Watching Jaws with Cthulhu The Cat

Dun ta
Dun ta
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.

Stirred awake by my alarms. Cthulhu was a gentler beast. Purring for treats and gracefully tolerating unwanted and unprovoked petting by the human that lives in the in the home. This only lasted a fraction of moment, till an unheard sound (could it be ghosts?) pulled Cthulhu's attention into the kitchen. On the hunt she pounces off.

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.


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