When I was a young boy, maybe around the age of eight, I found my family pet dead beneath my parents bed. He was a Tuxedo cat, aptly named “Tux”, and had passed away one Sunday morning while my family was at church. We knew something was wrong when we returned home that day - along with our three dogs, Tux always greeted us when we would walk in through the garage door. When he hadn’t, we took to scouring the house with opened cans of cat food. While my parents and older sister searched elsewhere, I had snuck into the master bedroom to find his lifeless, unmoving corpse resting beneath the lofted bed-frame. No matter how much I called to him or shook the odorous can of tuna, he wouldn’t respond. Originally, I wanted to impress my family with having found him first; however, when I couldn’t get Tux to stir, I finally called to my parents who quickly escorted me out from the room.
I had a difficult time sleeping that night. While Tux wasn’t owned by anyone particularly in the family, the black and white companion had made a habit of sleeping right at the foot of my bed. Without my familiar and warm friend, I felt as vulnerable as the sheets did empty. Neither my parents nor my sister, Lizzy, had told me he was dead. Being entirely honest, I didn’t really put two and two together for a while- But something in me knew he wasn’t coming to bed ever again.
At one point soon after this, when messing around in my dad’s office, I had found a white garbage bag that I could’ve sworn had Tux’s body in it. Both my parents and Lizzy assured me that no such bag existed, especially my father. When I had gone later that day to show them, it was gone. For years, I thought I had been imagining things- I was a child with a very, very overactive imagination. Or, maybe I had simply been wrong about what I thought was in the bag. I really should’ve known better.
Over the next year, we had lost two of our three dogs as well. Lucky, our golden retriever, had to be removed from our home shortly after Tux’s death. Not only was he a menace to our furniture, he was seemingly allergic to something in the backyard grass. At least, that was the reasoning my parents gave when his new owners came to pick him up. A few months later, our German Shepherd, Max, passed away from old age. Losing three animals back-to-back really took a toll on me when I was a child. I was a friendly enough kid and made friends now and again, but I always had a soft-spot for animals.
My family had its fair share of issues, and thus having get-togethers was a rare occasion for me. Aside from church or school, which eventually turned into homeschooling for me, I didn’t get out much. I spent a lot of time running around the backyard or racing the animals up and down the stairs. Maybe that’s why everything hit so hard for me? It really was like losing a close friend, and it certainly didn’t get easier overtime.
Anyways, after we had lost Max, my family noticed our last dog wasn’t doing too well. He was a chihuahua we had called Gizmo. He was a lovely lapdog who loved getting attention almost as much as he loved giving it. However, he desperately craved another playmate; and, when he had lost all three of his fellow furry companions, we eventually broke down and returned to the family we had purchased him from. As it had turned out, Gizmo’s parents had another breed of puppies not long after he had been born. Later that day, we left with our new chihuahua, Molly. We were ecstatic when we saw an immediate change in Gizmo’s behavior upon their introduction, with Molly equally excited to meet our good boy. I still missed Max, Lucky, and Tux, to be sure - but, I was content enough with Gizmo and Molly, and I never really pushed my luck for another pet since I didn’t really do much to take care of the animals.
We had gotten Gizmo when I was about six and had just started kindergarten. As I grew older, so did my bond with that dog. I was someone who usually kept to himself and did my best to not let others know what I was thinking. When I had entered my teen years, I let some nasty philosophies distort my sense of self. “A man never cries; never complains; never shows weakness. If you aren’t there for everyone, then you’re worthless. If no one needs you, then you have no need.” I think those insecurities and self-identity crises are somewhat normal, but it definitely hit me in a way that escalated quickly. My emotional health quickly deteriorated, but I did my best to never let anyone know. Crying was a scarce relief, but Gizmo has seen more tears from me than anyone else.
So, when we had to have him put down two years ago due to a heart tumor suffocating him, new and old wounds alike tore me open from the inside out. I openly sobbed for hours, starting from when my good boy had gone limp until long into the night. It was the beginning of July, and I had taken off work that day to go with my family to the vet. Aside from stopping at a local mall to pick up a quick meal with Lizzy and her husband Roger, I spent the remainder of my day in my room. I had just turned eighteen a couple weeks earlier, and plans for a family vacation were just days away. I had also just removed myself from a toxic romantic relationship. All three were points of aggression between my parents and I, who had years of unresolved bitterness for reasons I won’t get into. Needless to say, my life was falling apart in more ways than one, and Gizmo’s death was icing on the cake.
