I guess it must have climbed in. I mean, the window was open, and it wasn’t that hard to get in that way. Hell, I’ve done the same many times (in fact, for a while, it was the only safe entry to my house). At least that was the logical explanation I came up with at the time. And it worked. But the really puzzling thing was what the cat was sitting on.
From what I could see under the little orange-and-white kitty-butt, it was a paper. Now, this in itself was not an odd thing. A paper is an everyday item. There is nothing odd about a newspaper. Well, this being Sunnydale, it’s kinda hard to be strange with anything, but a newspaper is especially normal. The strange part was that it was under the cat. The mysterious, amazingly-clean little cat, who was meowing at me. I mean, how did a cat bring a newspaper? Even though Sunny-hell’s a small town, the newspaper isn’t that small. Besides, I don’t even get the paper!
Carefully, so as not to disturb the little furball, I pulled the paper out from beneath it. Instead of fussing as I figured it would, the little guy gave me a rather positive-sounding yip, and moved out of the way so that I could pick up the paper. I smiled at him.
"Thanks buddy," I said quietly, using my other hand to give him a soft pat, "You’re a good little guy, aren’t you? Don’t get in the way or anything."
The cat gave something I could swear was a snort, if it hadn’t been a cat, and then the cat’s face took on an expression I don’t think I’ll ever figure out till the day I die. The only part I think I have at least partially correct was a quick silent statement of ‘yeah right.’
After this, the cat (who in my mind I had already named Creamsicle) hopped away and began to snuggle in my blankets. Which left me with the paper in my hand.
I looked over the stories on the front page. I mean, I know I don’t get the paper, but I’m not going to refuse something free, am I? Might offend the cat or something.
But anyway, as I looked over the paper, I happened to catch the article on Sunnydale’s Festival that, according to the article, had occurred last night and had been a fundraising success for the high school cheerleaders. Now, that was all good and well (I was happy that girls in short skirts would be jumping up and down with joy; bless their perky little hearts), but there was one problem. I was very, very sure that the festival was scheduled for tonight. The reason I was sure was because I was planning to go. So, I checked the date on the newspaper, thinking perhaps that it was last year’s issue.
It was then that I got one of the bigger shocks in my life. Something that changed my entire existence. Something that, once realized, rivaled Buffy's 'I-kill-vampires' revelation, and just edged out Giles' 'you-live-on-a-hellmouth' speech.
The date it read...was tomorrow.
It took a while for that fact to penetrate my brain, which shouldn't surprise anyone who knows me. Willow always says I'm rather dense after all, but that's another story for another time.
I think the main reason it took so long for me to realize what I'd just been handed, was that I'd become so used to my role in the Scooby Gang. I was beginning to think I should wear a name tag: "Hi, Xander, the guy who always gets in the way, and needs someone to save his sorry ass." So this ...thing... that apparently had chosen me to happen to, shocked me beyond anything else that I'd ever had happen to me.
Why me? What was I supposed to do with it? I looked over at the cat, who was regarding me with barely-concealed indifference. Again, something I've heard that cats specialize in.
Okay, so no help from the furball on the meaning of this. "Okay, Xander, this *is* the Hellmouth. Home of freaky, strange happenings. Just think Mummy-girl, Praying Mantis lady, and the fact that in your short life you've been possessed by the spirits of a hyena and a soldier. So, first thing to decide: what's so important that you need tomorrow's paper today?" Having decided that truly was the first question, I studied the paper more carefully.
"Oh. Oh, that's just not good."
That statement was prompted after I'd read the front-page story on Sunnydale's Halloween Festival. The entire story. The title should have given me a clue in the first place, but as I said earlier, getting a clue isn't something I'm too good at.
"Despite tragedy, Sunnydale Halloween Festival a Fundraising Success for High School Cheerleading Team."
Don't even bother to ask how I'd missed that on first glance.
Then, I decided reading the rest of the story would be helpful. I was right, the reasons behind the early paper seemed to get clearer as I did that.
The story started innocently enough, telling of the fun: bobbing for apples, cake walks, and the haunted house the cheerleaders had rigged up in the gym. That's where they messed up, folks. Never, ever, set up a dark, spooky place with many places for evil things to hide. Because they'll take you up on your offer, I promise you they will. I mean, really, can we say, "Dinner is served?"
I sighed, and shook my head at the stupidity of the citizens of the Hellmouth as I read the details. At least fifty people were presumed dead, in addition to the thirty bodies they'd found at the end of the night. I guess nobody had paid any attention to the screaming, assuming it was "normal, Halloween-fun" screaming as opposed to "help, I'm dying" screaming.
"So is this it?" I asked the cat. "Is this what you wanted me to know about?"
I'd never be able to prove it to anyone, but the look Creamsicle gave was one that basically said, "Duh!"
"Okay," I chuckled. "Message received."
As if satisfied that I knew what was expected of me, Creamsicle stood slowly, stretched, jumped off my bed, trotted across the floor toward me, and jumped up again onto the desk under my window. He paused to look at me one last time, then jumped up onto the windowsill and disappeared through the window.
"Wait!" I hollered, ignoring the fact that I was expecting Creamsicle to understand me. I just knew he would, and I was right. His little face appeared in the window again, and I said, "You're coming back again, aren't you?"
Again, not something I'll be able to prove, but Creamsicle winked at me in response, and if cats can smile, I'd swear he did that too. Then, he turned and trotted off across the lawn.
I stood for a moment, in shock at the entire morning's events. A cat that delivered the morning paper? A morning paper that was delivered to me in some kind of time warp so that I knew the day's coming events? Too weird. Then I remembered the tragedy that was coming in...I checked my clock, it was eight a.m. That gave us just about ten hours to prepare for sundown and massacre-time.
"I gotta go tell the others." I showered quickly, and dressed. Then, I headed out, paper in hand, to tell the Scoobies of my newly-found usefulness to the Cause.