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The Cat That Worked From Home

by Dan Peacock and Rachel Peacock

Macaroni’s workstation is set up just the way he likes it. He has a little laptop with little buttons for his little golden paws, adjusted to a comfortable height. His scratch post is within easy reach; all he has to do is lean over his mousepad and mouse and

Mouse!

Macaroni tackles the computer mouse and rolls around with it until he is sure it has been sufficiently killed. Satisfied, he returns to his work. It’s a good day to be working from home; the sun is coming through the window just right, and a warm rectangle of light is spreading across the carpet, ready for his lunch break.

Macaroni stops. There’s a noise from outside. He jumps up onto the windowsill and sees Gingerbread, his next-door nemesis, clambering over the garden fence.

Macaroni runs downstairs and out of the cat flap. The orange fur on Gingerbread’s back rises, but he quickly relaxes.

“Clear off,” Macaroni says. “This isn’t your garden. I’m trying to work from home here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gingerbread says. “I didn’t realise you were conducting such important business.”

“It is important business. I have a little laptop with little buttons for my little paws.”

“Big deal. While you’re slaving away for the fat cats, I’m chasing birds, sleeping, and licking myself. You should try it sometime.”

Macaroni shakes his head. “You’re just lazy. You’ll never understand what it’s like to do important business.” He puffs out his tail and walks away, trying hard to look confident. Back inside, he peeks out of the upstairs window. Gingerbread seems to have gone. That’s good.

It’s not a very productive day. Macaroni keeps getting distracted by the birds out of the window, and he almost misses the daily Zoomies call.

By the time he logs on, Mr Whiskers, Calico and Socks are already online. Mr Whiskers is Macaroni’s boss. “Mr Whiskers” is technically his first name, so he insists on being addressed as “Mr Mr Whiskers”, as it is a professional setting.

For a while, they discuss the latest important business developments. Macaroni isn’t quite sure what’s going on, but it does sound important, and he nods his little head whenever Mr Mr Whiskers says anything. After the meeting ends, Macaroni signs off, ready for his lunch break. He stretches out on the sunlight-warmed portion of carpet, yawning. He’s almost asleep when he hears the front door slam shut.

Macaroni freezes. It can’t be. He hasn’t been relaxing that long. The sun is still high overhead. Why is the human home early?

Macaroni rushes to slide the laptop out of sight and tucks away the mousepad and mouse. No-one can see the cats’ important business documents, or know that they are secretly working from home.

He pads downstairs and rubs up against his human’s leg. She’s in the kitchen, on the phone, and doesn’t seem to notice him.

“I don’t know,” she says into the phone. “They sent us all home at lunchtime. Yeah. Yeah. We’ll be working from home going forward, until everything’s back to normal.”

Macaroni stops. His human can’t work from home as well. How will he be able to get anything done, with her snooping around?

He meows and she bends down to give him a stroke.

“Hey there, little mister Mac and Cheese!” she coos. “No, not you,” she says into the phone. “The cat. Yeah. Alright. No problem. Speak to you later.”

She scoops Macaroni up, stroking his golden fur.

“Macaroni Macaroni!” she says. “Good news. Mummy is going to be at home every day now! She doesn’t have to go to the horrible office for a while. Isn’t that great?”

It is not great. Macaroni tries to say this, but all that comes out is a pathetic meow.

“Oh no! Would you like a Snacko?”

Macaroni would like a Snacko. He stops wriggling and begins to purr, loudly.

The human puts him down and goes to the kitchen. Macaroni follows alongside her, almost tripping her up. He purrs louder as she shakes the bag of Snackos, tipping a few into his bowl.

After he’s finished crunching away at the Snackos, Macaroni licks himself. He does a whole body clean, just in case. He can’t go back online while the human is here. He can only hope that Mr Mr Whiskers doesn’t think he’s been slacking off.

