I never thought it weird that the cat started sleeping in the kitchen, as opposed to his couch where he usually did.
The smell of food cooking, especially when I was cooking my famous butter chicken, naturally would have led him to sleep closer to the scents cats were usually drawn to.
I kept this at the back of my mind, slightly concerned but not thinking too much about it. It was nothing out of the ordinary.
Or so I thought.
I first started to question my assumptions when I noticed the cat deliberately avoid the couch where he usually enjoyed staying. As if some smell or thing was pushing him, or even scaring him away.
He would have a jolt and break into a run when he had to pass through that area. I started to get a little worried after that.
Thinking that it may have been some stains or mold, I decided to give the couch a thorough cleaning.
It was a solid 3 hours of wiping, smacking (to get the dirt out), and drying it to the point where it seemed almost brand new.
Hoping that the cat would naturally go back to his couch, I went about my days and put the matter in the back of my mind.
Then one night, I found out the real reason behind the cat’s peculiar behavior.
It was an unusually chilly night. I rubbed my arms as I got off my car in the parking lot and started walking back to my apartment.
It was June, right in the middle of summer, and yet the air was chilly, just like it would be during fall or spring.
“Global warming must be really messing up the weather”, I thought.
I was wearing summer clothes, a t-shirt, and shorts and soon enough I started to shudder from the cold.
I reached the door to my apartment and quickly walked in.
The apartment too was cold, and I quickly turned on the heater and walked into my room to put on a hoodie.
Mid-way through putting it on, I froze. I realized I had simply walked into my apartment. The door had not been locked.
I finished putting on my hoodie and tried to remember whether I had left the door unlocked when I left for work in the morning.
“Hmm, I don’t think I had…or did I?”
“I was in a hurry and must have left it unlocked…”
But the more I thought about it, the less it made sense.
You see, habits are scary things. You often do them without realizing that you’ve done them. And I locked my doors every, single, day.
I started making my way back to my front door, to retrace my steps in the morning, thinking that it might help recall if I had indeed locked my door.
As I passed by the living room, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The couch that my cat usually loved staying in was on the right side of the living room, and the front door was located on the left-most side of the room.
I had walked straight towards the front door and in my right peripheral vision, I could see the couch.
But there was something on it.
No, there was someone on it.
For some strange reason, I could not turn my head to face it. I somehow knew that if I turned to face this thing, I would die. I was so convinced of this fact that I started to shudder. Not from the cold this time, but from fear.
This…being that was on the couch was not a person. It wasn’t a human. No human could emanate such dread, such fear from its presence. It was…a primal being. Something ancient, archaic, something that knew time, death, and the darkest of sins in the world.
Then I heard my cat meow from the couch.
The greatest of chills ran down every inch of my spine as I realized that the meow did not come from my cat. This…thing was mimicking my cat, and I realized it wanted me to look at him.
I started to cry. My mind was telling me that I was about to die. I thought of my mom. I thought of dad…and how I regretted not getting closer to him and telling him about all of the things I had in my head. I had so much left to do, so many loose ends to tie, and yet here I was.
Death.
This being had total control over me. It had control over my final moments. I did not want to die on someone else’s terms.
“Fuck it.”
I turned to face the couch.