Entering my senior year, I had somehow talked my mom into letting me get a cat. I hadn’t pushed to get one since Tux had died because, like I said, I was okay with our two dogs. However, something about losing Gizmo really affected me. I couldn’t imagine going through the next year alone, and I think my parents understood that. Towards the end of October, about three months after my dog had died, we went to a shelter to pick up a small kitten named Cali. She was a beautiful Torbie- cats with a mixture of orange and black fur. Her and her sister, Pepsi, had come in last month as strays without their mother. When I saw the two of them, it was like love at first sight. After some begging and a lot of promises to be more responsible, we left with two new kittens and a smile on my face.
It didn’t take long for the kittens to adjust. They were put up in my office, one of two rooms upstairs conjoined by a bathroom, Jack-And-Jill style. Lizzy had occupied the room for a bit, but moved out as her and Roger bought an apartment together the previous year. He and I were good friends despite the age gap, as I was at least seven years younger than both he and my sister. They made it a habit to visit frequently even after moving out, and was waiting for us at the house when we get back from picking up Cali and Pepsi. Across the bathroom from my office was my actual bedroom, but I spent little time there following the adoption. Both spaces exited into a hallway which led to a communal, large space which acted as an upstairs living room. It branched to a bathroom, a small guest room, and the stairs which led down to the rest of the house. The hallway which connected both my office and room to the upstairs living room overlooked the front door. It was an odd, balcony-style walkway fashioned with a wood and metal banister.
Down the carpeted stairs led to another living room, though this more often than not was the one used for family activities. A kitchen and dining area also shared space with the open floor plan, though back along where the stairs rose was a wider hallway to the garage and both my parents’ offices. The other direction led to the master bedroom, where my parents stayed. On the opposite wall of my parents’ offices was the garage door, and beyond the second of the two offices - my dad’s muted, sound-proof “man cave” - was the front door. This more or less was the layout of my house. We moved here when I had just started middle school and my sister had gone off to college, and my family has not moved since.
For the next month, I slept in my office on the floor with the two kittens. My family and I wanted them to grow a little more before letting them stay and sleep in my room. And, for every night until the beginning of the Christmas season, I would take my place atop a few laid out blankets to cushion against the rough carpet. It didn’t take long for me to imprint of Cali and Pepsi, and soon we were inseparable. Cali was the fluffier of the two, a stout and vocal cat that only seemed to ever follow me around. Her most notable feature was the split of orange and black down the middle of her face, a beautiful and symmetrical contrast. Pepsi was a bit more outgoing and interacted with my family as a whole more, but would still hang around me more often than not. Her thin form aided her as the more agile of the two, and her sneaky nature definitely gave her an edge when the two would play-fight. I appreciated their company and loved spending time with them. Before I had adopted them, I had gotten back together with that girl I was dating. We had decided to keep our relationship a secret, as dating was generally still taboo for both of us. Thus, we could only really talk at night- something the cats got in the way of more times than once. When it came down to it, I eventually had to choose between her and the kittens. We haven’t talked in a long while.
At the start of the new year, I had begun to prepare for college. I was accepted into an in-state university, somewhere in Dallas. I had also gotten into a new relationship with my current girlfriend, Paige. She helped me out of a dark time and has stayed with me through some rough situations. Unlike my ex, she immediately took to the cats and they, likewise, to her. The little felines quickly became one of the most important parts of my life, and it was rough leaving at the end of that semester. Over the spring and summer months, I spent as much time with them as I could, but it never would’ve been enough. Sooner rather than later, the day came for me to move out and my goodbyes were said. Luckily, much to my relief, my mom would provide me updates almost daily on their condition and coping. You see, they were very much “my cats”, and didn’t really make much connection with anyone else in the house. This seemingly changed as they adapted over my first year of college. It was good knowing they bonded with my parents, and I was glad to know they were being taken care of.
I say all this to explain what normalcy I had left behind when leaving for college, and that what awaited for me in the summer months back home were not at all to be expected.
Due to some traveling abroad trips I had done with the university, summer was the first time I had been back home since leaving the previous year. Arriving at that house was like a breath of fresh air, though I knew some adjustments were going to be needed. After a year living autonomously in a city four hours away, being under the rules of my parents was definitely going to take some getting used to, but more than anything I was excited to see Cali and Pepsi. Both cats were hesitant of me at first, which was understandable. It had been a year since they last saw me, of course. By the time of the first night, though, they had regained some sense of familiarity. When I had retired to my room, they followed just as they had before I had left for college. It made me happy to know they hadn’t entirely forgotten about me, and I shut both the door to my room and the office. It wasn’t until later that night, as I got into bed, that I noticed the first thing that seemed off.
