The Black Cat Chronicles

He returned home almost 2pm.

A Malay drama played, voices rising and falling with familiar intensity. Rina, the maid was seated beside his mother, both of them watching. She noticed him first and gave a small nod, lowering the volume slightly.

He walked over. “Mak,” he said softly. She turned. For a brief second, there was recognition, clear, immediate. He reached for her hand and kissed it gently. Her face softened.

“Eh, you’re back already?”

“Mak dah makan?” he asked.

His mother replied “dah. Bubur ayam kan" and turn to Rina who nodded in agreement.

He pulled a chair closer, sitting beside her. She didn’t return her attention to the television. Instead, she turned fully toward him, as if he had become the only thing that mattered in the room.

“Just now I was telling her,” she said, gesturing toward Rina, “last time… my teacher friends…”

And just like that, she began. She spoke about her afternoons after work. About how they would gather at one of their houses, changing out of their proper clothes into something more comfortable. How they would lie down on thin mattresses, side by side, reluctant to get up again.

“Always don’t want to go for meeting,” she said, smiling. “But must go… headmaster very strict.” She laughed softly to herself.

“They all complain… this student, that student… but next day still go back and teach.”

He listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t correct. Just nodded at the right moments.

Rina sat quietly now, watching the both of them instead of the television. The drama continued in the background, voices rising and falling, but it no longer held the room.

For a while, time shifted. His mother wasn’t the woman in the chair. She was somewhere else younger, sharper, surrounded by people he had never met but now knew through her words. He watched her carefully. Memorising, because he knew moments like this didn’t come often. She repeated parts of the story. Names shifted. Details changed. He didn’t stop her.

When she laughed, he allowed himself a small smile. Eventually, her voice softened. The energy faded. She leaned back into the chair, eyes drifting toward the television again, though she wasn’t really watching anymore.

He adjusted the cushion behind her head.

“Mak rehat ya,” he said quietly “besok pukol 10 pagi kita jumpa Doktor”.

He turn to Rina and told her “pukol 930 pagi mesti siap ya”..

Rina acknowledge “baik tuan” She didn’t respond. He stood, place the chair back to its original place, and walked to his room.

The door closed behind him. Inside, it was quiet.

On the table, the papers waited. The job. The plan. The other life.

He looked at them for a moment, then turned away, pulling out his notebook. Work first. Always.

He sat at the table with his notebook open. New client he has met earlier before lunch.

A young couple. Two children. Just bought a flat in Yio Chu Kang. They wanted a full renovation, flooring, kitchen, wardrobes, everything redone. They spoke quickly, excited, already imagining what the space could become. He listened, took notes, asked the right questions. Timeline. Budget. Practicality. Nothing unusual.

By the time he left, they were reassured. He would deliver. He always did. The job was already forming in his mind.

He started with the layout.

The living room came first. Clean lines. Nothing excessive. Enough open space for movement, especially with two children in the house. He avoided unnecessary fixtures, keeping the layout clear and functional. Space, to him, was as important as structure. Storage would be built into the walls where possible. Hidden, not displayed. Clutter was something that accumulated over time his job was to reduce the opportunity for it. A built-in TV console anchored the main wall, simple, flush with the surface, no protruding edges. Above and around it, a wall organiser integrated seamlessly into the design. Shelving, compartments, concealed storage, all aligned, all measured. Everything had its place. The finishing would be clean. Continuous lines, no visual breaks. The kind of space that looked effortless, but only because every detail had been considered. Orderly. Efficient. Maximising space without making it feel smaller.

Then the kitchen. He sketched quietly, pencil moving with purpose. Cabinet heights adjusted to the wife’s reach. Worktop spacing measured for efficiency, not aesthetics alone. He noted where natural light came in, how it would fall across the counter in the mornings. Function first. Always. Wardrobes came next. Sliding doors for the master bedroom, space-saving. Internal compartments customised. Not what looked good in catalogues, but what people actually used. Drawers where they mattered. Shelving where it made sense.

For the children’s rooms, he paused slightly. Two children meant growth. He adjusted the design, modular shelving, adjustable heights, space that could change over time without needing another renovation. He had seen too many families redo everything within a few years because they didn’t think ahead. He didn’t make that mistake. He worked in silence. Every line deliberate. Every measurement considered. There was no rush. This was the part he respected.

