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When Wires got home from work the next day, he was greeted by a familiar silence. The TV had been turned off, and Keisha was asleep in the popcorn bowl, curled up amongst a pile of red-speckled napkins. There was a small, sloppily-written note pinned to the fridge. It read simply

"Gone to the park. Be back later, before 10 prolly."

Wires plucked it off of the fridge, and tossed it into the trash, followed by the napkins. He sat down next to his cat, still curled contentedly in the popcorn bowl. With a laborious sigh, he put his footpaws up on the coffee table and turned on the TV. It was the news, and he lowered the volume to a distant murmur. As he flicked his tail, trying to find a comfortable position for it, another napkin rolled onto the floor. It suddenly occurred to Wires that, at some point, he was going to have to get up. It wasn't uncommon for him to pass out on the couch, lulled to sleep by the plastic voice of a newscaster reporting a murder in some neighborhood uncomfortably close to his own. The weight of his decision suddenly hit him in the gut and he groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. He had no idea how long Pika would need to stay. The winter weather was brutal, and showed no sign of letting up. He had honestly meant it as a gesture of good faith when he invited her to stay, but he now had doubts in light of the new information. Having known her in high school, and then later after his six-year absence, Pika was the last person Wires would have expected to sell heroin. She had always been thin and mousy, at home in the back of a crowd. She spent most of her time either with Pride-in-Her-Eyes, who she'd nicknamed Tokui, or with Bravo and his friends. Bravo was a gryphon, unusually small for his species, and constantly compensating for it with his attitude. He had always kept unsavory company, and at first Wires had been surprised to see the two of them together. Pride had told him later about what Pika's role was. Pika came along with Bravo and his friends as a helper. She packed the toilet paper and held the purses for the girls, and carried the bottled water in her bag. She brought flashlights when they went out to the parks at night, and bared her teeth at dangerous-looking passers-by who saw them wandering the streets of Manhattan. It was Pika who gently sipped her drink as she fished pills from the clenched fists of Bravo's bitter ex-girlfriends and held back their manes as they vomited on shady street corners. Despite how drunk and rowdy the crowd got, Pika had always been the straight man, and the designated driver as soon as she got her licence. Wires had always thought of them as the Drunken Crew. As soon as school let out, they were elbow deep in someone's backpack, searching for bottles of Coors, usually bought by Pika. They would walk from Carroll Gardens to Park Slope, chugging whiskey from amber-colored bottles of Coke as they giggled and ran through the park. Bravo's Royal heritage brought the Drunken Crew access to bars, clubs, and gatherings that they were way too young for. Pika kept up her guard, mostly. The crew drank excessively, sometimes to the point that they had to be dragged out of bars, and as the years dragged on, Pride told Wires that she could sense Pika getting tired. He remembered coming with them one friday night. They made their way through Red Hook to the ferry, then stalked South Street Seaport at the touch of dusk. A cigarette dangled from his lips as they fanned out on the sidewalk, drunk and giggling. It had not been a high point in his life. He'd gone everywhere with a skateboard held to his side, black-dyed headfur and bright red contacts that he thought made him stand out. Pride had broken up with him for the second of three times that semester, so he been willing to put aside his hatred of Bravo for a night. He remembered stepping off the ferry after Pika, who stood out like sore thumb. She wore nothing but a pair of messanger bags and a set of thin-framed sunglasses, clashing horridly with Bravo and Lever's leather jacket and hoodie. Her bright purple coat was decorated with deliberate-looking yellow markings. She looked like she would have been more at home in a pot on someone's windowsill. At the time, he'd thought she dyed her fur. They all had. That evening they'd gone to a skate park. Bravo and Back Action stood quietly on the sidelines, leaning back slightly, but not far enough to press their clothes onto the peeling paint of the deadman's wall. Wires, cigarette butt clenched in his teeth, remembered burning his lip while performing an Ollie. After the sun set, they all crowded into the bathroom of a public park to finish a bottle of Jack. They came out screaming and stumbling, with the exception of Pika, who quietly nursed her share out of a can of Dr. Pepper as if no-one around her could smell it. She sat to the side, on the grass, her tail protectively curled around everyone's sodas and bags while they skated. Wires had asked her to watch his pack of cigarettes after the second time the box came flying out of his hoodie's pocket. Lever skated circles around everyone despite having had twice as much beer, and Wires felt for the first time in months as if he was actually having fun. He was enjoying his buzz too much, and paying too little attention as he skated, and when he crashed into the rangy tan dog man the air was knocked out of his chest. He was too dazed and too drunk to respond. There was a furry tan fist headed for his face. Lever, before anyone could say anything, rushed to his rescue. He