Boy meets Cat

by Ariel Rojas

 

The dirt around home plate was dry and powdery, kicking up under his cleats as he stepped out of the dugout. His helmet seemed slightly too tight against his temples, the bat resting heavy against his shoulder. The sun was in his eyes again. It always seemed to be there when it was his turn.

“You’re up,” his coach called, then, as he walked past, added in a different tone.
“Don’t overthink it this time, okay? You just need to swing. We can’t have you locking up again.”

Right. Easy for him to say.

His chest felt packed with something thick and uneasy, the kind of feeling that made everything around him seem louder than usual. He could hear the cries of parents in the stands and the thud of a ball between the pitcher’s hands.

Okay, okay. You just need to swing. You got this.

He stepped into the batter’s box and dug his foot into the dirt, steadying himself.

But what if it’s a curveball? Or maybe he’ll go high. Don’t swing high, coach doesn’t like that. What if I miss again?

A shaky breath escaped him, his eyes running toward the pitcher, his coach, and the car-sized cat behind the sun-bleached bleachers.

Wait, what?

His gaze shot up again. Slouched across two rows of metal benches was a cat, orange streaked with white spots. It was enormous, easily three times the size of any normal cat.

The boy’s grip on the bat loosened, his eyes drawn toward it in disbelief.

No way. I’m just seeing things, right? Probably just overheating.

He hadn’t even heard the whistle of the ball rushing toward him.

His head snapped back.

“Strike!”

“Hold on - get the medic out here too!”

>>>

He wasn’t sure whether falling flat against the field or the awkward glances his teammates were giving him felt worse.

And he would be staring too if it weren’t for the throbbing pain he felt every time his fingers pressed carefully against his cheek, a purplish mark starting to push through his tan skin.

One of his teammates passed an ice pack, and he took it quickly, pressing the cold plastic against his cheek. The chill spread through the bruise, relieving some of the pain.

If only it could also block the coach’s disappointing stare.

What do I say? Do I apologize? I should, it’s my fault. No, wait - it’s that cat’s fault.

His coach cleared his throat, cutting off his thoughts. He wasn’t yelling, which made it ten times worse.

“Alright,” he breathed out. “Matt, grab a helmet, you’re batting.”

The kid beside him jumped up immediately, rushing toward the on-deck circle.

Nice job. You couldn’t even swing, and now he’s never putting you in that lineup again. And it was all because of that cat.

The cat!

He stood up abruptly, the ice pack slipping in his hand as he scanned the rows of metal seats again. There was no sight of orange spots between the audience. It’s not as if he could miss it; that cat’s appearance was undeniable.

So it was the heat. Either that, or I have officially lost it.

Letting out a sigh of relief, he turned his head-

And nearly fell backwards.

The cat was sitting a few feet away beside the fence. Except now it was massive.

Like, really massive.

The boy blinked slowly, staring up at it. The thing towered over him, easily the height of a two-story building.

Before he could react, a loud crack rang out from the field. Everyone’s heads snapped up as the ball flew high into the sky, climbing over the outfield fence while the dugout burst into cheers.

The boy watched his teammate round the bases, everyone piling around home plate, clapping him on the helmet while he laughed like it was a breeze.

That should’ve been me.

The cat shifted slightly, its back stretching longer while a yawn escaped its sharp teeth.

Coach probably thinks I'm not taking this seriously.

The cat suddenly pressed thinner, stretched taller, then puffed back again, wobbling as it meowed, its tail thumping against the grass.

By this time, he noticed the cat twisting around in weird ways. It almost seemed cartoonish, like something from a comic book he would buy in the konbini nearby.

A small laugh pushed through his teeth, his mouth already curving into a grin. The thing looked completely ridiculous, wobbling around without worrying whether it might fall headfirst.

His teammate suddenly thumped his shoulder, stopping his laugh.

“There you are! Coach wants you back in, c’mon.”

The boy blinked up at him. “Back in?”

“Yeah,” the kid said, pushing the helmet into his hands. “We’re out of batters. You’re lucky.”

Before he could answer, a flash of orange shot past the fence, the mountain-sized furball running toward the bleachers and squeezing between the metal seats.

A minute later, he was walking back toward the plate, helmet tight on his head, bat heavy in his hands. The nerves tried creeping back immediately.

His eyes lifted behind the pitcher.

Way bigger than before, towering over the seats like a ridiculous orange mound watching the field.

His grip tightened on the bat.

What happens if you miss again? It’s over, right? This is your last chance-

Then he forced out a breath.

Just swing.

The ball was released, flying toward him.

Just swing.

And before it came any closer,

He swung.

Crack.

The sound rang across the field and the ball shot high, flying further than he expected. For a second, he just stood there, stunned. The desperate screams from the sideline woke him from his daze, and his legs didn’t hesitate to start flying. The wind rushed past his ears as he sprinted down the baseline, adrenaline flooding through him. By the time he hit first, he could hear shouting from the dugout, the crowd rising even louder.

He kept running, a huge grin starting to break across his face as he pushed for third.

He hadn’t even noticed where the ball flew, tearing through the sky, until it pierced right through the orange fur, bursting it into a cloud of orange powder that drifted over the bleachers.

The rush in his chest and the sound of everyone cheering as he ran for home, teammates already shouting triumphantly as they swarmed around him, pulling him from all sides.

For once, he felt a little lighter.

“Home run!”

REFLECTION:

First of all, I really enjoyed writing this. At first, I was thinking of turning it into a short story, but decided to challenge myself by making flash fiction (which is 10x harder for me). If it wasn’t clear, the story's message is to loosen up once in a while and not let the pressure get to us to the point where we can’t enjoy the things we love. Even though I do think I need to work more on making more clear in the story, I hope readers can at least notice it a bit : )

Some storytelling techniques I used were basically trying to show, and later telling. That was probably the hardest because you want to describe every single detail, but also not make a small part extremely long. I definitely had to go back many times to recheck repeated words or even me just going extremely into detail on something that should have just been a short sentence.
Secondly, I think I like how I used inner thoughts as part of the story. The boy is an overthinker, and I wanted to incorporate that by adding his own thoughts through the story, letting readers see more into his mind so it’s more relatable. For my first time, it didn’t turn out so bad.

Third, Something that I would definitely change if I had more time is not rush the end. I feel like I rushed it in some ways, like not adding more inner thoughts or showing how he felt in the moment, which are key, especially in a moment where he overcomes such a big problem for him.

So yeah, never overthink, always do.