Part 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/zbtkay/my_cat_isnt_normal/
New-ish pet owner here, but you can call me Vera. So I got my first pet a while ago. A short-haired black cat, with splotches of white here and there, that I named Clementine. Some people think it odd that at 28 years old I’d never owned an animal before. How was it that I didn’t have ANY pets growing up, not even a hamster or a goldfish? It’s pretty easy when you’re an orphan. The closest thing I ever had to one was a used and busted Tamagochi, donated by some goodwill or charity when I was a kid. It hadn’t even lived that long, damn batteries died after a couple of months. RIP Squiggles, you died too soon.
Aside from keychains, Clem is my first pet, and lord help me, she’ll definitely be my last. As I write this, I’d say she’s in her pre-teen phase. She’s not full grown, not even close, but she’s out of that cute kitten stage and on to an awkward adolescence. She’s essentially a kid with knives for fingers, what could go wrong? She’s only destroyed a good bit of my furniture, shredded my curtains to ribbons, shattered anything porcelain that wasn’t glued to the table, not to mention culled the neighborhood’s pet population significantly. Not any of the other cats, mostly just the dogs, but apparently one of my neighbors had a chinchilla. HAD, being the key word. It was pretty unrecognizable by the time she was through with it, that’s my best guess, anyway.
And the other cats! It started for them not long after I brought little Clem home. First, they would eerily queue up and take turns visiting him in the window. Then they began the dancing. That’s what I call it, anyway. The dancing started when a couple of them began walking in an intricate weaving pattern, and quickly evolved from there when more joined in. Eventually it was a continuous circuit, walking in this Celtic-knot looking pattern. The first time I saw it, I was flabbergasted! And that’s the word for it too.
When the initial surprise wore off, curiosity set in. It was… mesmerizing. I can never really say how long it goes on for, not exactly. It always abruptly ends when they all, in unison, stop and fall over. They do so in an odd manner, so that they are all facing in me and Clem’s direction. They lay there a few moments, and then, once again in unison, start writhing around on my grass. You know that thing they do? When they roll around on their backs, stretching their legs out as far as they can go? They look like they’re having fun, so I leave them alone mostly.
My backyard has become a pet cemetery, and not to brag, but I’ve gotten pretty good at digging a shallow grave, if I do say so myself. The carcasses just keep turning up. The initial shock wore off a long time ago, and if I’m being honest, I’m more curious about it than I am disgusted. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. How in the hell does Clementine, my little bitty Clem, keep managing to consistently kill all of these animals? Why do they always turn up in my backyard? It IS the only thing that she eats, granted. Always has been since she was weaned. It HAS saved me a ton when it comes to buying cat food, sure, but just WTF. It’s gotten to where whenever I can’t find her or haven’t seen her in a few, she usually turns up outside, lapping up canine blood with her little kitty tongue. She’ll find her way in when she’s done.
She has this odd way of disappearing and turning up where she’s not supposed to, you see. She can escape from anything. Pet carriers, cardboard boxes, locked rooms, even my house. Feline Houdini. I tried setting up my phone one day, to record her and see exactly how she does it. That was when I discovered that she doesn’t show up on cameras. It freaked me out majorly at first, but I learned to have fun with it. I’ve been recording videos of hats and dish rags, freakily floating above the floor, and posting them to paranormal sites and subreddits to troll the believers and own the so-called psychics and spirit mediums.
In spite of the fact that she doesn’t show up on cameras, I DID still buy a couple of security cameras. I installed them on my back porch. I figure that even if SHE doesn’t show up, the things she interacts with still DO. At the least, I’d have some gnarly looking video of dead animals floating around and getting eviscerated. More fuel for trolling the gullible. It turned out I wouldn’t have all that long to wait.
The very next day, I checked the tape for the previous evening. There it was, in night vision and high def. 12:13 AM, shortly before I went to bed. The corpse of a raccoon being flung over my tall wooden fence. I checked the time, and I was dead certain that at that same time last night, Clementine had been inside with me. I took note because at that exact time inside, she had been pacing my window sill and making this weird, chittering, dolphin noise.
So if it hasn’t been Clementine doing it this whole time, who or what has? I mean, I’ve heard of cats bringing ‘presents’ to their owners before. Dead birds and mice, placed at their owners feet in a gesture of adoration, or perhaps fealty. But this… this was on a whole other level. I find it more than just odd, than mere coincidence, that around the same time I got a pet that sustained itself entirely on blood and viscera, that it started being provided for by some unknown party. Someone, or something, was making sure that my little Clem got exactly what she needed. That she grew up big, and strong.
