A Cry Over a Nonexistent Cat

🔴 HE CALLED THE CAT “HER” AND STARTED SOBBING IN THE DRIVEWAY

I slammed the car door too hard and the sound echoed way too loud in the sudden quiet.

He was just standing there, frozen in the beam of the headlights, cradling Mittens like she was a newborn. “I miss her so much,” he choked out, and the air hung thick with the smell of cut grass and exhaust. But we don’t HAVE a cat. We have a dog, a golden retriever, and he hates cats.

I walked towards him, my bare feet sticking to the hot asphalt, and my heart pounded a weird rhythm in my ears. “Who, Mark? Who do you miss?” He flinched like I’d slapped him, and the cat hissed, a low, guttural sound.

He looked at me, his eyes red and swollen. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was another sob, and he just kept petting “her” like his world was ending. But how could this be happening? It was all going so well; we just celebrated our anniversary.
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I reached out and gently touched the cat’s head. The fur was soft, almost impossibly so. It wasn’t a cat I recognized. Mittens, a name that didn’t fit the sleek black creature in his arms. “Mark,” I said again, my voice barely a whisper, “What’s going on?”

He looked down at the cat, his face a mask of grief, and then back up at me, his eyes finally meeting mine. “Don’t you remember?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Mittens… she was ours.”

Confusion swirled in my head. Ours? I racked my brain, trying to remember any cat, any memory of a shared pet, but nothing came. We’d talked about a cat, once, years ago, a fleeting conversation. I shook my head, feeling a growing unease crawl over me. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the Mark I knew.

He seemed to realize the disconnect, the blankness in my eyes. He tightened his grip on the cat, as if afraid I’d try to take her away. “You… you changed,” he stammered, his gaze darting around nervously. “We were happy… before. Before… this.” He gestured vaguely at me.

Suddenly, the cat, which had been purring softly, arched its back and hissed again, its eyes narrowed into slits. Something felt wrong, deeply wrong, with the way it was looking at me. And then, the headlights flickered, plunging us into temporary darkness. When they flickered back on, the cat was gone.

Mark gasped, clutching at his chest. “No! Where… where did she go?” He spun around, frantically searching the shadows.

I took a step back, a cold dread gripping me. The way he looked, the cat’s strange behavior… it clicked. A chilling thought.

“Mark,” I said, my voice trembling, “Show me your wedding ring.”

He looked at me, bewildered, and held up his left hand. His fingers were bare. No ring.

“Who am I?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

He stared at me, his face a mixture of horror and understanding. Then, he reached out a hand, his fingers brushing my cheek. His eyes filled with tears. “You were,” he whispered, “but you’re not anymore. You were… Mittens.”

He wasn’t talking about a cat. He was talking about me. I felt a jolt of adrenaline. This wasn’t just grief; this was something else entirely. Something supernatural.

I had no idea what had happened, but I knew I had to escape. I spun on my heel and ran back to the car, fumbling for the door. I slammed it shut, this time with a desperate, practical force. I started the engine and threw the car into reverse, speeding away from the house and towards the dark, unknown road. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Mark was just standing there, alone, in the driveway, the darkness swallowing him whole. And as I drove away, I knew I’d never see him – or her – again. The cat… or whatever he thought I was… had won.