My friend and I have known each other since high school. We ended up going to the same college. We moved to the same neighborhood and started working at the same place. It was all coincidental, but it allowed us to be close friends, even though we had nothing in common, but life and coincidences. At one point, about four years ago, she changed jobs. First, we had regular lunches, but then I also moved out of the neighborhood and into a house in the suburbs, so without daily interactions at work, without living close to each other, we just drifted apart.
For a few years, we only talked on birthdays and major holidays, wishing each other well, updating each other on random life events, etc. This year, for my birthday, she wrote me and told me she’s buying a house. Again, coincidentally, it was very close to where I had moved, about 10 minutes drive. She invited me to her new house party and then messaged me after thanking me for coming. A few days later, she messaged me again, and soon after, we started getting back in touch.
As this was happening in mid-June, and with summer just around the corner, we didn’t have time to see each other again before I went on holiday. But we were texting each other daily almost. She told me she got a cat and sent me pictures. It was a gorgeous little rescue, she was black all over, except for her paws, which were white. It looked like she was wearing shoes, so my friend named her Boots. From the pictures and videos, Boots was loving, cuddly, and sweet. So, when I came back from holiday, I didn’t think twice before I agreed to stop by my friend’s house every evening and look after the cat, while she went on holiday for a week, too. I even proposed to take her over at my place, but since I had a dog, and my friend didn’t know how Boots would react, we agreed that I’d just drop by every night for a few hours, as my schedule allowed it. As her flight was departing before mine would have landed, we didn’t manage to meet and she couldn’t give me her house keys, so she gave me the code to her garage. I could very easily enter like that, and the job was simple enough: check that the cat had sufficient dry food available, feed her a little satchel of wet food every evening, change her water, and clean her litter. I was also to spend an hour or so just cuddling or playing with her. Simple, and adorable, right?
Wrong.
The first night went smoothly enough. I got there at around 8:30, around Boots’ dinner time. She ate her wet food really well, and then we played for a while.
“What’s your favorite toy, Boots?”, I asked her jokingly. She looked me in the eyes, ran into the bedroom, and came back with an orange plastic mouse.
I was taken aback by the cat’s ability to understand my question, but I assumed my friend was talking to her all the time, and the phrase “favorite toy” in relation to that specific mouse had come by a few times. The cat was associating. I replaced the water and the dry food, cleaned the litter box, and then lay down on her couch to read a little. Boots came over and started making biscuits on the blanket which I used as a cover. I took some pictures and sent them to my friend, who was pleased with my service. Boots, loving all the attention, ear scratches, and sweet talk, laid on my stomach and started purring, fast asleep.
“Ooof, Boots, what’s this smell?”, I said, trying to dissipate the odor with my hand. “What a farty butthole you have, miss. Very unbecoming for a lady!”, I argued.
The cat meowed at me, as if to excuse herself, or protest, and then got off the couch.
“Aw, come on, Bootsie! I didn’t mean it!”, I argued back. I put my book down and checked the time, it was well past 11 pm, pretty late, I thought. I packed my things, messaged my friend that I was on my way, made sure the garage door closed properly, and off I went.
The next night, things went just as smoothly, with a very similar routine - little food, little play, some chilling on the couch. Boots, again, came to lie down on my chest. And again, that god-awful smell.
“Ay, what is this?”, I reacted, trying to grab the cat and bring her closer to my nose, to see where exactly it was coming from. I didn’t know whether cats needed their anal glands checked like dogs did, but I was guessing this one might. But Boots, as elusive as any cat, ran away again, meowing at me from across the room.
“Fine miss, I have to go anyway!”, I responded.
The third night is when things got weird. That terrible smell hit me as soon as I entered the house.
“Ooof!”, I exclaimed and quickly texted my friend to see whether it was OK to stop the wet food. It smelled strongly of sulfur, like when my French bulldog eats cheese. Something needed to be done, I’d argued in the texts, this poor cat’s stomach needed some sort of managing. My friend asked me if the poop is OK in the littler box, and sure enough, it was. She suggested I reduce the portion, but not worry too much about it. Apparently, Boots can get a little gassy when stressed. I just opened the windows to air the place a little, making sure that Boots didn’t attempt to escape.
