Magical Realism Short Story: Shelly and the Cat

About this story:

Shelly has always been good at running—from jobs, from expectations, from anything that feels too big. But when she flees into a forgotten yard and meets a cat who talks back, her life takes a surreal turn. The house behind the fence seems to shift with her confidence, offering opportunities she never imagined. “Shelly and the Cat” is is a magical realism short story about self‑worth, second chances, and the uncanny homes that see us more clearly than we see ourselves.

 

Shelly hung her head and gasped, deep, rasping breaths in and out, clinging to the fence before her. After the devastating news at the bank she had just run and run until there was nothing left, her legs screaming and her lungs burning, her head awhirl. She’d run before — from jobs, from arguments, from anything that made her feel small. But this time she’d really thought she could stay.

After who knew how long, the whirlwind of dark thoughts finally sputtered out, leaving only the occasional stray gust. Shelly raised her head and looked around.

She didn’t know this part of town. She’d never seen this house before. She would’ve remembered the dark teal paint with the forest green trim. She loved the colors, but the paint had faded and peeled.

This surprised her. Everywhere she’d gone in this town, someone was polishing something — windows, floors, even the library plants. Mrs. Montgomery’s Airbnb was the worst; Shelly always felt like she was smudging something just by breathing.

Thinking about the Air BnB, Shelly remembered that she was out today. The owner, that OCD woman with the dust rag permanently adhered to her hand, had made it clear before Shelly left for her bank meeting that today was Shelly’s last day. There was another family arriving this afternoon and they just didn’t have the room to keep Shelly even if she was ‘the cutest thing since Mary Poppins.’

What was she going to do?

Mrs. Montgomery’s hand had flown to her chest the day before when she’d glimpsed Shelly’s room. Shelly had slammed the door before the woman could comment. Better to shut people out than let them see the mess — literal or otherwise. Shelly shoved the memory away and focused on the house beyond the fence.

Something about the place called to Shelly. The air felt heavier here, like the moment before a storm breaks—charged, waiting. Part of her wanted to turn back — running was familiar, comforting in its own way. Instead, without realizing it, she pushed open the small gate.

Chapter 2: The House

The hinges creaked and she had to push against the grass that grew so thick it was almost impossible to tell where the path to the front porch was. She pushed the gate closed, or as far as she could. Shelly looked around to see if anyone was watching. There was only a cat laying in the sun on the porch swing. 

Shelly stepped carefully through the calf-length grass, afraid of finding a hole or a rock in which she would turn an ankle. How she had managed to run from the bank all the way here without falling and breaking something was still a mystery. She found the outline of the first in a series of stone blocks that led to the front porch. As she walked, she looked around, noting the sister trees at the far end of the yard. An old swing set stood between the trees. Shelly frowned at the rusted chains and the swing seat hanging into the grass.

The picket fence that bordered the yard was falling behind the trees. Vines and bushes pushed and pulled at the fence until it sagged into the greenery. The white paint on the fence was flaking and peeling in sections, leaving long streaks of grey, weathered wood underneath, much like the green and teal paint on the outside of the house needed a new coat. 

Not just the paint. Shelly could see that one of the columns that supported the roof over the front porch was rotten at the base. She paused when she saw that, looking up to see if the porch roof would come down on her the minute she took a step onto the porch. 

"Running won’t help you here."

Shelly paused with one foot on the first step when she heard the voice. There still wasn't anyone visible around her. She stared into the broken windows on both floors but saw no one. There was most definitely no one around, except for the cat. The cat was now sitting up, watching her approach. Shelly wondered if she was losing her mind. She should leave. That was the rule—run first, think later. But her legs wouldn’t move.

Shelly sighed. She was so tired. She couldn't manage to run right now. Her Airbnb landlady could wait a few more minutes to clean her room in preparation for the next visitors.

Shelly remembered the pain of the rejection by the bank. What had her landlady said before she’d left for the meeting?

“Are you sure that’s what you want to wear to see the manager.”

It hadn’t been a question. Shelly had looked down at the pencil skirt and ruffled blouse. That was appropriate bank employee attire, wasn’t it? She’d shrugged off the landlady’s comment, but now she wondered if she’d been right.

The sound of a cat’s meow brought Shelly’s attention back to the house. The cat stretched, a long, low, luxurious stretch and then it put a paw to its mouth. Shelly could hear the rasping of its tongue against its fur. She walked up the steps to the porch, the wooden boards of both barely creaking under her weight. The wood was so fresh and clean that she imagined the constructor had finished moments before and was just out of sight, putting away their tools and brushing sawdust from their clothes. It was strange — the house seemed different every time she looked at it, as if it were reacting to her instead of the other way around.