The curiosity about my cat was killing me (pun intended), and if the cat continued to hold her tongue (sorry, I couldn’t help myself), then I needed to talk to somebody who wouldn’t. Somebody who possibly knew more about what was going on than anyone. Digging through my chaotic and crumpled stack of papers that represents my approximation of a filing system, I finally found what I was looking for. A small grocery store receipt that had Mrs. Miller’s current phone number on it.
Mrs. Maisel Miller, the sweet old lady that I had gotten my little Clem from. The last I had heard, they released her from the mental hospital and she was in her eldest son’s care, but allow me to back up some. Shortly after obtaining my little fur demon, she had had a mental break of some kind, raving about demons and chupacabras. Her madness seemed to have peaked when she removed her own eyes with a melon baller. Genuinely concerned, I had called her son to check on her recovery several times. She had been sweet and friendly in the past, half the time anyway, and if anyone could give me answers, hopefully it would be her.
I punched the number in my phone and hit CALL. It rang for the longest time, but considering the woman had no eyes, I figured it might take her a while. On the twenty-seventh ring, somebody answered.
“Yeah, who dis?” a seemingly young man answered.
“Umm, hi. I was calling to hopefully speak with Mrs. Miller?” I asked, a tad bit confused.
“If this is about her car’s extended warranty then let me save you some time…” the young man said, taking a deep breath afterward. I attempted to cut him off and tell him that I wasn’t, but he either hadn’t heard me or didn’t care. “My grandma Miller is 87 years old, hasn’t OWNED a vehicle since Bush was president, and even if she DID, she’s got NO FUCKING EYES, FAM! I don’t know how you asswipes got her number, or why you keep calling, but you can go rot in the seventh circle of hell, understand?”
I tried telling him that I wasn’t a spam caller, but he had already hung up. What a prick! I kinda understand, I’ve gotten tons of those calls too, but still! All I wanted was to speak with her for just a moment, check in on her, maybe ask her why animal corpses keep getting thrown onto my property, you know, pretty standard stuff. Instead, I got who I can only assume is her edge lord grandson telling me to go Dante’s Inferno myself.
Still steaming, I snatched up my keys and decided to go see her and get my answers in person. The last I had heard, she was back in her house after she was released from the institution, with members of her family constantly staying there to help and check in on her.
As I was about to walk out of my door, Clementine was walking on the ceiling, like she tends to do. Not hanging, like I’m sure you’re picturing her, but walking, upside down and with as much ease and grace as if she were on the floor. I have no clue how she manages to keep getting up there in the first place, though I suppose for a cat that can walk upside down on ceilings, the getting up there part isn’t much of a trial. On my tiptoes, I reached up and gave her a loving scratch behind the ears, and I left.
A short while later, I arrived at her house. The first thing that I noticed was a deep blue Ford Mustang parked in her driveway. Somebody was here, a good sign. The second thing was that her yard, once immaculate and perfect in almost every detail, was looking a little rough. The grass was knee high, there were leaves and tree branches strewn about everywhere, all of her flowers were gone, the paint of her pristine white picket fence was chipped and peeling, her home had definitely seen better days.
Upon walking up to the front door, it opened before I could get close. A young man, presumably the one who had been so rude to me over the phone earlier, stood there obviously checking me out.
“Hey there… how can I help you?” he said, a touch of suave in his voice. It was more curt and rude earlier over the phone, but I recognized it.
“I’m here to see your grandma, Mrs. Miller. Is she home?” I asked using my best resting bitch face. I really wanted to speak with her, but upon this douche nozzle meeting me at the door and undressing me with his eyes, I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was interested in him at all.
“She’s around back in the garden, would you like to come in while I get her?” he asked politely. It was funny how he was such a prick on the phone earlier, and then suddenly acted respectful when he saw there was a decent looking woman standing in front of him. His intentions were obvious.
“No thanks.” I said, and began walking through the tall grass toward the back yard. He told me what I needed to know, I’d go see her for myself. It was worth it to see the dumbstruck look on his face.
I turned the corner into the back when I spotted her. She was down on her knees beneath a window. It looked like she was putting in some work on her flowerbed. As I got closer, I saw her with an ungodly large set of pruning shears in hand. She was searching out with one hand until she found a stalk that had a flower blooming on top, then she chopped it’s head off. At her feet laid several dozen other once beautiful blooms, all had met the same fate.
Not wanting to startle her, especially with such a large and sharp instrument in her hand, I tried to make as much noise as I could upon approaching her. I failed, as when I finally did call out to her, she jumped.
