything and everything needed for a stocked bakery.
Of course, that would be so, were they not already so overstocked with baked goods that these further additions to their inventory were already beginning to make Xana’s eye twitch.
In contrast to her rather muted reaction to the cats, Habib let out a sudden release of air somewhere between a squeak and a gasp as he gesticulated wildly at the industrious felines, all power over his voice seemingly stripped from him. Xana smiled at this turn of events.
The cats, for their part, suddenly noticed the pair and began milling around them, pawing at their trouser bottoms and rubbing against them. Dough and flour quickly became smeared over their clothes and shoes. One, a grey tabby, seemed especially fond of Habib, hopping up onto his trouser leg, claws out. He quickly grabbed it and hefted it into his arms. From his wide eyes, he was clearly still stunned, but a few seconds stroking the  fur around the animal’s antennae soon calmed him.
“So… alien cats?”
“Looks like it.”
“Making bread like little bakery goblins every night?”
“Yep.”
“For us, all the time, every night. Cats. Cats! Cats baking!”
“Mhmm.”
“...purrfect.”
Xana groaned. “Can’t say I was expecting it either.”
She reached down absent-mindedly to pet a tortoiseshell coated in sugar as she considered their next move.
“Clearly they’re unable to communicate with us in any compatible way,” she said as a chorus of meows and purrs erupted from the crowd. “But they’re obviously intelligent, and certainly seem to be harmless…”
“...so, can I keep this one?”
The grey tabby offered Habib a slow blink and meowed plaintively at Xana.
“Before I even try to answer that, I must say Habib, if these cats are aliens, you’re taking this awfully well.”
He shrugged. “Hey, they’re just cats at the end of the day, even if they’re like… weird baking ninja alien cats. They’re still cute! Plus, if I take this guy home with me, I bet he can teach me a thing or two about baking. Maybe we could even make new recipes together!” He gave the cat a scratch under the chin. “Would you like that little fella? Hm?”
The cat chirped and blinked slowly at Habib again.
Xana had to admit, this was a side of Habib she could actually appreciate. She would have to clear it with Charles first, of course… not that she was going to tell Habib that at the moment. She felt Habib’s happiness practically radiating off of him, and knew in her heart that the cat had found a new friend in him. Maybe that had been the reason they were baking here to begin with — to get close to the natives and help them with their species’ skill set.
“Alright Habib, you can have him,” she said, trying to sound exasperated whilst fighting back a smile. “But only if you promise not to tell anyone about this”
“Wasn’t up to you, but still, thanks Xana.” Habib grinned at the purring mass in his arms. “Really. I won't say anything, I promise.” He smiled warmly at his co-worker, then frowned. “But what are we going to do with the rest of them?” The cat began to lick his beard.
Xana smiled. “I think I know somebody who might be able to take care of the rest.”

-

Claire’s living room was as homely as Xana remembered it. The kind old woman seemed pleased with the newfound company, and gladly accepted responsibility over the remaining aliens. So far she hadn’t noticed they were any different than a typical  tomcat. Xana doubted that she ever would.  At least now she wouldn’t have to bake alone. 
Xana sat across from her, mug of tea in hand, as the cats sat across Claire’s feet, lap, and shoulders. The others sat on the arms of her chair, purring loudly. 
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved!” she exclaimed, trying to decide which of them to pet next.
Yep, thought Xana, this is going to work perfectly.

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