Ever since the first day I brought the two home, they both slept either on top of me or right next to me. Cal always slept by my feet, which reminded me of gratefully of Tux, while Pepsi always slept up by my head. That night, though, both cats laid off and beside my bed. Originally, I chalked it up to the fact they hadn’t seen me in a while and didn’t fully trust me yet. I spent around thirty minutes relaxing before going to sleep, which mainly consisted of browsing youtube and texting Paige. When I went to click off the lamp atop my bed’d backboard shelving, I glanced off to the side where the bathroom interconnected my room and the office. My finger reached the knob, but my eyes stayed on the floors, watching my cats both stare into the darkness of the bathroom. I left both doors open to let the cats have access to my old office, as that’s where their litter box, food, and water was. I tried following their gazes into the pitch black dark of the other room, but I couldn’t make anything out. I was almost midnight by this point, and I was admittedly exhausted from moving everything back down. Letting the lamp switch off, I decided not to think too much about it and curled up alone underneath by covers.
I thought that over the course of the next few nights, maybe Cali and Pepsi would warm back up to me and come lay with me again like they used to. I was sorely mistaken, though, and each night the cats would resume their new positions on the floor, on guard against whatever they though lied across the threshold that became my bathroom. While I was a little weirded out by their concern, I mostly felt shunned and ignored, worried that the bond we made no longer existed. In other parts of the house, they definitely became more friendly and would even voluntarily interact with me. Feeling Cali rub up against my ankle or hearing Pepsi chirp at me for attention definitely helped ease my worries during the day. At night, though, they remained on the floor. Any attempt to move them to my bed was unsuccessful and not worth the effort, as they’d just jump back down. Eventually, I just learned to accept the situation as it was, and tried to feel grateful they at least chose to be in the same room as me.
I wish this was the only difference in their behavior when I came back home. This, however, was only the beginning.
After about a week of me being home, I got back into an old habit of mine: Lego Building. Sure, it seems childish to some, but creating builds consisting of thousands of pieces just felt so satisfying. I enjoyed displaying my works in my room and along different vanities at home. I mention this because I primarily built in the upstairs living room, where I could easily set up a card table to work on my projects alone and out of the way of the rest of the house. I was halfway through my first build, a mech-suit design for a series I enjoyed as a child, when I heard Cali meowing from downstairs. Walking over to the balcony-hallway, I saw her sitting at the front door, looking up at me curiously. She seemed lost, a desperate tone in her calls. I reaffirmed her, yelling down things like “I’m right here, sweet girl.”, “You’re okay, Cali.”, or even “I love you.”
She would, after returning my answers with trills and chirps, run as fast as she can through the downstairs hall, up the stairs, and around the living room corner until her face met my ankles. It was sweet and endearing, like she was looking for me. I appreciated it and it quickly became a daily routine. At one point or another, Cali would meow up at me from her spot down by the front door; I would walk over by the banister and talk to her until she came running. She would usually only stay with me for a few minutes before wandering off somewhere else in the house, but I became fond of our little game. I also noticed she only ever did this with me, which made it all the more special in my mind.
Pepsi and I had our own special game, too. When I was downstairs, she would chirp at me to get my attention. Once she felt I was focused enough, she would bolt up the stairs and wait at the top. When I would arrive, the chase would continue as she dashed across the hallway and into the office. Upon entering, she would fall onto her back and wait for me to rub her tummy. Like Cali’s meowing and the new positions at night, I didn’t think too much of these interactions at first. I had assumed these were relatively normal changes- big cats don’t wanna sleep in the bed, Cali wanted to make sure where I was, and Pepsi wanted a fun chase. There would be these small things, though, that slowly started to put me in unease.
Like, at night when I would sleep, I would awake to the feeling that something was watching me. When I would stir and check for my cats, there they would be staring across the rooms into the office, just as I had left them. Sometimes, though, I would think I’d catch something moving in the darkness. It only ever happened when I was still groggy, usually in the middle of the night. It happened so inconsistently that I would write off each time as a coincidence or my imagination playing tricks on me. But, in the moment, I’d swear I saw something slink away into the shadows. One night, I even thought I saw the gleam of eyes locked onto me. Something overtook me that time, and I immediately turned on all the lights in the three rooms. I stood in the bathroom for almost an hour, probably looking like an idiot in underwear and a T-Shirt, scanning everywhere. Something in the gaze I felt seemed malevolent, as if it would devour me whole when I was most vulnerable. I’ve been prone to anxiety and overthinking most my life, but the dread I felt in that moment was almost unbearable and like nothing else i’ve ever felt before.
I was thankful that night on that Cali and Pepsi laid at guard beside my bed. Even if I had convinced myself eventually that nothing was there, it was an odd comfort to know they were there to keep me safe.
