My cat is trying to kill me.

The first time I saw Mr. Whiskers, he was a tiny little furball, cowering in the back of his cage. I had just lost my partner, and my sister was adamant that I got a pet to help me cope with the loss. She took me to an animal shelter and, after having seen countless dogs and cats, I was about to leave, thinking that it was just too soon to get a new pet. But then I saw him. My sister told me the shelter workers had found him on a doorstep somewhere. No clue how old he was or what his breed was, but he didn’t seem to care. He was just happy to have someone to (on) look at. I fell in love with him almost immediately. By the time we got back to my apartment, he had explored every corner of his carrier and my car. He was very obviously curious about his new surroundings. And he was adorable. He had these big, round eyes and a shaggy grey coat with bright orange stripes that seemed to glow in the dark. He also had these long, thin whiskers that reached almost to his ears, which is how he got his name. And he was very playful. After we let him out, he just threw himself around my living room, exploring his new surroundings. <br><br>Eventually, he got used to his new surroundings and became more relaxed. He would sit with me on the couch, sleep in my lap, and even sleep next to me in bed. That was something my late partner was never comfortable with, out of some concern that the cat would scratch us in his sleep. But Mr. Whiskers gave me no reason to worry. He never scratched me, not even when he was playing. I couldn’t have been more comfortable with him if I tried. I was very happy to have him. And we even shared food sometimes, which he really seemed to like. <br><br>But after about a year, he started to change. His demeanor was different. He wasn’t as energetic as before, and seemed to drink more than he ate. But the food I was giving him was high-quality, nutritious stuff, so I didn’t think much of that. One day I was working from home, sitting on the couch with my laptop, and I felt something on my feet. I looked down to find Mr. Whiskers sitting on them. Before he would only lie on my lap, never anywhere else. But this time he was sitting on my feet, staring up at me. And his stare was different. It was like looking into the void itself. Just an endless abyss of nothingness staring back. <br><br>The next morning, I woke up to find Mr. Whiskers next to me, sitting up straight and staring at me. His eyes hadn’t moved at all, and I felt a chill run down my spine. He just kept staring, unblinking, for a long time after I woke up. But when I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, he acted like nothing had happened. He completely ignored me, as if he had forgotten the whole encounter. But I couldn’t forget. I couldn’t shake the image from my mind. From that moment on, I couldn’t trust him. <br><br>One night, I was on the couch when I heard a weird clunking noise from the kitchen. I thought nothing of it, Mr. Whiskers was probably just playing with something, but then I heard it again. And again. And it was getting louder. My heart started racing as I turned around to see Mr. Whiskers standing on his hind legs, pawing at one of my cabinets until it fell over. I yelled, not out of anger, but out of shock and terror, until he jumped down, looking in my direction. He then calmly walked over to me, rubbing his shaved head against my leg, purring. But I was frozen in place. He looked different. His eyes were darker, more menacing. I didn’t move until he walked away, at which point I got up and ran into my bedroom, locking the door. I stayed there for a long time. <br><br>I heard him scratching at my door, meowing loudly, usually letting him in, but not tonight. I wasn’t letting him in. I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t know what he was doing, I didn’t know what he wanted, but I knew I didn’t want to find out. I stayed in there until I couldn’t stay awake any longer. When I woke up, I unlocked the door, and Mr. Whiskers was waiting. But to my surprise, he had gone back to his old self. Meowing, purring, just generally acting like he used to. <br><br>The next night, I was in the kitchen when I heard him meowing loudly. I turned around to see him sitting on his hind legs again, this time holding a shard of glass between his paws. It looked huge in his grip, and he was just holding it there, staring at me. I tried to move, to call for help, but my body wouldn’t respond. I was frozen in place, unable to look away. I finally came to, and ran into my bedroom once more, locking the door. I heard him scratching at it, meowing at the top of his lungs. I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t stay here any longer. So I called a friend, and he came to my apartment to pick me up. I couldn’t stay in my home any longer. <br><br>I stayed with my friend for a long time, but when I finally felt safe enough, I came back to my apartment. I unlocked the door, and called out for Mr. Whiskers. I waited for a while, but he didn’t come. And then I saw him. Sitting in the middle of my living room, staring at me. I tried to run, but my legs wouldn’t move. I froze, and I just...watched as he started moving towards me. Slowly at first, but faster with every step. He was right in front of me in what felt like mere seconds, and I could feel his breath on my leg. I looked down at him, and his eyes just stared back. The endless void had grown even larger. <br><br>I don’t know how I did it, but I ran. I got my legs to work, and I ran out of my apartment, out of the building. I didn’t stop until I was at my friend’s front door. I pounded on it until he opened it, and I fell into his arms, crying. I didn’t stop until he calmed me down and made me explain. And that’s what I did. I explained what had happened, what I had seen. And he promised me I didn’t have to go back. I could stay as long as I wanted. I didn’t have to feel scared any longer. <br><br>I stayed with my friend for months. I never went back to my apartment, and I never saw Mr. Whiskers again. I eventually moved to another city, and I never contacted the people I knew back in my old town. When my lease ended, they sent me an email asking when I was going to come pick up my remaining belongings. I told them they could keep it, I didn’t want it. I never wanted to see that place again. <br><br>But sometimes, in the dead of night, I can still feel his breath on my leg.