'In order to survive in this world, your mind must be in order. Neither your father nor I had the advantages that you have, Andrew. We had to work hard for every single cent we own, the Mayers family was broke, our mother was gone and our father was a shameless alcoholic... if you want to be the new chairman of Archeron, you need to prove that you're at the very least qualified for the spot. You shall get a thousand dollars a month for your personal expenses, you have no maids or butlers, and there will be a person coming to the penthouse to polish the floor, but that's about it. You don't have to pay for rent, you don't have to pay taxes, you don't have to pay your school fee, you don't need to pay your phone line or insurance... that already places you above 90% of Americans in privilege. Nevertheless, you're still the heir of Archeron, your security will be in my hands'.
Those had been Christian Mayers words the moment he became his representative five years ago. As such, in order to sustain himself, Andrew, the rightful heir of Archeron had to work part-time in order to save some money. He didn't have as many expenses, but he had them nonetheless. Books, notebooks, school gear, uniform, food, transport, laundry... everything he had to do on his own accord.
That was the side that nobody knew in High School knew; the life of Andrew Mayers wasn't as easy as they expected it to be.
It was also the reason that despite his coldness, Andrew didn't hate his uncle. After being outraged and angry for the first months, he made an accurate rational gauge and understood that his uncle's methods weren't wrong.
Even if he didn't hate his uncle, he definitely hated his aunt, Gemma Wingfield, but that was a story for another day.
He started pouring hot water and soap into the massive bath; going to the first living room wrapped in just a towel, Andrew saw that Pickle had taken his spot on top of one of the sofas, he seemed to take the words 'get yourself at home' quite literally.
The boy took a controller and switched on the TV, putting on a channel of classic piano symphonies which he liked.
The subtle piano songs of Beethoven and Chopin started to play all over the penthouse as he relaxed and went into the already warm bathroom.
"HAAA~" He exhaled in relief, basking in the pleasure of solitude, warm water and soap.
*Meow!*
"What is it, Pickle?" He exclaimed, noticing that the black cat ghost was standing at the door.
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*Meow!*
"You don't want food, do you?"
*Meeow!*
"You want a bath? s-seriously?"
*Meow!*
"Come in then... you must be a ghost cat for sure if you want a bath, never heard of it" Andrew scratched his head, never having seen a cat that liked baths.
The cat jumped on the bath's edge and entered the warm bath... it, however, didn't float atop the water instead, it sank to the bottom of the bath, scaring the shit out of Andrew.
!!!
He picked up the cat from the bottom of the bathtub and lifted it up in amazement.
*Meow*
"No wonder... you can't get wet, huh?" He analysed the cat that was as dry as a desert. 'It seems ghosts are unable to be affected by water'.
It was not something he had tested before.
"How did you die?"
...
*Meow...* The cat licked its paw.
"Run over by a car... were you a street cat?"
*Meow!* *Meow!*
"So you were looking for tuna and found rubber instead? that's not a nice joke".
*Meow!*
"Yeah yeah, it wasn't fun".
**
**
After more than an hour of soaking in a warm bath with subtle symphonies and a ghost cat. Andrew left the bathroom and dried himself. Pickle stayed behind him at all times.
"Omelette it is, Pickle... though I don't feel like cooking".
*Meow!*
"The last thing I need is a cat calling me a sloth, your species literally does nothing but sleep" He picked up the ingredients from the fridge, there weren't many, which meant he had to do the groceries soon.
The cat was outraged but Andrew didn't care and continued preparing his omelette; those were facts spit out clearly and concisely.
"I heard a long time ago a rich madam, Leona Helmsley, passed away and left all of her wealth to her dog that did nothing but sleep and mate. That must be the luckiest animal in history".
*Meow!*
"I know right. dogs have it easier than cats and there is even wealth disparity between cats and dogs as well".
*Meo- Meow!* The cat got on top of the table and sat down, looking around the penthouse.
"I'm an heir... yes. But... how was it again?" Andrew mumbled, trying to recall a passage that he had read once, "Now I say, That the heir, as long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a slave, though he be lord of all; But is under tutors and governors. Galatians 4:1-7. Do you understand me now, Pickle?"
*Meow!*
"I guess I'm indeed smart, but I don't know everything, I only know what I know".
Half an hour later, Andrew finished the Omelette just as Chopin's Nocturne started, he split the Omelette in two and gave a piece to Pickle. The cat was a little surprised at the gesture, but sadly... he couldn't eat as he was a ghost.
"Time to sleep".
**
**
The alarm resonated in the early morning like always and like a machine, without even rubbing his eyes, Andrew woke up to find the sun shining on his face.
"Pickle?" He had fallen asleep hugging the cat; now he was missing.
The silence of Beethoven was the answer he received. Used to the cat's behaviour, he went all over the penthouse, but... there was nothing. Andrew bit his lips and resisted...
"So you're gone... not even two days. I shouldn't have prepared the omelette".
Seeing the time, he tidied himself up and put on some perfume; prepared to leave for school.
After entering the elevator, Andrew swore for the tenth time in his life that he would not get another non-living pet.