I looked to the cat for guidance, this was becoming a normal part of my life. Hoping everyday that the cat will help me ground my sense of reality.

  “So, what is this?” I asked, as the cat continued taking big sips from her mug, before licking her paws and cleaning her face. “This is all real?”

  “Yeah, all of it. How could you question it? I showed up to your house!”

  “Yeah, but you couldn’t talk or anything,” when she showed up to my house, I recognized her immediately but anytime I saw her at the cafe, she was chatty. Sometimes, I wished she would be quiet for once. So, when she didn’t speak at all, I didn’t know what to think.

  “I told you. I need the tea,” she waved her paw above her mug as if she was saying “see?” with her motion.

  “Are there side-effects? I’d like to try it but I don’t want to get sick.”

  “Nope, it’s all good. Do you want some?” I look down at her tea that she’s been sticking her tongue and paw in, wincing at the thought. Cats are known to be clean animals, but I still couldn’t stomach the thought of drinking after one.

  “No, thanks. It wouldn’t do anything for me anyway, I don’t need to learn to talk, I need one for my writing.”

  “Oh, they have that. Paul drinks that one.”

  “Who is Paul?” I couldn’t remember hearing that name before, even in passing.

  “Ugh. You are new here, aren’t you? Never mind then, you’ll meet him soon enough.”

  “Is he your owner or something?”

  “I am not owned. I am not a handbag. Or shoes. Rude question.”

  “Sorry, your human companion then?”

  “I don’t have that. I don’t wish for companionship.”

  “Where do you go when you leave here?”

  “Wherever I please.”

  “But you can drive? So, you have a car or something to sleep in?”

  “Drive? How would I reach the pedals? Stilts or something?”

  “You told me the tea helped you drive.”

  “That is called a joke.. Maybe you should drink the coffee infused for humor.”

  “Yeah, I guess maybe I should,” I reflected more on what the drinks could do for me, I pictured my life in my own cozy apartment, spending my days drinking hot caffeinated drinks and writing away. Getting awards in the mail, being asked about my experience as a best-selling author.

  Could I really become a creative genius for 4 hours a day? If there aren’t any side-effects, the writing could be so much easier for me. Maybe it could even allow me to have real experiences for the first time in my life. I could get past my fears. I could do it all.

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  I walked back up to the counter, ready to see what it was all about. I didn’t bring my laptop or journal but I could write on my phone or the back of napkins, it doesn’t matter, this was just a trial run anyway.

  “I’d like an infused hot cocoa, please. You have something for writing I assume? Or, creatives? I’m not sure how that all works yet.”

  “Yes. Since you’re new, I’ll explain how the infusions work. We have specific brews for the different activities. So, you could get one for creative works in general. But you can also ask for something specific to your activity. So, then we’d add an ingredient for writing into your creative infusion. It sounds more complicated than it really is. Basically, we add lavender and lemon balm for creatives. For writing specifically, we add a little rosemary to the mix too. Don’t worry, it’s not a lot so you shouldn’t taste much of it.”

  “Okay, that sounds good. Yeah, I’ll be using it for writing so, is that how I order it then? Hot cocoa infused for writing?”

  “Yes. All of our baristas are trained to know what to make for you. I’ll have that right up for you.” She pushed the tip jar a little closer before walking away. I thought for a minute but threw a dollar from my pocket into it. She did spend time explaining everything for me and for that, I was grateful. Plus, she has dealt with me being indecisive the past few days.

  She returned back with my drink, “thank you very much for the tip, it means a lot. Enjoy.”

  I went back to the table with Sage, holding the ticket to my future in my hands. I wondered if this had the ability to make anyone a good writer. Could the cat drink some and write a bestselling novel? Even without thumbs? I couldn’t wrap my head around how that would work.

  It almost felt like it would be a prison. To have all of these ideas in your head but not be able to articulate them. Then I was hit with the realization that that’s been my reality for the last year. I’ve been hit with all of these novel ideas but I haven’t had the ability to actually get it out there. Everytime I sit at my computer, I just freeze.

  I’ve told myself over and over that I just need to work on things that matter less to me. Or I just need world experience to be able to get it out onto paper. But, nothing has helped.

  I wrapped my fingers around the mug and hoped this would be the answer.

  I drank from the cup. Warm, chocolatey goodness. I wouldn’t have even been able to tell the difference between this and a drink without the herbal infusions. I looked across and the man furiously writing was here again, he was a regular. That will be me. I’ll be known as the girl at Whimsical Beans every night, writing away, cat by my side, becoming a prolific writer.

  “Do you feel it yet? Are you like….smarter now or whatever that does for you?”

  “It doesn’t make me smarter. It makes me a better writer.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing? Don’t you have to be smart to write?”

  “I think I’m smart. I’m just..scared to write, I guess.”

  “You’re scared of words?”

  “No, I’m not scared of words. I’m scared of failing.”

  “I felt that once. When I put on my stilts and started driving, I was nervous I’d crash. And die. I don’t really see how words are scary.”

  “Shut up.”

  I continued to sip from the mug, questioning myself if I had felt any different. I thought about asking Sage but she doesn’t seem to be in the most helpful of moods and maybe she wouldn’t know anyway. Her drink just allows her to have the ability to talk. It’s an entirely new skill.

  How does a skill-enhancing drink work? Would I feel inspired immediately or would I have to already have that inspiration within me? Would it work regardless of where my current skill is? What happens if you’re the best writer?

  Or the worst? Am I the worst?

  Surely, I couldn’t be. But, how would that be quantified? Someone who doesn’t write has to be worse than anyone who does. So, I could be a fraud. Or not classified as a writer at all.

  The entire thing was beginning to make my head spin. I didn’t feel any different, I just started to doubt myself even more. Maybe it wouldn’t work if I was really the worst. Or not classified as a writer at all.

  There was the man, still typing, probably 60-words per minute. He knew what he wanted and went for it. His skills being enhanced didn’t even matter. He was a writer.

  Sage snuck away from the table to meet the ladies on the couch who spend their time crocheting. She snuck into their yarn to play with it a bit and chat with them. They were creatives too. And Sage is a good talker.

  And I am just a fraud, who feels no different. Why did I even come? Why did I even have to learn about this place at all? I set my mug back on the counter, releasing my dreams, and walked out with no plans to return.

  There’s no point to any of it anymore.