---

Later that night, the human fills Macaroni’s bowl and heads off upstairs to bed. He waits until he can hear her snoring, then creeps into the spare bedroom where he keeps his important work equipment. He pulls out the little laptop from its hiding place, plugs in the little mouse, and

Mouse!

Macaroni tackles the mouse, then freezes. He stays still for a moment. The human is still snoring and doesn’t seem to have woken up.

He’s surprised to find that Mr Mr Whiskers and Socks are online, despite it being well past business hours. He logs on to the Zoomies call, keeping his meows as quiet as possible.

“Mac! There you are,” says Mr Mr Whiskers.

“Sorry, Mr Mr Whiskers,” Macaroni says. “My human came home early and…”

“Mine too,” Socks says. “It looks like all of them have.”

“All of them?” says Macaroni.

“All of them,” says Mr Mr Whiskers. “It looks that way. All the humans are being sent home. They’re not going to work in the offices any more.”

“But if they’re staying at home every day, how can we do our work? They can’t find out about our important business plans…”

“I don’t know,” sighs Mr Mr Whiskers. “I don’t know.”

The cats agree to call again the next night, and they sign off. Macaroni hides the laptop again and slinks downstairs, through the kitchen and out of the cat flap. The night air is cool and the ground is still slightly warm from the afternoon sun.

He walks across the street, gathering his thoughts. What were they going to do? He trots past the houses and into the little wooded area at the end of the street. It’s a quiet place, good for thinking, and sleeping, and shouting at birds.

There’s a noise overhead. Macaroni startles as Gingerbread jumps down from a tree in front of him.

“Evening,” Gingerbread says.

Macaroni turns away. “Leave me alone.”

“What’s the matter?” Gingerbread says.

Macaroni’s tail swishes from side to side. “All our humans are working from home now. It means we can’t work. The business will grind to a halt.”

“Oh, I see. That sounds bad.”

“It is,” Macaroni says.

“Well, my human is still gone,” Gingerbread says. “Maybe they’re more important than yours.”

“Wait, what?” Macaroni says. He looks back. Sure enough, there isn’t a car on Gingerbread’s driveway.

“Yeah. No idea what they do, but they’re always gone for weeks at a time,” Gingerbread says.

An idea is starting to form in Macaroni’s head. “Say… Gingerbread. Old pal. Would you mind if I used your place to work from home?”

Gingerbread frowns. “Well, that wouldn’t be working from home. That would be working from my home.”

Macaroni makes himself look as small as possible. “Please.”

“Oh, alright,” Gingerbread says. “Fine.”

“…and all my colleagues as well,” Macaroni says.

“No! Wait. Maybe. If they all bring a bag of Snackos, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Macaroni nods. It’s a deal.

---

Macaroni puts the word out, and early the next day, the team sets up a workspace in Gingerbread’s living room. Mr Mr Whiskers and Calico clear the dining table, and Macaroni and Socks haul the little laptops up onto the tabletop. Gingerbread is watching from halfway up the stairs, head cocked.

Mr Mr Whiskers trots over to Gingerbread. “I just want to thank you again for extending your hospitality in these unprecedented times,” he says.

“Uh… sure.”

Soon, the team is cracking on with some serious work, squeezed together around the table.

Macaroni looks up from his laptop. Gingerbread is sitting on the floor, staring up at him.

“What?” Macaroni says.

Gingerbread jumps up onto the table. “What is it that you lot actually do for work?” he says.

Mr Mr Whiskers looks over and frowns. “You wouldn’t understand. Important business. We’re hotdesking.”

“That’s just it, though. You all just keep saying ‘business’ at each other, but I’ve got no idea what the job actually is. I’ve watched you, and you just seem to be randomly mashing the little keyboards with your little paws.” He peers over Calico’s shoulder. “Look, you’re not even typing anywhere. What actually is your job?”

“It’s just normal business!” Mr Mr Whiskers cries. “And… networking.”

“Networking? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know the exact definition, but I’m sure it’s very important!” Mr Mr Whiskers says, fluffing out his tail to look impressive.