“Hi, Mrs. Miller? Hey, it’s me, Vera…” I called as I got closer.
Her head quickly swiveled in my general direction. This was the first time I had seen her since I got my little Clem from her months ago. She looked different. I thought she had looked pretty worn down on that first day that I met her, only catching a quick glimpse of her through the small slat in the door. She looked much worse now. She wore some kind of bandana across her face, covering the sockets in which her eyes used to reside. Deep lines creased in confusion on her face at my introduction.
“You, uh… you gave me a kitten…” I stated. That got some recognition. The wrinkles in her face metamorphosed from confusion to what I can only call abject shock.
“Y-yes deary. I remember you. How are you?” she asked. Her question was asked in a way that seemed like she wanted to add more to it, but left it simple.
“I’m fine. Doing great, actually. How are you?” The inquiry left my lips and I instantly regretted asking it. It was insensitive of me. Ofcourse I know how you are, you only went looney tunes and cut your own eyes out, but OTHER than all that, how are you? I’m such a damn conversational klutz.
“I’ve seen better days, my dear” she chuckled briefly. “Hmm, poor choice of words… I should ask why you’re here, but I suppose I already know. How IS that kitten doing?” she asked, a look of mild satisfaction on her face.
“She’s fine… her diet could use some adjusting, but other than that, she’s great” I told her.
Mrs. Miller scowled. “She killed her mother, you know. I found her the day before I gave her to you, standing over Mittens’ body. She was eating her, dear. She had been slowly draining her the month before, I suppose I saw it coming.”
“Draining her? Like… her milk?”
“No sweetie. Her blood. She’s too much like her father, I suppose.” Mrs. Miller answered with a frown.
I was glad she brought up the subject of Clementine’s lineage, as now I didn’t have to beat around the bush awkwardly until it came up. Now was my chance, so I asked. “Who-what was her father?”
The blind old woman let out a long sigh. “I suppose I should tell you my story. You’re owed that much at least, you’re a part of this now. I’m sorry for that, by the way. I should have been upfront with you from the very beginning…” she stared through me, despite her lack of eyes.
She began. “It all started one night when I stepped outside to call for Mittens. I heard this god awful racket coming from beyond my backyard” she pointed toward the back fence on the other side of the yard. “Now, my husband Herbert, god rest his soul, was an avid hunter before he passed. I ran back inside to grab one of his guns, because… well, that noise that was coming from the other side of that fence… it wasn’t natural, dear. Do you know much about music? Know what an octave is?” I did, but like a dunce, I nodded my head instead of saying so. I only realized after she began speaking again that she hadn’t seen me, couldn’t see me. After a moment, she went on.
“An octave is the same note, only played in a lower or higher key. They have the same pitch, but one is vibrating slower, or faster, dearie. That thing I heard that night, it’s vocal cords couldn’t be like yours or mine, or any cat. Or anything known under heaven, for that matter. It was as if a chorus of creatures were all crying out in unison, in multiple octaves, but only coming from a single mouth. It’s growls and snarls and grunts and moans, they were panic inducing. Exponential dread multiplied by a haunting beauty. The sound reverberated and echoed inside my skull, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and sent chills throughout me…” she stopped and shivered at the mere remembrance of that night.
“By the time I got Herbie’s gun and built up the nerve to get closer, it was done. I was too late. I crept up to the gate and opened it, shining the flashlight at the spot the noise was coming from. That thing, it had my Mittens. It had her pinned down to the ground. Its back looked like there was an octopus on it, a bunch of the little arms wrapped around her, and some of them were flinging about in the air. I pointed the gun at it, about to shoot, when it looked up at me. Those eyes, they bore into me. Frozen within its gaze, I… I couldn’t move! All I could see or focus on, standing there in place, were its devil eyes. They… they told me to do things. In my mind, I heard the words as easily as you are hearing me now, with your ears. I don’t know how long I was trapped, standing there stuck in place. I don’t remember how it ended, either. I woke up, just before dawn, still lying there outside.” She began breaking down, an emotional wreck by this point. “Mittens was fine, they said. I told my son and took her to the vet, but nobody believed me. There wasn’t a single trace of the creature, all except one. Mittens was pregnant…”
I sat there in stunned silence. I didn’t know that somebody with no eyes could still cry actual tears. They can.
If I believed her or not didn’t matter. Looking at her now, frail and weeping, it was obvious that SHE believed it. Whether true, or just the product of a mind slowly slipping into dementia, it hadn’t mattered right then and there. Besides, despite my little Clementine looking like a perfectly normal cat, I knew she wasn’t. She had proved that she wasn’t a hundred times over by that point.
