We Never Should Have Gotten The Cat
[singlepic id=25 w=320 h=240 float=left]”Why?” you ask upon reading the title. “Your cat is cute, fluffy, and curls up in laps in a most adorable manner.” Yes, she does all these things and in general is a very good cat. But she has one giant strike against her–she has made me terrifyingly aware of the world of the undead.
Now, I was blissfully ignorant of the fact our reality sat on the precipice of madness until the cat started freaking out at nothing. I thought it was more adorable cuteness, and pointed it out to a friend.
“Well,” he chortled, “You know it’s been proven that cats are extra-sensitive, so when they freak they’re actually reacting to things we can’t see or sense!”
“What?” I said. Lightning flashed outside the window. Thunder rolled.
“Yup, they’re sensing some malevolent force we can’t,” my friend confirmed. “Well, time to go now and leave you all alone! Goodnight!” He slams the door behind him.
I look at the cat. The cat looks at me. Then the cat looks at a point right behind me, screams like a human, and runs to cower under the sink.
Ok, I think, everything is ok. My roommate will be home in 20 minutes. Just to make sure, I give her a call. “Liz,” I say calmly, “Do you know, perchance, what time you will be home?”
“What?” she responds. “Josie, I can’t hear you when you’re hysterically whimpering. Speaking of, do you know that cats can sense forces beyond human comprehension?
Reading, I think as I hang up. Reading will take my mind off this. I look at my shelves, where I have the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft open. TV I think, turning it on to the middle of the “Ghost Hunters” marathon I was recording. Internet, I think, and up pops Hulu, frozen in the middle of a grisly murder scene from “The Dresden Files.”
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?” I demand to know as the cat runs out screaming again.
In about 20 minutes my roommate walks in. The lights are off, the blinds drawn, the Ouija Board is smashed to pieces, and there’s a candlelit evil eye on the coffee table. “Josie?” Liz asks, peering under my bed.
I slide the cat out fom under the bed. It hisses. I slide it back in.
“Nope,” I say, and reach for the holy water.