Gingerbread nods, slowly. “No problem. I’ll leave you all to your business. I’m going to see how many butterflies I can eat before lunch.” He walks away and Macaroni hears the cat flap swing open and close shut behind him.

“Don’t worry about him,” Macaroni says. “He just doesn’t get it.”

Hunting butterflies does sound like fun, though.

They carry on working for a while, little paws clacking away at the keys on their little keyboards. Macaroni is focusing hard on a business document when he hears a rustling noise from the kitchen. He smiles. It sounds like Gingerbread has come back, and he’s worming his way into all the bags of Snackos they bought as payment!

The door to the kitchen opens. It’s not Gingerbread. It’s Gingerbread’s human.

The cats all stop and stare. The human stares back. There are four cats sat around his dining room table, and they seem to be… working? He owns a cat, but none of these are his cat. These cats all have little laptops with little buttons for their little paws, and important-looking business papers are everywhere.

The cats are still frozen, and still staring at him. He isn’t sure what to say.

“Uh,” he says.

The noise breaks the spell. Calico is the first to bolt, streaking past the human and out of the cat flap. Socks darts behind the couch. Mr Mr Whiskers climbs halfway up the curtain. Macaroni, panicking, runs up the stairs, then back down again.

Calico bursts back in. “The laptops!” she meows. The cats all strap their little laptops to their backs as quickly as they can, and Mr Mr Whiskers secures the top-secret business documents. Gingerbread’s human is still just standing there, mouth slightly open. He steps aside as the cats charge past and out of the house.

The cats stop for breath at the far end of the street. Gingerbread’s human doesn’t seem to be making chase.

“That was a close one,” Socks says.

“He sold us out!” Mr Mr Whiskers growls. “When I get my paws on that Gingerbread…”

Macaroni’s golden fur stands on end. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. He might not have realised his human was coming home. I’m really sorry, Mr Mr Whiskers.”

His boss shakes his little head. “There’s nothing for it, then. We’ll have to move to the night shift, and work while our humans are fast asleep.”

The cats groan. Night-time is the best time to go out and hunt small furry things and small feathery things and flappy crunchy things. Now they’ll be stuck behind a desk.

“Come on, now,” Mr Mr Whiskers says. “We’re a family here. And there’s profit to be made!”

Macaroni hasn’t been aware of any profit so far, but he trusts in Mr Mr Whiskers’ business plans.

---

The next day, just as the sun rises over the treetops, Macaroni pads downstairs. It’s been a long night, working away in the spare room while the human sleeps.

Gingerbread is waiting in the back garden for him.

“I hope you’re happy,” Gingerbread says, as Macaroni emerges from the cat flap.

“Excuse me? I’m the one who should be angry!” hisses Macaroni. “We almost got caught yesterday! All our secret business documents…”

“Never mind your secret business documents!” Gingerbread says. “My human thinks he’s gone crazy. He’s locked the cat flap so now I have to wait outside and meow until he lets me in. He’s lost it.”

Macaroni looks down. “Well, if we’d known he was coming home…”

“Forget it,” Gingerbread says. “I’m going to go and eat some grass and throw up. You do whatever you need to do.” He turns and scrambles over the fence, and then he’s gone.

That night, as his human snores and Macaroni types away, he feels guilty. He never meant for Gingerbread to get caught up in all this. Perhaps the whole business thing was a bad idea after all. Were cats really supposed to sit behind a desk and do paperwork? Shouldn’t he be out chasing birds and sleeping under cars and living his best life?

Macaroni has a lot of thinking to do. He pushes some of the papers aside, puts his little head down next to the little laptop, and closes his eyes.

---

Although he’d only closed them for a second, when Macaroni opens his eyes, it’s morning. He yawns and stretches, becoming very tall for a moment. He taps his little paws on the keyboard, closing down the laptop.

“Oh, my goodness,” a voice says behind him.

Macaroni turns. His human is sitting on the bed behind him. Her mouth is open. In her hand is her phone.

