The Cat

A short story/long poem! With a twist ending

I’ve always been a sort of a loner. Everyone I know likes to live together, be apart of the group, but not I. I found this indescribable apartment two years ago, and I knew I would call it home. A nice place, a bit old, but it has a certain style. Vines cling to the outside, of the small brick building, which lie only six apartments. I live in the first floor, a nice apartment with wood floors, they creak a bit, but that doesn’t bother me. I’ve always been light on my feet.

I moved in a couple falls back, and once I was inside I never wanted to leave. My neighbors didn’t notice me much, as I keep to myself, so problems didn’t arise. Well, that was the case, but as of late there has been an entity that has complicated my situation, infringed on my welfare. It's been more than a week since it started, but I’ll try my best to recall it with all the facts intact.

I was on my way outside, for some fresh air, maybe a bite, if I saw something of delight, when I first caught sight. As I started down stairs towards the door I saw him sitting on the floor near the exit of the building’s door. I didn’t know what the cat had in store, or if it was dangerous or more, and I really didn’t want to find out, so instead I just turned about, and hurried out the back door. By the time I returned back to the building I had forgotten all about the cat, but as I approached that back hatch, I looked up, and from a second story window sat the cat. Its eyes, large golden saucers, never blinking as it watched me as I entered. At this point I didn’t take it as much, just a cat’s curiosity.

It wasn’t till a still night, a week’s time later that I heard the scratching from outside my walls. It was amidst the night, and I had half a mind to go see what the noise was all about, when I was taken by a fear of the animal, and throughout the sleepless night, I was fixated on the memory of the cat sitting atop the windowsill. The more I thought about that seamlessly harmless cat the, more it became much more. Its eyes in my mind’s eye became a sick miasmic yellow, and no matter how much I tried to stop thinking about the beast’s gaze from atop the windowsill, I could not. Time seemed to stand still as I distorted and contorted the now ever present image of the large black beast as it dug at the wall near where my head rest. The morning light, finally shone through, and as it casted off the pure darkness, the scratching ceased, and I was left to rest in the mid-morning light. By the time I awoke, the night’s events seemed diluted and distant as if the light had evaporated the memories the same way the sun evaporated a puddle. The next day I spent entirely in my apartment, not out of fear, but out of comfort, but as the sun started to fall lower and lower in the sky the memories became more memorable from the night before. In the dying light I quickly decided I must face my fear, as a cat was nothing to be afraid of, but as I left my apartment not five feet from my exit stood the cat, it's sick miasmic yellow eyes focused once more, on me. Its tail began to dance to and fro, first slowly, coldly, back and fro, but as I stood there mesmerized by how it seemed to slither the cat began its slow methodical advance. Each paw’s movement seemed independent, automatic, and in that moment, I knew its intention were of hostility. I turn and leapt back into my apartment, with the cat close behind. The bell on its collar jingling, as if to tell me that it was all a game, that deceitful bell rung long after I made it back inside safely, and in the coming moments the true intention of the cat became evident, real harm was intended, and my admiration for the safety of my apartment became concrete, as concrete as the foundation on which it stood.

I didn’t leave my house for nearly a week’s time after that attempt to calm my qualm with the cat that seemed to be where all my thoughts lead. I spent my time laying around, peering out the window. For my normal hobbies, all interest seemed lost, and animal watching became my main muse. Squirrels became a special interest of mine, watching them move freely, helped me feel freely. On the sixth day of my hermitage, I began watching a certain red tailed squirrel, with the quietest of amusement. The days were getting shorter, and the squirrel was busy storing away precious pieces of what seemed to be a loaf of bread that had been abandoned. As he grabbed a full piece of bread, almost bigger than his body, I couldn’t help but squeak with delight as he began to make his way to a nearby tree he called home. The bread was cumbersome and blocked most of the squirrel’s view, and this was its final undoing. My eyes became locked to the cat, as it crept from behind the tree. It was the same dark beast from the hallway, and I knew its movements well, and its intentions even better. I at first thought of myself as a savior, and began pounding on the window to alert my little neighbor of the harm he was moving toward, but it had no effect, and I knew then it was destined for me to observe, observe the beast that had so hunted and successfully captured so much of my day’s thoughts, to hunt this squirrell, just the same. The feline moved slow, careful not to make a sound, its eyes never straying from its goal. The catastrophe happening before me seemed anything but natural, and it became much more than a simple hunt when the gaze of the beast broke, just for a moment, to look up at me. Its strength forced me to retreat from the window, but I was quick to recoup, and sprung back as fast as I left. I have never appreciated gore, and that was not the objective, but the minute chance of relief from my fear if my eyes did gaze upon the scene, was more temptation for me not to try. Lucky or unlucky the scene was void of movement, all that was left was the bread that was once held in the squirrel’s mouth as now the squirrel was held in the cat’s.

A month’s time later:

My cupboards are full, full enough to last me several, several, months. Many minutes in the past month, thoughts of rescue from friends, colleagues, or companions, came, but knowing they would no doubt, doubt, my sanity if I did, was enough for me to delay. This domestic feline filled my domicile with danger, real or not, it's real enough for me. My actions augmented so atrociously, alas I am alienated, beseech-ed by my beliefs of this Beelzebub's constant conspiracy to commit the conclusive closing crime. Doeth danger dispatched deliberation? I escaped endogenous ensnarement en-route to the entryway; the foyer’s final fortification flung forward! Going gingerly, I glimpsed the glimmer, halfway hidden, hissing hideously, in an inlet, investigating I, justly kindled loathing mirrored, as we neared. Overt pains qualm-ed reluctance, my tail separated, unfortunately my vision wains, now xenomorphic, I yearn for zenith.