DOLLY AND THE DAY THAT NEVER WAS

Dolly Jameson had always been a woman of routine.

Fifty-two years old, single, with one faithful cat named ZoZo and a job she didn’t exactly love but did very well. Every morning, without fail, her alarm clock rang at exactly 6:15 a.m. She would rise, stretch her arms toward the ceiling, whisper a quick prayer, and then shuffle to the kitchen to make tea.

Her cat ZoZo—fat, grey, and full of judgment—would always watch her from the top of the stairs as though supervising. Then, together, they’d begin their synchronized routine: Dolly humming gospel tunes under her breath, ZoZo flicking his tail to the rhythm.

But on this particular Tuesday, something was off.

The Alarm That Refused to Ring

When Dolly finally opened her eyes, it was not to the cheerful blare of her alarm but to the soft patter of rain against her window. She squinted at the clock.

7:02 a.m.

“What in the world—?” she gasped, sitting up so fast she nearly toppled off the bed.

The alarm’s little red light blinked mockingly. Dead batteries. Of course.

“Oh no, ZoZo! We are late!” she cried, throwing the blanket aside.

ZoZo stretched, yawned, and then—deliberately, almost cruelly—began walking very slowly down the stairs. His plump paws took each step as though he had all the time in the world.

“Move your tail, you lazy creature!” Dolly shouted, hopping on one foot as she struggled to pull on her skirt. “You’ll make me miss the bus!”

ZoZo simply blinked at her. His slow descent continued, one paw… at… a… time.

By the time Dolly finally got past him and rushed out the door, the bus stop was empty except for puddles and the smell of diesel. She sighed, rain already soaking her hair scarf.

That was only the beginning.

The Day That Refused to Be Kind

Determined not to surrender to bad luck, Dolly ran back inside, grabbed her umbrella, and—without realizing it—left her lunch sitting right on the stove, the burner still on low.

As she stepped into the storm, the sky seemed to mock her.

A car zoomed by. SPLASH.

Cold, brown water drenched her skirt.

She groaned and wiped her face, muttering, “Lord, take me now.”

Then another car passed. SPLASH.

And another. And another. And another.

Five times. Five separate vehicles found her.

By the fifth splash, Dolly stood in the street like a drenched statue, glaring at the traffic. “You all planned this, didn’t you?!” she yelled into the wind. “You evil motorists!”

An old man under an umbrella stopped and stared. “Are you all right, madam?”

She turned sharply. “Do I look all right?”

He nodded solemnly. “You look baptized.”

The Hot Mess in Heels

By the time she arrived at the office, Dolly’s shoes squelched with each step, and her mascara looked like a crime scene. She ran to her desk, hoping no one would notice, but her supervisor, Mr. Banda, was waiting.

“Ah, Dolly,” he said, his smile too wide. “You’re finally here! The shareholders are waiting in the conference room. You are presenting first.”

Dolly froze. “Presenting… what?”

“The quarterly performance report. You did the slides yourself!”

Her stomach dropped. “That’s today?!”

Mr. Banda’s smile faltered. “Yes, Dolly. It’s been on the calendar for three weeks.”

She bolted for the restroom.

The mirror did her no favors. Her hair was a soggy bird’s nest. Her blouse clung in weird places. She looked like someone who’d wrestled an umbrella and lost.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered. “This cannot be my life.”

She leaned forward, breathing hard. Her reflection blinked back at her—only, it wasn’t perfectly synced.

Dolly blinked again. Her reflection didn’t move.

“What in the—?” she whispered.

Then, suddenly, the reflection smiled—a slow, eerie smile that she hadn’t made.

Wake Up Call

Her heart pounded. She shut her eyes.

And when she opened them again—

She was in bed.

The alarm clock was ringing cheerfully at 6:15 a.m.

“Wait,” she muttered. “What?”

ZoZo sat at the foot of her bed, licking his paw.

She touched the clock. It was fine. The light was steady. The rain had stopped.

“Did I just… dream all that?” she asked aloud.

ZoZo meowed, a deep, throaty sound that almost sounded like a laugh.

Déjà Vu, or Madness

Trying to shake it off, she got out of bed and went through her normal morning motions. Tea, scarf, shoes.

As she descended the stairs, she noticed ZoZo again.

He was watching her, tail swishing. Only this time—his mouth moved.

“Don’t miss your bus, Dolly,” he said in a calm, gravelly tone.

She froze mid-step.

Her cup of tea slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

“ZoZo?” she whispered.

The cat yawned. “Hurry. You’ll be late again.”

She stumbled backward, grabbing the railing. “Oh no, no, no. I’m still dreaming. I have to be.”

ZoZo tilted his head. “Do you want to test it?”

The Second Storm

Dolly pinched her arm. Hard. “Ow!” she yelled.

“Did that hurt?” asked ZoZo.

“Yes!”

“Then maybe it’s real.”

“Or maybe pain exists in dreams!”

ZoZo shrugged—if cats could shrug. “Either way, you should go. The bus will be gone in one minute.”

Panicking, she dashed out the door.

The rain started again. Exactly the same. Same dark sky, same cold drizzle.

The five cars passed, one after another, splashing her in perfect rhythm.

By the fifth splash, she screamed, “I refuse this nonsense!”

The old man appeared again, same umbrella, same look. “You again?”

“What do you mean again?”

He frowned. “You shouted the same thing yesterday, madam.”

The Mirror’s Game

At work, she ran straight to the restroom this time. She looked at her reflection and waited.

“Come on,” she whispered.

Her reflection blinked out of sync again. Then it spoke.

“You’re late, Dolly.”

She gasped. “Who are you?”