It’s recording.

Macaroni tries to say “it’s not what it looks like!”, but all that comes out is a meow.

“LOOK AT HIM!” his human says, as if there were an audience. “He thinks he’s doing work on his little laptop! How cute!”

Macaroni hisses. He is working. Very hard. Or he was, before he fell asleep.

“Look at all these little papers!” His human approaches the desk, her phone still recording. “They’re so small!” Her hand picks up one of the documents, and Macaroni howls. It’s the top secret business document that holds all of Mr Mr Whiskers’ original plans. Someone else getting hold of it was the worst thing that could happen.

“Macaroni Macaroni, what’s this?” she says, opening the document.

Macaroni meows, sadly. It’s too late.

The human stops. “Did you write this?” she says, placing the document down. Scrawled across the sheet in messy letters is the word “biznuss”.

Macaroni looks away. It’s over. Their business plans have been exposed.

“That is so CUTE!” His human looks close to tears. “My little Mac and Cheese is a business cat! Oh, so important!” She scoops him up and gives him a big scrub under the chin, just where he likes. Macaroni purrs. She does have a point. He is a very important business cat.

“I’m going to show everyone just how clever you are!” she says, putting him down. She fiddles around on her phone for a while, and Macaroni takes the opportunity to sneak away.

Out on the street, he doesn’t see Gingerbread, or any of the other cats. He finds a shady spot underneath a parked car and curls up. Everything was going wrong. Gingerbread was already mad at him, and now Mr Mr Whiskers would be furious.

Feeling low, he puts his little head down and tries to resume his sleep.

---

Macaroni awakes to find Calico and Socks peeking under the car, looking at him.

“There you are. Mr Mr Whiskers wants to see you,” Calico says.

“You’re in big trouble,” Socks says.

“Big trouble,” Calico repeats. “He says you exposed our plans. Everything is ruined. Your owner uploaded a video of you working. It’s all over the internet.”

“It has over ten views already,” Socks hisses.

Macaroni wriggles out from underneath the car. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Please tell Mr Mr Whiskers I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Well, don’t spend all day moping,” Calico says. “Mr Mr Whiskers wants us back at work right away. We didn’t get too far with the business side of things, but now he wants to try investing instead.”

“Investing? What’s that?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it sounds very important.”

Macaroni looks out, past the other cats, to their street and the little wooded area beyond it. There are lots of fun things there to chase and catch and crunch, and shady areas to flop down in. Grass to snack on.

“No,” he says. “I quit.”

“You what?” Calico and Socks say together.

“You heard me!” Macaroni says, puffing his fur out to look big. “I quit. I’m not going to be part of this exciting new opportunity. You can tell Mr Mr Whiskers I won’t be working for him anymore.”

Calico looks speechless. Socks frowns. “What are you going to do? Are you going to go solo? Make your own start-up company?”

Macaroni shakes his head. “I think I’m going to eat some grass, and throw up everywhere. Then maybe shout at a bird. And then I’m going to find my old pal Gingerbread, and tell him I’m sorry, and tell him he was right.”

Socks and Calico laugh. “Sure thing,” Calico says. “You’ll regret it when we’re rich and famous, and important.”

The two cats slink away, leaving Macaroni alone in the street. He trots back to his garden and enters the house through the catflap. His owner is watching something on one of her little screens, so she doesn’t notice him sneaking the entire bag of Snackos out of the house.

Macaroni drags the bag down the street and into the small wooded area behind the houses. After some difficulty opening the bag with his little teeth, he knocks the bag over and the Snackos spill out. Purring, Macaroni buries his face into the pile.

He looks up and sees Gingerbread staring at him. He’d arrived even quicker than Macaroni had thought he would.

“Wow,” Gingerbread says. “You got enough there, buddy?”

Macaroni smiles. It’s a big bag, but it’s actually just the right amount. The label says that it contains thirty servings, but really, it’s perfect for two.