Other incidents would happen as well that I couldn’t quite explain away. Cali would yell from what sounded the first floor, but when I would reach the banister and look down from my perch, I wouldn’t see her there. Sometimes, I would come and see her down there meowing, but the inflection and tone of her calls would seem off, not matching her movements or relative volume - like when the audio of a video isn’t matched up right. And, as if that wasn’t enough, sometimes I could swear I heard someone speaking from down where she was. I only ever noticed it when I had earphones in, but the faint whispers of phrases I would call out to Cali seemed to move their was back to me. By the time I’d take my earphones out to check on the sounds, it was always back to regular meowing. As much as it weirded me out, I’ve had a history of mishearing sounds- I figured this wasn’t anything different.
Pepsi, on the other hand, would lead me up the stairs only to not be there when I reach the top. I’d find her back downstairs somewhere, but I could never explain how she got back down without me noticing. Then, sometimes when I would reach the office and find her laying on her back, she would keep moving away from me by rolling around. It was subtle, sudden movements that seemed to both avoid my hand and egg on the chase. At first, I thought it was just her way I’ve continuing the game. As she would move through the room, though, she would chirp at me to keep my attention, like she specifically wanted me to follow her around the room in order to show me something. But, much like the shadowy figures across the bathroom, these incidents happened too scarcely for me to ever really get too concerned.
I wish they had caught my attention sooner. I really should’ve known something was up. I had raised these cats essentially since birth, and we had an unbreakable bond before I left. I should’ve been able to tell something was off right away, followed their gazes a little longer each night. I should’ve been more concerned when, one night, both cats joined me in my bed when I crawled under the covers. Instead, I was just happy my cats wanted to sleep with me again. I missed feeling the outline of Cali by the feet, or how Pepsi would snuggle up in the crux of my neck. It was such a relief for them to seemingly have warmed back up to me that I didn’t question was prompted it. Instead, I just accepted it.
That was a week ago, about the middle of July. Seven days later, earlier today, I found something I will never forget.
My office used to be my sister’s room, and due to the Jack-And-Style design it also had a closet. This closet also connected to our house’s attic. When we originally moved in so long ago, my sister had first dibs and chose the room herself. She only used it when returning from college until she married and moved in with Roger. At that point, I was given the option to move in to that room myself. I slept there a couple nights, but had this feeling of unease which led to me ultimately deciding to stay in my room. I had forgotten about this until today. The office has it’s fair share of odors, being the room with the litter boxes in it. Nonetheless, I noticed something new while filling out a scholarship request on my computer. I was on the phone with Paige while working on it, and told her I smelled something weird in the room. She laughed as I struggled to figure out just where exactly it was coming from, telling me it was probably either just some fresh cat poop or even my imagination. After a unsuccessful hunt, I sat back down at my chair and returned to typing on my laptop.
Fifteen minutes later, the scent had gotten stronger. Once again, I scoured the entire room until I thought I was losing my mind, unable to locate the smell. Neither Cali nor Pepsi was in the room, as both had a habit of plopping down on my laptop while I was working on it. Since I had put off getting the scholarship done and needed to finish it up by tonight, I scooted them out and shut the doors behind them. By this point, Paige pointed out that there was the closet space. She had been over numerous times and was familiar enough with the house’s layout to suggest it. I hadn’t considered it because we never open the door to that closet. It’s only ever really used for storage- and, after my mom had accidentally locked Pepsi in there for the entire day earlier in the year, the door has remained closed since, just to be safe.
Tentatively, I opened the door to the closet, still on the phone with Paige. While my sense of smell has always been my strongest, I don’t think there’s a way to undersell how overwhelming the odor that greeted me was. It was an odd mix of sulfur and wet metal, mixed with feces and piss. It smothered and stung me simultaneously, and I don’t think I’ve ever smelled something to utterly repulsive before in my life. I muttered some swear beneath my breath and Paige asked me what was going on. I relented that she was right but still couldn’t find the source of the smell. After a moment, I determined the odor wasn’t coming from the closet itself, but from behind the attached attic door to my left. I smugly noted this to Paige before steeling myself for what lied ahead of me.
It wasn’t enough- I don’t think any amount of mental preparation could’ve readied me for what lied beyond that door.
