A very short story.
Stop Deliberating
John sat up in bed and hesitantly turned to look at the clock.
“Please, please, please, please, please don’t say something like 4am,” he implored.
The clock held his gaze as if to spite him. The red light-up display glared “3:23am” at him.
He sighed, disappointed that he had been awake this long and still couldn’t get to sleep. “That checks out,” he muttered under his breath.
There was no avoiding the issue. He was going to have to work it through now, at least to a point where it stopped gnawing at him.
“The black ones will coordinate with more,” he began to ponder aloud, not for the first time today. “But that dark blue just feels nicer, and it had a more comfortable sole as well.”
He started to think through the outfits that might work with them.
“Bloody hell, John. They’re just fucking shoes. Flip a coin and be done with it! This indecision is going to be the death of me, and I’m not even the one making the decision. Hell, buy both, scratch both itches. You’re insufferable!”
John looked towards the end of the bed, confused as to where the voice came from.
His cat sat there on its haunches, looking back at him with a grumpy expression.
“Yes, I can fucking talk. Either that or you’ve gone mad with your inability to make a call about nearly every thing in your life.”
John considered this unusual event. How long had the cat been able to communicate like this? How much did the cat know about him? Had the cat been watching all the time?
That wasn’t important right now, if the cat could talk the cat must be intelligent and wise, and that means the suggestions the cat made had weight.
“That’s a good idea, I’ll get both. Thanks, Socks, I feel better about this now.”
John laid back down and pulled the covers up, feeling much better. Sleep would come soon, and tomorrow: new shoes.