Most of his clients accepted his proposals without much resistance. Not because he was persuasive, because he understood what they needed before they fully did. And his pricing was fair. Lower than most contractors. Not by cutting corners, but by keeping things simple. No unnecessary add-ons. No inflated margins. Just enough. Enough to keep the work steady. Enough to take care of his mother. Enough to live the way he preferred. He wasn’t interested in expansion. No large team. No big fancy office. No chasing big contracts. Too many people complicated things. Too much money attracted attention. He leaned back slightly, looking at the sketches. Satisfied.

This job would be straightforward. Clean. Predictable.

On the other side of the table, the other set of papers waited. Different kind of work. Different kind of precision. He closed the notebook.

One job built homes. The other… required a different kind of construction.

Tomorrow morning, he would send the proposed designs and the quotation to the clients. Everything would be clear. No hidden costs. No vague estimates. Materials listed. Timeline stated. Payment structured in stages. He didn’t like surprises.

Once they agreed, the next phase would begin. He would call his usual men, the same three from Johor. Reliable. Quiet. They didn’t ask questions beyond the work. They showed up on time, did what was required, and left.

After that came the usual administrative process. Contracts to sign. HDB approvals. Permits. Work schedules. He noted down what needed to be submitted, renovation application, hacking permits if required, timing restrictions for noisy work. Everything had to be in order before anything began. All this will be done by his clerk once they get the first downpayment from the client.

Once he had completed what needed to be done for his client, he leaned back on his bed, arms folded behind his head.

His eyes drifted to the wall. The Total Defence poster. He had picked it up the day before, on his way back from JB. A quick stop at Popular to buy some stationery, pens, notepads, the usual. The poster had caught his eye. Familiar. Almost instinctive.

He took it without thinking too much about it. Now it hung directly in front of his work table.

Six pillars : Military. Civil. Economic. Social. Psychological. Digital. He knew them well. Not just from school or from campaigns and slogans. He had lived part of it especially during his National Service days. Trained in it. Drilled until it became instinct.

Total Defence wasn’t just about war. It was about readiness. Every part supporting the other. Every gap a potential weakness. He stared at it a moment longer. Structure. Coordination. No room for failure. No room for failure. He held that thought for a moment.

Then it shifted. Failures. Of course there would be failures. No matter how complete a system looked, no matter how tightly it was built, there were always gaps. Small ones. Hidden ones. The kind you only saw when something went wrong.

Total defence. Total control. He knew better. Nothing was ever total.

He let out a quiet breath. “We’ll see,” he murmured. A faint smile touched his lips. On the wall, the poster remained still.

On the table, the other set of papers waited. Images lay within different angles, side and top views of the site, enough to understand the structure. He has studied them briefly, not rushing. It’s all in his head.

Then he reached for his phone. Time. Execution depended on timing more than anything else. He opened his calendar. Scrolled. Public holidays. School holidays. Long weekends. Patterns.

He noted them quietly, marking dates, circling periods where movement would be heavier, attention thinner, routines disrupted. Crowds could hide things. But crowds could also complicate them. He didn’t guess. He calculated.

He reached out to the physical calendar beside his table. Pen in hand, he marked it again. Slowly. Deliberately. Then he began to count. Days. Weeks. Months. Forward, not backward. He stopped. Six months. He circled the date. No hesitation. Enough time to prepare, to observe and to do it properly.

He leaned back slightly, eyes resting on the circle. This wasn’t a job to rush. Rushed work created mistakes. Mistakes created attention. Six months. He nodded to himself. That would be the window.

Tomorrow, he would see it for himself. Not just from images. In person.

After his mother’s doctor’s appointment, he would make the trip. Sit. Observe. Take his time. Crowd behaviour mattered. Especially tourists. They moved differently. Slower. Less aware of their surroundings. Stopping suddenly. Taking photos. Blocking pathways without realising it. Unpredictable, but patterned.

He had seen it before. He leaned back slightly. This was no different from planning a renovation. You don’t start with tools. You start with understanding the space. Where people entered. Where they lingered. Where they overlooked. Only then do you decide what to change.

He closed the folder, place the calendar back on the table, switch off the lights and close his eyes.

Tomorrow wasn’t about action. It was about seeing.