As I turned the knob and pushed it open, I again was greeted with a stronger version of the rotting scent. I only managed to get the door open a few inches before something blocked it’s movement. A wet thud accented the halt, much to my surprise. I pushed against the door a second time and was met with success, though the sound of something sliding didn’t inspire confidence in me. In all honesty, by now I had assumed some small rodent had somehow gotten stuck and starved to death. The smell had too much of a decaying stench to it to assume it was anything else. I hadn’t voiced this guess to Paige; when she asked me if I could see what was causing the smell, I felt some tinge of relief I hadn’t told her when my eyes caught trace of the smeared trail of browned blood. Even thinking back to it now, I fight down the urge to gag. I thought the stench was horrible, but I would rather be stuck smelling that for a hundred years than ever see what I saw again.
Three dead cats laid at my feet, patterned in a triangle of two then one. All three were bloodied messes, mangled and worn, engraved with gashes and bite marks. Their limp positions offered little peace as flies swarmed on and around the blood-stained coats. The bones of the corpses seemed bent and unnatural, as if something took the time to break and crack the limbs like glow sticks. Even when soaked and covered in red, I could immediately make out the split design of Cali’s face and the thin stature of Pepsi’s torso. Seeing their lifeless bodies rest in such mistreated and abused states broke something in my spirit I don’t know I’ll ever recover. Immediately, I fought the urge to cry. I fought the urge to scream and sob. I fought the urge to immediately turn and forget what awful things I saw before me. Instead, I lifted my focus beyond the two cats to the third behind them. It took me a moment to make out the black and white spots, most of which dyed a dark brown. My despair immediately altered into a twisted confusion as the details slowly become more and more familiar. What I saw before me was impossible, in more ways than one. I couldn’t be seeing any of this right- there was no way.
But Paige asking what it was that I saw stirred me from the spiral I had only begun to fall into. My breathing had gotten heavier and I’m sure she picked up on my horror. I could also hear from around the corner the sound of my cats scratching against the door. But that couldn’t be right. What remained of Cali and Pepsi’s bodies laid right before me, currently assaulting my nose and eyes. Stammering for a moment, I whispered that I found nothing, that I needed to go, and that I would call her later. Before she could ask anything else, I hung up the phone and shut the door as quickly as I could. I snuck out from the closet and sat down on my swivel chair, shaking and unsure what to do next. I still don’t know what to do now. There was no way any of those three bodies could or should have been in that attic. I know what I saw, though. God, I wish I hadn’t opened the door. I wish I would’ve listened to Paige and just ignored the smell. But I hadn’t, and because of that, I now had to figure out what to do.
After what could’ve been five minutes or five hours, I got up and quietly shut the closet door. Whatever was outside the office, I felt like letting it know I had found what laid hidden wouldn’t have gone well for me. Doing all that I could to fight off a panic attack, I opened the office up the two creatures that scratched and meowed my like cats. To my surprise, they just simply rubbed up against my legs like always, and left me shortly after. When they left, I sat back down in my chair and let my face fall into my hands. I didn’t finish typing my scholarship up. I didn’t do much else today, including eat dinner or call Paige back. In fact, she’s sent me a few texts letting me know she’s worried and that she wants to know what’s going on as I’ve typed this. Right now, it’s a bit past midnight. Both cats are in the bed with me. They’ve been staring at me type this entire thing up.
I don’t know if they can tell what I’m writing. Cali, or whatever is pretending to be her, is laying on top of my legs. Pepsi is resting along the back of my neck as I lay facing away from her, towards the bathroom. I know now that I am looking at something in the dark. There’s the faint outline of a Tuxedo cat standing just beyond the threshold of the bathroom. I feel an odd mix of rage and fear- I don’t know what these things are capable of, but I hate them for masquerading as my sweet Cali and and Pepsi. I hate the creature in the shadows for pretending to be my beloved Tux. I don’t know how it kept his corpse in such a condition, but I know now why my parents didn’t let me see the body. Though I haven’t acknowledged it, I think it knows I know it’s there. I’ve heard it whisper something mockingly at me, and I know it’s getting closer. I can feel Cali and Pepsi’s eyes on me as it approaches slowly.
Only now, as it approaches the my entrance to the bathroom, can I hear what it’s whispering. It was something I had told Paige the other day on the phone when telling her about seeing things in the night. Just how long has this thing been here? How long has it been watching me, listening to my conversations and learning how to mimic me? In my own voice, an unnatural cadence of my words attacks me from the shadows. I hate that this may be that last thing I hear, but as I post this for everyone to know, please don’t make the same mistake I did. If you notice anything off or weird about your cats, do something about it before it’s too late. I hate that I didn’t do anything to stop this from happening. I hate that it won’t stop copying me. I hate that it’s just standing there, mocking me. I don’t know if I’ll survive tonight now that it knows I’m aware of it, and I’m not sure I want to.
I just don’t know how many more times I can hear it say “I only have two cats, right?”