“I’m you,” said the mirror. “Or maybe you’re me. It’s hard to tell these days.”

“This is madness,” Dolly said.

“Is it? Or is the madness outside the mirror?”

The fluorescent lights flickered. Dolly backed away.

“I just want to wake up,” she whispered.

The reflection leaned closer, lips curling. “Then close your eyes.”

Loop Two

She did.

And woke up—again—in bed.

6:15 a.m.

Alarm ringing.

ZoZo sitting at the foot of the bed.

Only this time, the alarm display flickered between 6:15 and 7:02.

ZoZo purred. “Which one do you believe, Dolly?”

She grabbed the alarm clock and shook it. “I’m not playing these games!”

The numbers scrambled. 8:45. 3:10. 11:59. Then blank.

Her hands trembled. “God help me, I’m losing it.”

ZoZo hopped down and began walking—slowly—down the stairs.

Each step echoed louder than it should have. Dolly followed, her heart racing. The air felt thick, like she was underwater.

When she reached the kitchen, the stove light was on. Her lunch pot was simmering.

The smell of burnt rice filled the room.

“I left that yesterday…” she murmured. “Didn’t I?”

Time Folds

She checked her phone. The date read Wednesday, June 12.

She frowned. “It was Tuesday a moment ago.”

ZoZo leaped onto the counter. “Time is flexible when you don’t believe in it,” he said.

“Cats do not talk!” Dolly shouted.

“Neither do clocks that lie,” said ZoZo.

“Stop!”

“Make me.”

Her hands gripped the counter until her knuckles whitened. “This is just stress. That’s all. I’ve been working too much. Maybe I fainted. Maybe I’m in the hospital.”

ZoZo licked his paw. “And maybe the hospital is dreaming of you.”

The Presentation

Her phone buzzed. It was Mr. Banda.

“Dolly! Where are you? The shareholders are waiting!”

She looked down at herself—still in pajamas.

“But… I thought I did that presentation.”

“Dolly, please. Don’t embarrass me today. Hurry!”

She stared at the phone. “If this is another dream…”

“Then make it a good one,” ZoZo said, hopping off the counter.

The Third Awakening

When she blinked again, she was standing in front of the conference room projector.

Her slides were on the screen. Everyone was watching her.

Her boss smiled expectantly.

Her heart thumped.

She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt heavy, like cotton.

The shareholders started murmuring.

Suddenly, all of them turned their heads in perfect unison—toward the window.

Rain poured outside.

A bus splashed past the glass, spraying water across it.

The room went silent.

Then ZoZo’s voice echoed faintly: “You missed the bus again, Dolly.”

The Hospital

She screamed—and everything went black.

When she opened her eyes, she was in a hospital bed. Tubes. Machines. A nurse adjusting her blanket.

“Oh thank God,” she said weakly. “I’m awake.”

The nurse smiled. “You’ve been asleep for two days, Mrs. Jameson. You fainted at work.”

Relief flooded her. “So it was all a dream.”

The nurse checked her chart. “You must have been very tired.”

Dolly sighed. “You have no idea.”

Then she noticed something—the nurse’s name tag: Zozo.

Her eyes widened. “Excuse me… your name is Zozo?”

The nurse smiled. “Yes, after my mother’s cat. Why?”

Dolly’s hand gripped the blanket. “No reason,” she whispered.

Outside the window, rain began to fall.

Return to Normal?

Two weeks later, Dolly was back home, trying to rebuild her routine.

Her doctor had recommended rest and light activity. So she brewed tea, brushed ZoZo’s fur, and told herself over and over: That was all just a dream.

Yet, every now and then, she’d catch ZoZo staring at her, eyes gleaming too intelligently.

One night, unable to sleep, she heard him whisper something. Just one word.

“Again.”

She sat up in bed. “What did you say?”

ZoZo was curled in his basket, snoring softly.

“Nothing,” she told herself. “I’m imagining things.”

Tomorrow That Never Comes

The next morning, her alarm blared at exactly 6:15 a.m. She smiled. Normalcy. Finally.

She turned to look for ZoZo. He wasn’t on the bed.

“ZoZo?”

A faint sound came from the stairs.

She stepped out of bed and saw him—walking slowly, deliberately, one paw at a time.

Her smile faded.

“No,” she whispered. “Not again.”

She looked at the clock.

7:02 a.m.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“No!” She grabbed the clock and shook it. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

The clock beeped. The rain began.

A horn honked outside.

Then—SPLASH.

Water sprayed across her face.

But she was inside her bedroom.

She looked up. The ceiling was leaking—rain pouring directly into her room.

ZoZo spoke again. “You’re late, Dolly.”

The Final Scene

Dolly laughed. Hysterically. “Fine! I’m late! Who cares anymore?”

She walked downstairs, soaking wet, her slippers squishing.

The house was full of mirrors—every wall, every surface reflecting infinite versions of herself. Each reflection moved differently.

One Dolly was crying. Another was brushing her hair. Another was giving the presentation confidently.

“Which one is real?” she asked.

ZoZo jumped onto the kitchen counter. “All of them. None of them. You decide.”

“I want to wake up.”

“Then sleep.”

She stared at him. “And if I’m asleep?”

“Then dream better,” he said.

Epilogue: A Dream That Never Ends

The next day—if there was such a thing as “next” anymore—her neighbor knocked on her door. No answer.

She tried again. Still nothing.

When the landlord finally opened the door, the house was spotless. Tea cup on the table. Lunch neatly packed on the stove. Alarm clock blinking 6:15 a.m.

And ZoZo, sitting calmly on the stairs, eyes bright.

He looked at the landlord, tail swishing slowly, and said in a soft, almost amused voice:

“She finally caught the bus.”

The End