The cat was still on the porch swing and didn’t move when she approached, which she took as a good sign and sat down on the poofy cushion. She didn’t immediately try to pet the cat. Just being next to it was enough for now.

The cat didn’t agree. It stopped washing itself and took two long strides, ending in her lap. It kneaded her knees a couple of times before sitting. Shelly expected it to curl into a ball and go to sleep. Instead, the cat sat straight up, looked her in the eyes, and said “What are you doing here? You should be back at the bank.”

Shelly stared at the cat without blinking. There was no way, NO way, the cat could be speaking.

“The house knows what you need.” the cat said. “The question is, what do you need?”

“I need that job,” Shelly growled. She smiled to herself. Whatever was happening – whether it was a magic cat or just her own internal monologue coming out – it had brought the truth out. What she needed was that job.

“What are you going to do?” asked the cat. It hadn’t moved a muscle, still looking right into her eyes.

Shelly picked up the cat and set it back on the cushion. “I’m going to get it.”

It wasn’t until she made her way off the porch that she noticed the change. The grass looked like a golf course. Freshly dug gardens of bright flowers lined the edges of the stone walkway. Shelly peeked around the corner of the house. The picket fence was a blinding white in the sun, in good repair all around the house. A swing set made from rope and wood waited for her under the neatly trimmed trees. Shelly remembered kicking the swing into higher arcs, her own small town visible in flashes as she kicked, pushed, and swung.

Flowers bloomed in all the corners of the yard. Shelly put out her hand to steady herself on the house, but the house, too, had changed. The paint looked as if someone had just finished putting on the finishing coats. The air smelled different too—cleaner, sweeter, like fresh paint and cut grass.

“Staying is running,” said the cat. Shelly looked up, but the cat had curled up on the cushion. The world shimmered once, like heat rising off pavement—and then she was moving.

Chapter 3: The Bank

Shelly pushed through the bank’s front door. She remembered how timid she had felt earlier in the day (was it only a few hours ago since she had come for her interview? If felt like a hundred years had passed), but now she was a new person. She knew she was coming back to get that job, no matter what she had to do.

The security guard nodded at her and then did a double take. “Ms. Watkins?” There was something like awe in his voice “Um, welcome back…”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t have time for chit chat and besides, there was Mr. Harrisy, the bank manager and the man who had shot her down earlier. She strode across the tile floors of the bank to his desk. He searched for something amongst a pile of papers on his desk. He found what he was looking for and was just reaching for the phone when she stopped in front of him.

He glanced at her as he was about to put the phone to his ear. There was a moment of confusion on his face. “Ms. Watkins?” He fumbled with the phone, first dropping it to the desk and then finally replacing the handset in its cradle. “I was just about to call you.”

Shelly had opened her mouth, her prepared speech ready to spill out in a rush, but the words died as he said this. “You were?” Her sense of purpose wobbled.

“Yes, I was.” Mr. Harrisy searched through his piles of paper again. He glanced up at her. “Please, sit down.” He gestured to the seat beside her.

Shelly sat, smoothing her skirt and looking around. She felt like she was on display—but no one even looked at her. Somehow, that made her braver.

“Ah, here it is!” Mr. Harrisy crowed bringing Shelly’s attention back to the manager. He held up what she immediately recognized as her resume. At least, she couldn’t imagine that anyone else would have been so bold as to use that color of chartreuse in the header.

“I was revisiting our applicants, and I suddenly realized that I had made a terrible mistake earlier.” Here Mr. Harrisy placed the resume on the desk in front of him, folded his hands on top of it and looked her right in the eyes. “I’m sorry to say that I was looking at the wrong resume when you were in for your interview.”

It took a moment for Shelly to process what he was saying AND the implications behind it. She smiled and nodded but didn’t push her luck. She waited to see what he would say next, hoping that it was what she thought he would say.

Mr. Harrisy picked up the resume, her resume, again and said, “You were so quiet earlier. I never would have imagined that this” he shook the paper, “was the mind behind that quiet exterior.”

Again, Shelly smiled, but inside she wondered if she was understanding him correctly. He still hadn’t said anything. Not really.

The bank manager stood and held out his hand. “Welcome to the Whitamooka Central Bank, Ms. Watkins. We are pleased to offer you the position of General Manager.”

Shelly had been in the process of standing, too, when these words reached her ears. She had to grab the side of the desk as her legs wobbled and her world wobbled, too. General Manager? This was the moment she usually ran from. Expectations. Responsibility. Being seen.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrisy, but you must be mistaken.” She couldn’t believe that she was saying the words. A part of her was shouting ‘just take the position!’ “I applied for the teller position.”