I put my hand on the crying lady’s shoulder, and pulled her in for a hug. There was a thud on the wilted grass beneath us as she dropped the giant garden shears and returned my embrace. This poor woman, I had already decided that I wouldn’t be mad with her, even though I probably had every right to be. She had promised me a kitten, though omitted the part about it coming with a demonic lineage, and I loved my little Clem. I’d have thought her crazy if she’d have told me this back then, if I hadn’t seen plenty of other crazier things lately, I may think she was now.
After a minute or so, she seemed to regain some of her composure, and her grip loosened. We let go of each other, and she asked “So what did you name her?”
“Clementine. It was the name of one of my friends when I was younger. We… lost touch growing up” I lied. We hadn’t just lost touch. That’s a different story, though.
“Such a pretty name. Does she still climb the ceiling?” she asked.
“Oh my god does she ever. I woke up the other night and she was just tucked away up in the corner of my bedroom. I thought it was just the light playing with the shadows until she moved and I screamed.” I laughed.
I found out Clem’s origin story, as crazy as it may be, as well as a few other interesting tidbits. Like how she was the only kitten born from her litter. Mrs. Miller had taken Mittens to the vet at one point, and they performed an ultrasound. It showed seven still forming embryos at the time. But when she finally gave birth, however, Clementine was alone. I had to look up the word on the internet, but she may be what is called a chimera. It happens sometimes when one twin in the womb absorbs the other one. In her case, it was six other ones. Seven cats all rolled up into one chaotic little package. Does that mean she has 63 lives, I wonder?
I asked her what was on that note that she had given me that day, but sadly she forgot. She had been under considerable stress at the time, Clem had supposedly just killed Mittens the day before, and she was distraught. I can’t blame her, though I’ve been super curious about what she had written. The only thing she could rightly recall was regarding her diet of flesh and blood.
We talked for a good while, and not just about Clementine. She asked if I would marry her grandson William, the one I had had the displeasure of speaking with out front. She said he needed a girl like me in his life, if only to put him in his place at times. Maisel Miller was sweet, if a little touched upstairs. I made a mental note to keep in touch, even though I got most of the information that she had to offer. I never had a family growing up, being an orphan and all, but I’d like to think this is what normal people feel when talking to a loved one. A crazy grandma, perhaps.
On my way back to my car, her grandson William confronted me in the front yard.
“She’s crazy, you know. All that garbage about her cat, it’s lies” he stated, matter of factly.
“Were you spying on us?” I raised an eyebrow.
“N-no. My dad said keep an eye on her. That’s all I was doing. She’s sick, I just want to help her. Having you come by and dredge everything up doesn’t help her. Not one bit” he stammered.
“Dredge? Wow, that’s a big boy word. I bet your daddy would be proud” I said mockingly. His face turned red as my words had their intended effect.
“Don’t tell me you believe her!? Please don’t come back if you’re only going to indulge her in her demented ramblings. I love that woman to death, but you’re only hurting her more than you’re helping.”
While I understood his intentions to be protective of her, I knew he was wrong. Clem was no normal cat, if this moron spent a single afternoon with her, he’d know it too. I’ll probably regret doing this, but…
“What if I could prove that she’s not crazy?” I asked.
“And how exactly are you going to do that?”
I walked to my car and grabbed a pen, he followed my every step like a lost little puppy. “Give me your hand” I commanded. He hesitated a moment, then held it out. I wrote my number on his slightly sweaty palm. “Call me in about an hour. Then I’ll tell you how.”
I left him standing there, perplexed as to what had just happened. He was still standing there looking into his palm as I looked in my rearview mirror.
He may be an asshole, but at least it was for the right reasons. I couldn’t fault him on that. Maybe proving it to him might somehow help Mrs. Miller somehow further down the line, I thought. Surely, being surrounded 24/7 by people who think you’re batshit crazy can’t be fun. Maybe somehow getting him more in her corner was the right thing to do? If nothing else, when he called, I’d have his number and another person I could call to check up on the woman.
When I arrived back home, Clem had been up to her usual tricks. I finally found her in the laundry basket full of clean clothes, being led there by a trail of bloody kitty paw prints trekked across my tile kitchen floor.
Any good pointers on removing blood from cashmere, send them my way! In the meantime, I need to clean up. I should have company soon.
I’ll be sure to update soon enough. Until then, new-ish pet owner here, but you can call me Vera.