Short Story: The Cat

June 6, aka, Day 1

This seems like a good day to start to write a diary, I mean, I have never done it before, so... have to try it at least once in my life, you know? Well, not really you, since I this is a diary and no one is supposed to read it. Doesn't matter. I kinda always thought that people who write diaries are begging to have them read.

What made me decide to write this? The cat.

Not just any cat, but The Cat. Or Blackie. (I have never claimed to be good at naming things.)

Anyway, why would a cat from all that is fluffy, pink, and holy I would start to write a diary because of a cat? Well, mostly because the diary would have only the events of one day. My last day, to be more precise, because, and I'm not kidding here, everytime that cat starts to fallow someone, they die the next day.

Don't believe me? Ok. Let's count: 1) The Girl With The Small Red Dress (or Little Red Riding Hood, heh) - the next day after Blackie started to fallow her, she was run over by a truck, making her white dress red, 2) The Granny - she liked to watch the streets from her balcony, and one day Blackie decided to offer her some company, next day - the Granny fell off the balcony and broke her neck, 3) The Owner Of The Candy Shop - gave the cat some milk, it fallowed him around for the rest of the day, and the next day - well, he was killed during a robbery. You know what they say - twice a coincidence, thrice a pattern. Yeah, but it doesn't end with just three times.

Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Died.

And so will I. Blackie has started to fallow me, so I decided to take out my bucket list.

Mum, dad, I love you. Sis, you can take the blue dress you like so much. Oh, and, sis, delete my browser history.

To my ex-boyfriend - you are an asshole.

June 7, aka, Day 2

I'm well rested. I'm ready to rock. I'm not ready to day today. But, well, beggars can't be choosers.

Ok, I lied. I'm not well rested and I feel awful - yesterday, I decided to go out with a bang. Lots and lots of alchohol. Hell, I kinda wanted to try drugs for the first time in my life just know what it feels like... after all, health doesn't matter anymore.

Anyway, this morning I had a massive hangover. My head hurt more than I thought it was possible. It also turned out I came back home with company in form of a rather handsome bloke. Blackie actually kinda looked at me disapprovingly as I gave him some scraps of sausage. I mean, really! Cat! You are prophetising death left and right, you have no right to judge how I spend my last hours!

I want to go bungee jumping.

June 8, aka, Day 3

Woke up with another hangover. (Bungee jumping was fun.) And with the same bloke in my bed. Jerry, as it turns out. Really decent guy. I kinda like him.

...but the thing is, The Cat has been fallowing me for more thaht 24h, so... why am I still alive and nursing hangover??? This doesn't make sense!

June 9, aka, Day 4

Went on a date with Jerry. It's kinda backwards, I know, but - still.

Blackie's still fallowing with me. Waiting. Looking at me with those eyes that say - you're going to die today, your luck is running out.

June 14

So, to recap, I have done a lot of weird shit during these past few days. I mean, I have never been much of a party-animal, but I might actually start to like all this clubbing. Sure, the next morning is always kinda awful, but Jerry (Remember Jerry? The Guy from Day 1?) and I have been having a bit of fling and it's been fun. Makes me forget the messy break-up I had with my ex.

Also, drugs make you see weird things.

(And what the hell, Blackie? I was supposed to be dead a week ago! You are losing your touch!)

June 16

I think I might be eating too much lately. I'm totally starting to look kinda rounder...

June 17

Jerry and I went on a fishing trip. Blackie had a lot of fishes. It was nice. Still having fun, drinks, and lots of physical activities.

June 22

Told Jerry about Blackie's habit of fallowing around people day before they die. He laughed and said that it was stupid, just a coincidence. Seriously.

...maybe it really is? I mean, it's been two weeks... and I'm still alive.

June 24

Buiseness as usual. Back to my job, working my ass off for the time I took off - my boss certainly didn't look so pleased that I just one day called and said ''hey, I'm taking a vocation''. In my defence, I didn't expect to live trough it.

Also - I kinda have started to think that Blackie just wanted to have a little more stability in his life, that it just had the bad luck of choosing owners who are about to die. It's just silly. So, I have started to live with Blackie as a permanent part of my life - my fridge is now full of cat food.

On a side note - Jerry and I have come to a conclusion that we are an awful couple, but great drinking buddies, so we have decided to be just friends (with oft benefits, tho) instead.

July 6

Woke up during the night - Blackie was being awfully loud. Hell, did I feel awful. My stomach hurt a lot, and, and... when I looked at it... when I looked at my sheets... blood.

I wasn't getting fatter. Hell, how didn't I notice?

And by the time I realised I had lost a child, Blackie was nowhere to be seen. I wonder if this is why Blackie always looked so disappointed in me...?