The bank manager tutted. “Don’t be silly. Teller? That would be wasting your talents.”  Instead of waiting for her to shake his hand, he came around the side of the desk, patted her should and grabbed her hand to shake it. “Unless you don’t want the position?” He winked.

Shelly coughed. “No. No.” She blinked and swallowed and then straightened up. “Of course I want the position.” She grinned. She imagined that smile would be gracing her face for a long time.

“Good.” He patted her shoulder one last time and released her hand. “Now, you’ll be starting Monday and there is a lot to do in the meantime. Paperwork. “He looked at her sidelong. “And more paperwork. I’m going to introduce you to Janice, our HR Manager. She will get you all sorted. Ok?”

Shelly just nodded.

Hours later, drowning in paperwork she barely remembered signing, she finally stepped toward the exit. Shelly reached the front door and her legs felt like they were going to fall out from under her. She dropped into a chair to the side of the door. General Manager? The words didn’t feel real. They felt placed—like the house had set them gently into her hands. What was she thinking? There was only one explanation.

The house!

The house must have given her this opportunity. But why? Why would it want to help her? Shelly thought back to that afternoon. Why was she drawn to the house? Did the house pull her in? Is that how she found herself there? And, if so, what did it want?

Shelly's breath started to come in gasps. She needed to get out of here before Mr. Harrisy found out that she couldn't manage the job or the house decided to call for a return on what she owed it for giving this to her. Shelly shot to her feet. She dropped the paperwork on the chair and pushed the door open, but before she was able to step out, the cat stepped in. 

Shelly couldn't believe what she was seeing. she had half thought the cat was her imagination. Even after the job offer. But here was the cat, walking into the bank like it owned the place. Shelly looked around, wondering if her mental issues were coming into the real world. At first, no one was looking at the cat. The tellers were tellering, the security guard was speaking with Mr. Harrisy. 

"And where do you think you're going?" the cat asked, circling around Shelly’s feet.

"I... um... no—"

"Don't say 'nowhere'." The cat jumped up onto the pile of paperwork on the chair. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Shelly stood opening and closing her mouth, like a fish out of water. 

"What is this cat doing in here?" Mr. Harrisy asked, suddenly appearing beside Shelly. "Are we turning the bank into a pet store, Jenkins?"

The security guard, on the other side of Shelly, chuckled. "I don't think so, Sir. I'll put it out."

The cat didn't wait for the guard to pick it up. He jumped down from the chair, gave a sniff, and walked out the door that opened just at that moment.

"All finished your paperwork, I see, my dear." Mr. Harrisy raised his hand as if to pat Shelly on the shoulder and then thought better of it, putting his hand in his pocket. Then he took a closer look at Shelly. "My goodness, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm... yes. Yes, I'm fine."

Jenkins, who no longer had a cat to wrangle, picked up the paperwork instead. "I'm finished for the day. Can I give you a ride home?"

"Oh, thank you, but that's not necessary." Shelly reached out and took the paperwork from the man. "It's only a couple of blocks away." 

"See you Monday," the guard said. 

Shelly stopped. "Yes." She smiled. "Yes, you will." She left the bank and ran right into her landlady from the Air BNB.

“Oh, Shelly, I’m so glad I ran into you!”

Chapter 4: A home

“Don’t worry, I’m going to the house right now to pick up my stuff,” Shelly huffed. Could the woman not give her a moment?

“Oh! Yes. Thank you. But that’s not why I was looking for you.” The woman brushed fingers through her immaculate hairdo in a surprising sign of frazzlement. “The most amazing thing just happened. I was in the grocery story, and I ran into an old friend who is back in town. She has a house that she is trying to rent. Well, of course I immediately thought of you.”

Shelly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was it possible that she wouldn’t be sleeping in the park tonight after all?

“When can I meet her?”

The landlady waived her hand. “No need. She didn’t have much time and we’re such good friends that she trusts you will be the perfect tenant. Here are the keys.” She pulled a keyring out of her pocket and handed it to Shelly. “The address is there on the tag. Utilities are connected. She’s leaving a list on the kitchen counter with her contact information. She says to give her a call once you’re settled and you’ll discuss the rent and all the other details then.”

Shelly frowned. “You don’t know how much rent she’s expecting?” 

“No worries. The house has been unoccupied for a bit, and she just wants to have someone living in it, so she doesn’t have to keep coming back here to check on it. I’m sure you’ll be able to come to a mutually agreeable solution.”

The woman smiled. “I’m on my way back to the house. Would you like a ride and then I can drop you at your new house as well?”

