Curiosity Killed the Cat

I did not expect to end up here.

Mr. Wilson was––rather, is––my charge. From birth, I was assigned to his case. Mr. Wilson is my past, my present, my future––he is my everything. I had only meant to follow him, to quench my curious thirst.

But I did not expect to end up here.

What had happened? How did I end up in this place, this horrible, treacherous place, soon to perished, soon to be gone from the only world I have ever known?

I had followed Mr. Wilson and his guardian––the tall woman with the sweet-smelling aroma, whose hand wrapped around Mr. Wilson’s small but gentle fingers––through the entry of our home. Dangerous, yes; I had never ventured so far before. But, I’m ashamed to admit: curiosity got the best of me. It is perhaps what will kill me.

Do not panic. The words, again. Always the words. I repeat them, over and over and over, until they are all I know.

I had followed them through a narrow but tall tunnel. Doorways lined the sides; to what worlds, I do now know. Then, they had turned left, into this… this… thing. This wretched creature. I had waited, hidden from sight, around the corner, peering at them. Mr. Wilson’s guardian turned around, and for a moment, I thought she caught a glimpse of me. I crouched deeper against the wall. She moved her hand in front of her, pressing something against the creature's mouth.

And then it... it...

It swallowed them.

I watched it. Its lips closed from either side, horizontally, like an alien from a nether world. I noted no teeth, no fangs; for that much, I am thankful. It might mean Mr. Wilson and his guardian had not suffered as they disappeared, transported into the great creature’s stomach. I had watched, paralyzed with fear, as they vanished from my life forever.

Mr. Wilson––my everything––was gone.

I know this as fact, because when the mouth opened again after only a few moments, nothing was there. Nothing at all. They were gone. Dead.

I close my eyes at the word. It is too much. Do not panic.

I had run inside the creature. It was a difficult choice, to be sure––everything told me to turn around, to leave and never return to this miserable entity. But I had not given up hope on Mr. Wilson and his guardian.

Until now.

Now, I fear I may not only never see them again, but that death is near. Because as I stepped into the creature’s mouth, its lips, again, slid shut. And there was a sound. And utter, complete darkness. I know now that it was its stomach, moving, hungry for my flesh. I felt myself lowering, deeper, deeper into its clutches…

Then, there was a wretched scream. I believe it to belong to my beloved Mr. Wilson, signifying his––do I dare say it?––end. And the movement stopped. The scream stopped. And now I am here, unmoving, soon to be another meal for this creature.

It’s mouth is... rather odd, I must say. It is not like anything I have ever encountered before. Though, that is perhaps because I have never seen the mouth of such a being. A bird's mouth... a rat's mouth... those are all familiar to me. But this mouth is strange. It is smooth, like the sill of the window I enjoy so much at home.

Mr. Wilson’s home. My home. Oh, how I long to be there now, to feel Mr. Wilson’s jubilant touch…

Focus. I must focus. Back to... yes, the mouth. It is mysterious. Cold. I shiver, the long hairs rising along my spine, which curves upward as the chill settles into my bones. I have never known a mouth to be so utterly cold.

It is smooth and cold and––and, yes, hard. My digits rattle against it disturbingly. It is unlike the soft floor at home, unlike the warmth of the windowsill splattered with the light from the bright orange orb in the sky. The sun, they call it. There is no sun here. There is only darkness.

I peer above me. The roof of the mouth is tall, but, like I noted, tooth-less. I see no signs of a throat, but perhaps it is small; perhaps it invisible to its prey. Perhaps it is trying to trick me, to allow me a brief sense of security and safety right before it rips my head from my body––

Do not panic. The words are difficult to internalize, but I repeat them again all the same.

The walls of the mouth are like the roof. Cold, hard. They are dark. Everything is dark. A moldy grey-green color. It is undoubtedly the mouth of a sickened creature. And no wonder; it has taken Mr. Wilson and his guardian, the best souls in this entire world, the best souls in this universe. I cannot even imagine all the other lives it has stolen.

I freeze.

It must have stolen many, many lives.

I look down at my digits. At my weapons.

If this creature has stolen many lives, then...

Why, yes. It is clear to me now.

I must avenge them. It is my duty. Somehow, someway.

For Mr. Wilson.

I take a deep breath. Slowly, ever so slowly, I elongate my weapons. I am deadly silent as they appear. I cannot afford to disturb the creature now.

And then, I attack.

The sides of the mouth peel away as I lunge, ripping flesh and bone and anything I can get my claws on. I see its flesh flying everywhere as I whirl about, screaming and crying, Mr. Wilson’s face flashing across my eyes, his gentle touch, his happy smile…

I stop, panting. I am still.

My work is done.

It is only a matter of time now. I close my eyes, and await my fate.

The sound again. Yes, I expected that. It is the grumbling of not only an empty stomach, but an angry one. I had not destroyed it, but, again, I expected as much. At least I had hurt it and brought it pain; hopefully, immense agony. Hopefully, it will be far more hesitant to kill again.

The creature stops. I wait for the blackness to envelop me in its welcomed arms, finally at peace––

I jump. The lips of the creature open, and suddenly, there is light everywhere. I gasp, dazed. Has this creature decided to relinquish me after all?

“Freddie Meowcury?”

I blink at the sound of a familiar voice. There, standing before me as a perfect angel, is Mr. Wilson. He is grinning as he clasps his guardian’s hand, pointing his other finger at me, bouncing upon his little toes.

His guardian, to my surprise, does not look nearly so surprised. Her eyes flash with... is that anger? I stare at her in shock. Is she not overjoyed to see me, as I am overjoyed to see that she and Mr. Wilson are, indeed, alive?

“Freddie Meowcury, what in the hell did you do to this poor elevator?”