Cornelius

It's luminescent light captured its sharply contrasted shadow with the confidence of a silky silhouetted and graceful feline figure with the sharp contrast of a jagged furry tail with razorblade teeth that rose to the ceiling with the hollowness of a sleeping giant. It was almost certainly a cat, but how?

I'd woken to the sound of a piercing crash, oh god, the antique monet China that was gifted to my darling wife, Catherine by her late aunt Sylvia. She'd almost certainly kill me when she got home from Seville.

We didn't have a cat, Catherine had an allegy and I was akin to a fondness for canine's, especially German Shepherds, something that I carried with me throughout my idyllic youth in Hampton Springs where my father raised German Shepherd's to guard the poultry that fed our family.

I'd risen from my bed, still half asleep and dazed by the sudden crashing echo that canvassed the walls of my sanctuary. Stumbling ever so cautiously through the dark, I felt the felt and wool of my slippers and danced them onto my feet as I slid closer to the door. I wasn't pining for confrontation, in fact it was the exact opposite, I had longing for the sound to be something imagined yet I knew that it was unmistakably loud, even in my wildest dreams had I conjured up something so pragmatic. I was merely a timid, office boy who crunched numbers all day, my day consisted of scrambled eggs on bacon, and a European americano with hint of stevia because I was still trying to wean myself off my adolescent teen addiction. I was making progress I could say.

The journey downstairs carried with it a high degree of uncertainty and I had a comical sense of timing, somewhere between robotic and an animated snails pace.

There it was, unmistakable, shards of white china porcelain scattered across the woolen carpet with fragments now embedded in its thick and soft tussels. I was not only angered but grieving in equal measure. But where was the source of the noise?

And there I saw it, convinced the light had been turned off under the hood, could I have left it on overnight? I pressed for a memory but it was not there. Instinctively I wanted to switch it off, but I was also aware of the consequences of doing so.

We were not rich people, apart from several inherited heirlooms, most of our stuff was modern and bore no value to anyone but ourselves. We lived in a modest residential neighborhood and so crime was at a minimum. Why would it be any different tonight? But it maybe it was, maybe my naiveity was about to cost me my life or at best a reality. Then I saw it, a black silhouette, undeniably shaped as though it were a feline. How did a cat enter our house? Had I not closed all the windows last night, it was late Fall and the trees mimicked the way we all felt - cold and depressed for the impending arrival of winter.

It was a split second decision, but one I was confident with minimal risk, entering the kitchen on the bench,there it was - a black cat, unperturbed by my presence, engrossed by the revelation of an object in the sink which it was fishing with its protracted and serrated claws. Each swipe as accurate as its foregoing, edging closer I whispered with cautious monotonic tone, "Hey pussy, what are you doing here?". It appeared unaware I existed, perhaps it was stubborn, typical of the felines I knew in the neighborhood.

"Can I take you outside, buddy? Are you friendly?", I requested as though I was seeking reassurance for my timid actions.

Then, as though suddenly it had awoken from a mid afternoon slumber it leaped off the bench over my shoulder as though it was a circus act in progress, canvasing the exit, crossed into the living space. Running after it, my own slumber had been replaced by an invigorated energy. The cat spread its legs into the open air as it sprung between two lazee boy recliners with minimal movement between the pieces of furniture. The energetic feline spun around seeking an exit, canvasing every crevasse it could find, to no avail. Sensing an opportunity to escape it gallavanted up the stairwell in search of a hiding spot. Racing after it, I knew I would be at a loss to find it should it enter one of the spare rooms I'd left open, because who knew we'd have an uninvited guest.

At the top of the stairs, silence replaced astonishment. Yet again, the house fell deathly still, not a whisper, not even from the bitter arctic winds that were residual of the storm two nights ago. I stood silently, so as to catch a pant or some other telltale sign. Nothing.

Growing distrustful that the feline had found its exit as it had entered, I proceeded towards the only open bedroom in the upstairs suite. Darkened by the withdrawn curtains. I couldn't say for sure, but something, a gut instinct or intuitive notion caught my eye in the closet.

I'd forgotten to close it after I'd searched for some old leather shoes, I didn't think I needed to but nonetheless here we were staring into the abyss of a dark closed space with wonderment superficially present on my brain. It seemed to be the most logical space, cautiously holding my breath, motioning forward, and hoping my curiosity would pay off: I switched the light on, empty. Was it under the bed? Empty, perhaps it had escaped from where it came. There were only two possible places, this room and a guest bathroom that would be the culprits yet I also wondered if wasn't hiding some place else. The bedroom window was closed as was the bathroom, so I was wrong in my opinion of the situation. Where could it have gone? Uninvited and cleverly inconspicious.

There were few places that a cat could hide, least something the size of a medium sized rodent. I canvased every room, every available window, yet everything was closed. Silence now reverbarated around the house replacing the crystalline crash of the porcelain onto the floor.

It become apparent that I would need to lock every room in the house, deal with the situation in the morning, not before cleaning up the mess that still mocked me from the living room so I cleaned it up, vacuumed up the crumbs of debris that it interwoven themselves in the tassels of the carpet, emptied the contents in the bin. Then I heard a sound once more, a slight droning purr coming from the kitchen. I must've been dreaming, but it could have passed by unannounced as I canvased each room in search of a probable hiding spot. I switched the light on in the kitchen. It was there, that same black cat who'd woken me from my moonlight slumber and gentle dreams. It was alive, unperturbed by my presence. This time it would not escape, closing the gap between me and its likely escape into the living room and beyond. I approached, without a whisper, eyes on its ignorance. But as I moved into swipe it, it ran but not behind me, it ran through the wall.