Then, I proceeded to do the regular stuff, change the water, top up her dry food, and then went to lounge on the couch. This time, Boots didn’t join me. Instead, she stood across the room from me and just stared. For the whole time I was there, she just stared, her piercing green eyes never blinking. I felt the need to end my evening short, so at 5 minutes after 10, I bid Boots adieu, and left. The whole way home, I kept thinking of the eerie feeling of Boots and me sitting in the darkness, her, staring me down, and me trying, and failing, to read. I wanted to check with my friend, but I didn’t know how to put it in words. Your cat is creepy and stinks just sounded like a terrible thing to say to a pet owner.
The next night I got to the house, the place was completely dark, even though I always left the light in the staircase leading from the garage to upstairs, as well as the hallway light upstairs on. My first thought was that the fuse box tripped, but when I flipped the light switch, it worked just fine. Strange, I thought. Not minding it too much, I went upstairs and tended to the cat’s business. I also opened the windows, as the sulfur smell persisted. This time, Boots did not greet me at the door. Instead, she was on the opposite side of the house, at the bottom of the stairs that led to the attic.
“Bootsie, dinner!”, I called at her, but she just stared back.
“Boots, come here!”, I tried again, walking towards her.
As I started approaching her, Boots made her way up towards the attic. I didn’t feel the need to follow her.
“All right, you know where your food is! You’ll find me on the couch!”, I yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
The house also felt unnaturally cold. I went to check the thermostat, and sure enough, it dropped a few degrees. I texted my friend, who just told me not to worry about it. I shrugged and went to the bedroom to look for a thicker blanket or duvet for myself in her wardrobe. As I was snooping around, I heard something right above me. My heart stopped. It sounded like tiny footsteps. Then, I remembered, that it was probably in the attic, and that’s Boots walking around. Maybe chasing a rat or two. I know cats are supposed to be fantastic at being quiet and light on their feet, but Boots was a bit on the heavy side, and well, cats these days just don’t have the same instincts as before, I assumed.
After finding a proper duvet, I made myself a hot tea and cuddled with a book on the couch. About 20 minutes later, Boots came back downstairs, moving around the couch.
“Come on, silly goose, I’m sorry I called you a stinky-poo!”, I said looking at her.
As if on command, she jumped up, and I noticed something in her mouth.
“What's that Bootsie?”, I asked her, trying to get closer to her. “What do you have there?”
Now, I know you all cat owners anticipated what's coming next, but I did not expect it. Boots came slowly closer, and as I stretched out my hand, she placed a dead rat in it. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but the instant the realization hit me, I yelped so loudly and shuddered so violently, that I yeeted the rat all the way across the room. Lo’ and behold, the little shit wasn’t dead, just stunned. The moment it hit the floor, it snapped awake and bolted. Boots followed in its tracks, but this time, the rat was too fast and the cat couldn’t quite catch it. It seemed like there was a rat hole in the kitchen somewhere, and it managed to make its great escape. At least for now. I texted my friend the whole incident, suggesting that she might want to look for the hole and cover it up. Again, she replied telling me simply not to worry about it. Well, if she wasn’t concerned, I sure wouldn’t be.
In the meantime, Boots proceeded to eat her wet food, and I went back to my book. After dinner, she came back to the couch and cuddled at my feet. The sulfur smell did not seem to leave her.
“Three more days and mommy’s home”, I told her, feeling bad for how stressful this must be for her to make her so gassy.
She turned around and looked at me with her piercing green eyes, and just then I heard some more footsteps above us. Boots got startled and her pupils dilated to the point the green in her eyes was a mere thin outline for the black pupils.
“Freaking rats!”, I told myself. But I knew better. Those were too heavy to be rat footsteps.
I felt a strong urge to get out and I checked the time.
“Oh my, it’s almost 12, Bootsie! I must leave you!”, I said to her, grabbing my things in a rush. As I was walking towards the stairs that lead to the garage, I could hear the stomping tracing my steps from above, so I rushed for the door, feeling immensely relieved once outside.
