Overshadowed

An unwelcome hand scrapes down my back, waking me from my nap. I feel fur stand up rigid along my spine. My already glowering eyes open a little, and I roll on to my side and give my legs a little stretch. My smoky black paws creep out in front of me like the casting of a shadow; I lick them proudly.

My human coos stupidly, and reaches down to rub my belly. I don't want to be touched there. My claws instinctively shoot out, swatting her arm away.

“Owowow,” she whines, pulling back. She shoves me off of the chair angrily.

I glare and run into the bedroom, into the shadows. I am fast. I am a shadow.

Underneath my human's bed I melt into the dark. There isn't a warm spot like in the kitchen, but I am alone. My breathing calms. She wont find me here.

I hear my human in the kitchen, stomping around, clanking pots and pans and singing off-tune. Imagine being so blatantly loud. My furry lip pulls back over my teeth.

I crawl a few steps further under the bed, and flop down on my side onto a piece of cardboard. Anything is better than lying directly on the floor.

I freeze.

I see legs. Human legs?

Not my human's legs. She is still obviously, loudly, in the kitchen.

I stretch my neck out and peer up to where the legs are coming from.

Not a human... But like a human?

The creature is the shape of a human, but pale and different. Not solid. Its long, dark hair hangs unnaturally still, despite the ceiling fan. It doesn't have a scent. It is part of the shadow behind the door, unmoving.

Slowly, its white face turns toward me. Its mouth stretches up into a wide smile. It stares.

I stare back.

Footsteps echo down the hall, and the door is pushed open wide, partially obscuring our uninvited guest.

“Kitty, kitty,” my human calls in a high pitch, shaking a bowl of dry kibble.

I'm not hungry. I watch the shadow behind the door.

My human drops to her hands and knees.

“What are you staring at, you weird cat?” She says. Her hand scoops around me and drags my unwilling body from under the bed. I squirm out of her grasp and bolt out of the room.

My human follows, and sets the bowl in front of me, stroking me softly on top of my head. It feels apologetic; I allow it.

I eat a couple of bites of kibble, and watch my human sink into the couch with a large bowl of potato chips. She stares at the TV and crunches handful after handful into her mouth.

I clean up my face with the back of my paw, then hop up on the couch, just out of arms reach of her salty fingers. She tries to touch me but can't reach, and gives up.

I feel my back twitch, and look over my shoulder once more toward the darkness emitting from the open bedroom door. I lay my head down on my paws. My eyelids grow heavy.

#

When I wake up it is dark and my human is gone. I stretch and yawn. I feel rested and playful.

I scan the room for potential prey. A lone clementine sits unmoving and unsuspecting, teetering on the edge of the countertop. My tail begins to twitch, and my eyes open wide, excited. This is not your night, clementine.

I stalk to the table and leap silently, expertly dodging half-full coffee mugs and soggy cereal bowls. I perch at the edge of the table, wiggling my hips to check my balance. The clementine doesn't see me coming.

With a graceful pounce I land on the countertop, but slide into a box of cereal that thunks into the wall. I flail after the clementine and send it flying; it bounces on the floor and rolls.

I bolt after it, claws scratching on the kitchen tile. We shred across the living room and down the hallway toward the bedroom. Before I can stop it, the clementine rolls through the bedroom door that is resting ajar.

No clementine, not in there.

I bump the door with my head, and it opens with a slow creak. I creep inside, belly low to the floor. My eyes scan the dark room.

I forget about the clementine immediately.

Standing at the side of the bed, staring down at my sleeping human, is the creature. At the sound of the door's creak it rotates its translucent head in my direction, its dark pitted eyes grow, and that same stretched smile pulls its lips to the edges of its face.

I let out a loud yowl and arch my back.

My human stirs and groans, and throws off her blanket angrily. She storms across the room to me, oblivious to the horror at her bedside. Her furious hand closes around my scruff, and with a painful toss I am thrown out of the bedroom like a common pest. She kicks the door and it slams; I feel her feet stomping back across the floor to her bed.

Then quiet.

I am not typically one to care. When you spend your entire life without boundaries, without privacy or the ability to make your own choices, it can be natural to crave solitude. I don't love my human. I don't even necessarily like her. She is loud, controlling, and sometimes downright aggravating. But still I feel uneasy.

I spend the entire night waiting at the door.

#

Soft sunlight stretches slowly across the tile behind me.

I glance up at the still-closed door. My ears prick forward but don't pick up any sound behind it.

Where is she?

My paws pad silently into the kitchen to check if I have been fed. The same kibbles from last night lie stale in the dish. No thank you.

Annoyed, I make my way back to my hallway spot, and stop.

The bedroom door is open.

Relief floods me. I rub against the door frame and meow. I jump up on the bed to rouse my human, but she is not there. The wrinkled depression in the sheets is cold.

I meow loudly, and zip back through the doorway into the bathroom. Empty.

I meow urgently in the kitchen.

I meow, panicked, by the front door. I am abandoned.

Panting, I slink along the wall and around the corner, back to my safe space in the shadows.

I slip under the bed, and startle when I am not alone.

My human, lying on her chest, stares into me. Her eyes are dark and hollow. Her face is colorless. Her lips pull tight and she smiles.

My hackles raise. I eye her hands, but they don't reach for me.

Slowly, I inch closer until we are touching. She lies still.

She doesn't grab at me, she doesn't coo at me. She is just here.

I purr.

Are you a shadow now, too?