saw the flashes of white teeth and heard the snarls characteristic of fighting canids, someone grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him away from them. He was later told that it had been Bravo. What he saw next was harder to forget. There was a purple flash, the smell of ozone, and the dog was on the ground. Pika stood there in front of him, teeth bared, eyes glowing. There were sparks dancing in her fur, and the realization hit the dog with the same force that the blow had. No-one, except for maybe Bravo, had realized what Pika was until that moment. The dog got up quietly, with a paw up in deference, and the area cleared without any argument. Skaters, young and old, cleared out of the park and away from the spectacle. Wires stayed out of the way as Pika disinfected and bandaged Lever's wounds. He picked his claws and cursed under his breath. It was a quiet walk back to the subway and Pika, who usually passed her stop to spend the extra time with them, got off early and went straight home. There was a pair of black sunglasses she wore for weeks after that, hiding her catlike eyes. He never went drinking with her again. Shaking off the memory, Wires looked over at Pika's pack. He suddenly realized how familiar it looked. She'd gotten it in her second year of middle school. It was red, dirty and held together by a mess of lopsided stitches and bent paper clips. The edges stuck out, sharp and jagged, like bastardized medical staples in a horror movie. Wires grabbed it and fumbled for the zipper. The tab was missing, and had been replaced by a soda tab. He unzipped the backpack and pulled out Pika's laptop, then upended it on the wooden floor. He was not surprised by the assortment. The first thing to fall out was a Japanese thread ball, which Kiesha bounded after as soon as it hit the floor. He gently shook it and the rest of the load came crashing out. Pennies, a rubber band ball, two ragged gray wifebeaters, Advil, a toothbrush and two dime bags, full to bursting. They were wrapped in a scent-proofed wax paper which Wires tore open. He took a tentative sniff. Fresh. He eagerly shook the backpack again, and another little bag fell out. It was filled with white powder. Wires' face set into a hard grimace. He didn't even need to put the baggie under his nose. What surprised Wires was not that Pika had lied to him, stories and fantasies were her forte, it was that he had not caught her in it. She was a terrible, if imaginative, liar. Her pupils changed size and flickered. Her fur fluffed and settled. Her ears flipped and danced on her head like moth wings. He entertained, for a second, that she might be telling the truth. Wires stuffed everything back into the bag, walked into the kitchen and made himself another bowl of popcorn and a double-decker sandwich. Food in hand, he walked back to the couch, put a fistful of popcorn in his mouth, and waited. Pika looked tired and ragged when she got back in. She was shivering, and when she turned towards him, he could briefly see a flash of red in her left eye. The nictating membrane was swollen and stretched over most of her iris. She flashed him a grin, then pulled off her hoodie and hung it up on the coat rack, where it dripped muddy water onto the floor. "Where were you?" "I had some errands." she said, and limped into the kitchen. She filled a cup with warm water from the sink and started lapping at it. "What kind of errands?" "I wouldn't waste time worrying about it." Wires glared at her, and she wilted under his gaze, ears and tail flattening to her body. "Okay, listen. I was going to tell you this later, but I still had some stuff in my bag." she said, turning to the backpack. Her expression instantly hardened. Wires wasn't sure what exactly she noticed was off. "You know that already, don't you? You went through my shit!" "Don't fuck with me." said Wires, and he tossed the white baggie at Pika's feet. Keisha darted after it and started batting it across the floor, swatting at it until it dissapeared under the couch. Pika gritted her teeth, but made no move to grab it. "Good thing I did, huh?" "You're losing your shit over silica powder?" "...what?" "Sih-lih-ca pow-der you dumbfuck. It dries things out. It's in the bottom of pill bottles!" "How do I know you're not lying?" "Did you smell it?" hissed Pika, her fur standing on end. Her ears were still pinned back, but her tail was lashing back and forth like an angry cat's."You're gonna give me shit and you didn't even smell it? What the fuck is wrong with you? I trusted you with my stuff!" "You took stuff out of my fridge without my permission." "That's not the same! I didn't look through your personal belongings. How would you feel if I went through your drawers?" "That's not even the same." "How is that not the same?" "It's my house." "Yeah, it's my stuff! I literally lived in it." "If you can't even take care of your own shit, maybe you shouldn't complain about other people going through it." A pin could have dropped in the room. Wires instantly regretted what had come out of his mouth. It seemed like every strand of fur on Pika's body was standing on end, making her look like a patchy chia pet. "Wow. Wow! I really thought you weren't going to fuck me like this, Wires. And you are the one that fucked me. You fucked me in the ass, and now you're blaming me for it. You're absolute fucking shit, I hope you realize that." "Yet you're still here." "Where the fuck else am I supposed to go, Wires? Huh?" That night, Wires had to put in his headphones. He was unable to sleep through the sound of Pika's hoarse, strangled sobs.