The next night I contemplated whether I should be going or not for a long time. But I couldn’t not go. It didn’t seem fair neither to the cat nor to my friend whom I’d promised. So I decided to reach a compromise with myself: go, feed the cat, clean the litter, replace the water, and leave. Then, on Saturday, I could afford to go during day time, and maybe that would feel less eerie, and I could play with her for a longer time, to make up for this day.
So I did exactly that. Or attempted to, at least. I got there, Boots was waiting for me, like the first few nights.
“Hi baby girl”, I said as she rubbed herself against my legs and purred. “I’m sorry, but this will be a short visit.”
This time, the footsteps started very early into my visit. Get in, feed cat, get out, I told myself. Stomp, stomp, I could hear above me as I was preparing Boots’ dinner. My fingers were shaking and I could feel my pulse increasing. Stomp stomp.
“Here you go”, I said, placing the food bowl down and trying my hardest to ignore whatever was going on in the attic.
I went to the bathroom to clean the litter, and the footsteps followed above me. Stomp stomp.
I went back to the kitchen to check if Boots had finished her food and to replace her water, but this time, the footprints didn’t follow. Instead, they seemed to be going in the opposite direction. Towards the stairs.
This couldn’t be good. My brain was trying to get me to move towards the stairs that lead to the garage, but my gut feeling was telling me to look for salt. Stomp stomp, I could hear still, further in the distance.
I started opening cupboards and searching frantically for anything - plain salt, salt and pepper shaker, bag o’salt, anything. I found a Himalayan salt grinder and started grinding it on the counter. God, I hoped it would be good enough. The stomping stopped. I, too, stopped grinding and held my breath so that I wouldn’t disturb the stillness and soundlessness that fell upon the house. Creak creak.
I shuddered. The steps were coming down the stairs, I had no doubt about it. I dragged whatever salt I could grind in my palm and made a run for the stairs, keeping my eyes closed at all times. As I reached the door and fumbled to find the door knob in between squints, I noticed that the lights started flickering vigorously. The footsteps were now making their way down the hallway, behind me. I started praying and throwing salt over my shoulder. I realized that I didn’t know the words to Our Father in English, and started crying as I fumbled to remember. Then, I started praying in Latin. I knew a little Latin since high school and surprisingly enough, it came naturally to me.
Pater noster, qui es in caelis,
sanctificetur nomen tuum.
Stomp stomp.
Adveniat regnum tuum.
Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.
Stomp stomp, I could hear them picking up the pace, running at me.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie.
Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Stomp stomp, and then they stopped right behind me.
sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.
Et ne nos inducas in tentationem,
I could feel cold breath down my neck. I could hear faint whispering that I couldn't understand. A witch’s cackle in the distance.
sed libera nos a malo. AMEN.
I yelled, finishing my prayer and throwing all the salt I had left behind me.
The whispering stopped. The footsteps stopped. The laughter stopped.
The house reverted to its natural state of quietness. Every now and then I could hear a car driving by, I could see the headlights gently lighting up the room. I was certain whatever was behind me had vanished. But I never turned around, I never looked. I opened the door to the basement/garage, went downstairs, punched in the garage code, and got outside. Once outside, I ran across the street. I contemplated running all the way home, but I glanced over my shoulder to the house. It seemed fine, dark, quiet.
I started sobbing as I called my friend. She didn’t reply. I texted her, but still nothing. I stopped going to the house. I figured Boots would only be alone for 2 days at this point, and I left her plenty of dry food. I was too scared of what could happen next. I would just explain it all to my friend, and if she didn’t understand, then tough luck.
I knew my friend was to land on Sunday at 7 pm, so I went to the airport and waited for her.
“What are you doing here?”, she said as soon as she walked through the arrival gates.
“Well, I figured you’d need a drive home. Plus, I need to tell you something”, I said, relaying the whole story and showing her the photos I’d taken, even the ones I’d sent to her before. She listened quietly, and when I was done, she stopped dead in her tracks, looked me in the eyes, and grabbed my hands.
“Do you think I can stay with you tonight?”, she asked softly.
“What?”, I asked genuinely confused. “You don’t want to see if your cat is OK?”
“Andie, these pictures are undeniably from my house, but I don’t have a cat.”, she said, showing me her phone. Our last conversation on her phone was her thanking me for coming to the party, months ago.