Shelly was dumbstruck. She just nodded, not sure that she could hold in her emotions if she opened her mouth.

Chapter 5: Fatal Flaw

Back at the Airbnb, the landlady leaves Shelly to pack her things, while she goes to fix her husband some lunch before she takes Shelly to her new house. In the bedroom, Shelly stands for a moment in indecision. Clothes covered the bed and the floor, on a chair, along with the hangers the clothes had once festooned. Where to start? She stepped over more clothes on the floor between the doorway and the bed. Then she swung the suitcase up onto the mattress.

She packed the way she lived — grabbing whatever was closest, folding only when she remembered to, trying not to think about the part of her that wanted to run again.

General Manager! Suddenly the reality of her situation hit her, and she sat heavily on the bed, disregarding the clothes underneath her. What thought process could have led her to agree to take on the position of General Manager? She didn’t have the experience for that! What had Mr. Harrisy seen on her resume that would have made him think that she would be an excellent choice for General manager?

General Manager. She said it again, this time aloud. She hadn’t had a chance to look through the paperwork that described what the position of General Manager would entail. She suddenly had the urge to go back downstairs to the kitchen, where she had left the pile of papers, and read all the information. This was the part where she usually packed up and left. Quit before she failed.

She even took one step toward the door before freezing. Her hand twitched toward the doorknob. Her suitcase sat open on the bed like an accusation — half‑packed, half‑abandoned, exactly how she’d left every other life behind. She closed her eyes. Behind her closed eyes, she saw the cat, clear as day. Black and white fur shining in the sunbeam that angled down where it sat on the porch. “You’ve run enough,” the cat said. “Try staying.”

Shelly rubbed her temples and then scrubbed her hands across her face. You’re right, she thought. I can do this.

Whether the cat was just in her imagination or was somehow real, it was right. She could do this. She was smart and capable. She could handle the general manager position, whatever it held. With renewed vigor, she finished packing her clothes. In the bathroom, she placed all her creams and colors into her bath bag. The bathroom had shampoo, conditioner, and soap dispensers, so she didn’t have to worry about that stuff, which was still in her suitcase. She found her toothbrush and toothpaste and checked all the drawers and the medicine cabinet to make sure she wasn’t missing anything.

Back in the bedroom she looked around to make sure she’d gotten everything, even getting down on her knees to check under the bed. She carried the suitcase downstairs to the kitchen where she put the mound of paperwork into the front pocket of her suitcase, shoving a bit to get it to fit.

Mr. Montgomery was finishing his lunch. After he put his plate in the sink, he shook her hand and congratulated her on her new position. “Good luck!” he said as he left by the back door.

What did he mean by that?

Chapter 6: The Threshold

Shelly didn’t have time to ponder that as Mrs. Montgomery was there, waiting to take her to her new house.

“It’s not a far drive,” she said.

Shelly nodded. The world blurred past the window. She imagined what the rental house would look like.

“Here we are.”

Shelly looked around. The house stood across the street, looking very forlorn and overgrown.

“Don’t worry. My friend mentioned that she would have someone come and clean up the yard.”

Shelly smiled. “I’m sure that will be fine.”

She thanked the woman, collected her bag, and stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the woman to leave. She waved as the car drove down the street. Only once the car was out of sight did Shelly cross the street. With a shiver, she pushed the squeaky gate open. The shiver turned into goose bumps when she stepped over the invisible line, the line that she hadn’t noticed earlier in the day when she’d been here.

The yard, the swing, the cat — none of it had been random. The house had been waiting for her to stop running. The house felt exactly as it had before—yet somehow everything was different.

The cat slept where she had left it, curled in a ball on the porch swing. It raised its head as she made her way up the porch steps.

"Welcome home.

Epilogue: New Life

After finding her room on the second floor, Shelly put her bag on the beg promising herself that she would put away her clothes once she’d had a moment to prowl around the house. The cat, and the house, had other ideas.

The ceiling light flickered at her. For a heartbeat, the pristine room flickered—peeling wallpaper, sagging mattress—then snapped back into perfection. The cat, who had followed her upstairs, rubbed against her legs. The house seemed to breathe with her — brightening when she stood tall, dimming when she faltered. Shelly took the hint. When she opened the closet to hang her one good skirt and blouse, she found hangers full of fashionable clothes. Shelly checked the tags.

“My size, of course,” she said to the cat. The cat sat and set to washing as she finished putting away her clothes.

After settling in, Shelly prowled around the house, the cat following close on her heels. In the living room, Shelly found a needlepoint pillow with the word ‘home’ picked out in flowers.

The cat hopped onto the armchair, tail curling around its paws. “Now let’s see what you do with it.”

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