Dun ta, Dun ta, Dun ta
As I write Cthulhu is staring up at me through the crack in my sectional. Inside that little cat, brain lives something larger and more fierce. Deep between this creatures synapses is a semi-cute serial killer. I've learned to watch out when Her ears point up and she paces around my limbs like a hungry shark.
I'm getting to know Cthulhu's moods. All the various shades of REDRUM.
And, yet I still find myself surprised.
Last night I was reading before bed and this happened:
Creeping below by bed, only the elder gods know the reasons, she pounced attacking at phantoms only she can see. Ferocious. Is this the spirit of a murder? Hitting no mark, and shedding no flesh. She struck again! Cleaving the only place she allows me to sleep. Scared for my skin I curled into a corner, pulled the blanket over my head, and waited out the night.
Where did this ego split come from? What manner of ritual has summoned such demons to occupy the same host of an otherwise normal kitten. I ponder this is the briefest of peaceful moments. The Cthulhu naps on the end of the couch I dare not trespass.