And I am the only one who knows it.
He’s all black. What a cliché… most spies would try harder, but not him. Can’t say I blame him. With my family, one needs not a lot to trick them.
But let’s not digress.
Look at him now, staring me down from the kitchen counter. It's only a matter of time before he makes his final move, so before anything untoward happens to me, I must write down my findings and observations.
The craft of CATfiltration
- Like all spies, the black bastard entered - NO - slithered his way into our home at night (just like all professional spies) via my sister, of course. She was all grinning teeth as she held the scrawny black string above her head like it was Lion King. The blasphemy! She said an eagle was about to get him and she just happened to find herself there to save his life. Please. As if the proud bird on our flag would even bother with a malnourished black shoelace.
But let’s not digress. This isn’t about my looney sister, though she is to blame for everything. In general. No exceptions.
- He figured out everyone’s weakness within the first 48 hours of infiltration:
2.1 Dad likes one hour alone in the washroom every morning, with his newspaper, in peace - which is also a point of contention with Mom - so he stays away. It turned out silence was all Dad ever wanted, and the black menace was the only one in the household who gave him that. Dad said so himself.
2.2 With Mom it was easy, he would just sit on her, look into her eyes and squeak - so unnecessarily dramatic but painfully effective in her case - and she would immediately open a can of smelly fish for him. She is hopeless. I am embarrassed for her.
By the way, I have no respect for fish. They tried to be spies once, but they were too obvious - because they have no eyelids. And now they're spy food.
2.3 With my hysterical sister everything was random - because she’s a girl. So he soon realized there was no point assessing her. He let her dress him up, lift him, put him down, lift him again. He knew better than to fight it - you don't fight the crazies. He has the patience of a serial killer, I’ll give him that. She’ll be the first to go, poor thing.
- He was thin when he arrived. Within two weeks he had everyone feeding him separately, each thinking they were the favorite. Oldest trick in the book.
Yes, they’re all compromised.
I am alone. But that’s fine, I’m used to it. Beautiful minds always are.
CATveillance and CATmunication
- He sits in the same spot every morning, facing the old neighbor's window. Unblinking. Gathering intel. The old woman is as clueless as everyone else. After all, she talks to her plants every day. They say that with old age comes wisdom. They say...Who even says all these things?
- When he thinks nobody's watching, he reports to winged messengers in a language I've never heard him use with us — clearly a secret code. The birds seem to ignore him, but I know better - they pass on what he’d gathered. To whom, that is a matter of larger scale, one I am not equipped to investigate. YET.
- He always knows when someone is about to enter a room, seconds before they do. I don’t know how he does it, he must operate an entire network of spies. We are surrounded.
- He never sleeps when I’m watching. He knows I know. But the moment I look away, he's out cold. Or is he? The moment I check again, he's watching. HOW?
- He stares at the walls for long stretches of time. WHY? There’s nothing there. He knows that and I know that, but he keeps it up anyway, playing the halfwit.
Lately, he started bringing dead things to my bedside. An intimidation tactic, clearly. I’m not afraid, I know how these things work: the moment one displays fear, everything is over.
I will display NO FEAR.
And that is when he decided to make his final move.
He climbed my stomach and slowly, with deceptively casual movements, wrapped himself around my neck.
An assassination attempt!
Was this the end? Was this his mission all along? Who sent him?
As his fur invaded my nose and mouth, things became clear. Death by suffocation. Smart. It leaves no messy trails. This way, Mom won’t yell.
PURRR
What is he doing? What is that sound? He has hidden skills.
PURRRRRR
It feels… not bad. The black bastard is smarter than I thought.
PURRRRRRRRR
Ohhhhh… this must be like one of those pills Mom takes when she can't sleep.
PURRRRRRRRRRRR
It feels good. So perfect. Soooo-
NO. We do not negotiate with terrorists!
PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
This is it. I close my eyes. This is…
THE END.