Schnuppi

“You think little Schnuppi is trying to kill you?” Jorge and I were lying in bed in my apartment in Berlin. It was late, and I had just confessed, only partially in jest, my growing concern that my roommate’s cat was plotting my demise.

“You’re laughing, but I’m serious. He follows me around the apartment, stalking me,” I said, becoming annoyed. I knew he wouldn’t get it. Jorge, ever the animal lover and advocate, could not tolerate any ill talk of–in his mind–an innocent creature. I envied him somewhat in that way, his capacity for seeing the best in everyone and everything, but at that moment, I just wanted him to agree that the cat could be trying to kill me. 

“He’s not trying to kill you!” Jorge said, still laughing. “He’s just curious about you.”

“I dunno. I think it’s something else. There’s something strange about him,” I said, studying Jorge, waiting for him to say the right thing.   

“Aw, mi amor, you’re so scared!” This was not the right thing. “All cats are like that. They’re weird.” I rolled away from him in a huff. He snickered and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me in closer to him. I didn’t feel like talking any more, caught up in my fear and exasperation, and hoped he would catch the hint with my sudden silence.

After a minute or two I heard his breathing slow and deepen until finally it turned into snores. I slipped out of his hold, gently removing his arm from around my waist, and sat up in the bed. I stared at him sleeping peacefully next to me, so oblivious. How I resented him for his inability to share in my anxiety. But who would have taken me seriously? What rational person utters the words I think the cat is going to murder me? The problem was that in talking about it, it had become more real to me. What had started as a joke on my part was now very serious. In fact, now having put it out into the universe, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad was about to happen. 

#

The next morning, really only a few hours after we had fallen asleep, Jorge left in a rush to get home. Despite my exhaustion from turning in so late and a fitful sleep, I was wide awake after he left, acutely aware of being alone in the apartment with Schnuppi. My roommate had gone out the night before and, in typical Berlin fashion, likely wouldn’t appear for another few hours still. I had another roommate who I never saw, even if he was home, and I didn’t consider him in counting my defenses against Schnuppi. I decided to shower and head out early for my class that started later that morning. 

I opened my bedroom door carefully and peeked my head out to look around for Schnuppi, acknowledging with shame that he would likely spot me before I spotted him. I eyed the bathroom, which sat on the opposite side of the apartment from my room. There was no straight shot. I would have to maneuver through the obstacle course that was the living room: a crowd of couches, chairs, tables, and other random objects strewn about.

Not seeing any signs of the orange beast, I took a lunging step out of my room and started to make a beeline for the bathroom. I made it only about five steps, when, in my haste, and a bit dizzy from a lack of sleep, I stubbed my toe against one of the legs of the (stupid fucking) coffee table that sat dumbly in front of the (goddamn) couch and I stumbled forward (Who the fuck puts a couch in the middle of a room??) into the bookshelf that sat against the wall a few steps from the bathroom. I quickly recovered, rubbing my big toe as I hobbled on one foot the rest of the way into the bathroom, failing to notice in my stupor of maddening pain the four-footed creature blending in with the large terracotta pot that stood atop the bookshelf. I slammed the bathroom door, quickly locking it behind me and checking for lurking felines behind the shower curtain. Finding none, I relaxed at having made it to the bathroom (mostly) unscathed. 

Throughout my shower, I was mentally preparing myself for the return trip, growing increasingly nervous that I had locked myself in a room near Schnuppi’s quarters (my roommate’s room next to the bathroom). Twenty minutes later, showered and as mentally ready as I could be, I opened the bathroom door and took another look for the cat, my eyes first going to the left and lingering on the door to my roommate’s room, which I saw now was cracked open. I wondered if it had been like that before I had gone into the bathroom, my stomach sinking at the thought that I should have noticed that, scolding myself for stubbing my toe and leaving me unawares. Still looking to the left into the dark recess of my roommate's room, I took two tentative steps to the right into the living room. Feeling semi-confident he was not going to leap out at me from my roommate’s room, and half-expecting to find him hanging from the ceiling of the living room like Spiderman or Tom Cruise from Mission Impossible, I braved the turn with one eye closed, releasing a quivering sigh of relief when I realized there was nothing there. 

I made it a few more steps to the coffee table when I heard something fall behind me. I whirled around, my eyes closed tight and my arms held out straight, braced for impact. I waited a minute like that, a frozen linebacker, until I felt sure no tiny body would be hurling against me. I opened my eyes and found a book on the floor in front of me, splayed like a hapless murder victim. I traced its likely path of descent back up to the bookshelf and until I finally saw the orange curl, like an upside down question mark, drooping down off the top of the bookshelf.

Dramatically, unable to help myself, I gasped. Jesus Christ! 

Schnuppi didn't move, he only stared with big expectant eyes. Not wasting any time, I took a few timid steps backwards before swinging around again like the inexperienced prey I was, inexplicably turning my back to my hunter. I made it a couple more steps, nearly to my room, when I heard another thud and felt something move behind me. I twisted around to find Schnuppi on the floor next to the bookshelf, still some feet away, his front right paw frozen in motion, ears pricked forward, and pupils narrowed in focus. Stupidly, I whispered Hi, kitty, knowing full well that he does not speak English, and he twitched his nose in response. 

I knew that the safest way back to my room at that point was to side-step it the last few feet. As I did, he kept his paw hanging in the air, taunting me, letting me know he could put it down at any moment, and that that moment could be my last. After a few steps, I could feel the threshold to my room with my sore toe, and I nearly cried out with joy. I took the last steps inside my room and stood for a moment in the doorway, Schnuppi and I held together by a gaze. Then, as if in slow motion, as if guided by an invisible hand, the door closed, breaking the spell between us. 

Immediately, I started to get dressed and gather my things for school. While packing my things, I noticed that Jorge had dropped his bank card, likely having fallen out of his wallet at some point. But I didn’t have time to think what to do with it, so I left it on my nightstand. He would just have to come get it later. 

Once fully outfitted, I went to the door. I was a soldier being called out of the barracks: donning my coat, bag, and hat, dressing for battle, strapping myself in for the last ride to the front lines. I grabbed the doorknob and took a deep breath, and, in a moment of bravery fueled purely by adrenaline, I ripped open the door and started running, my arm covering my face to protect it from the potential onslaught of paws and claws, shouting Go! Go! Go! as I ran down the hall to the front door and out down the five flights of stairs, my footsteps echoing like a thousand retreating troops through the stairwell. 

#

The rest of the morning was a blur of exhaustion and rumination. After running from my apartment building, I caught the Ubahn to school. Three stops later, I emerged from the Ubahn station and headed towards school and made my way to the cafeteria. It was still early, barely seven o’clock, and the large room was empty. I sat down and texted Jorge. 

You left your bankcard at my place

Scheisse! 

You can come get it later if you want. 

Ok, will see if I have time. 

Also, I told you he was crazy. He chased me out of the apartment this morning

Who??

The cat!

Hahaha what?? 

He’s going to do something. I can feel it 

Ay, mi amor. He’s just a little cat. Schnuppi no te va a hacer nada! 

You don’t know that

Jorge didn’t respond after that, and I assumed that he was either busy or, more likely, had grown tired of my antics and decided to never speak to me again. 

Alone and with no one to distract me, I replayed the morning’s events, overanalyzing my every move like a sad high school football coach watching game tapes on a Saturday morning. What if I had taken a different path? Or gone to the bathroom a minute earlier or later? And how had I not seen him? I waded through a sea of intrusive thoughts about what could have happened: Schnuppi pouncing on me, biting off my nose, ripping my eyes out, me running screaming out of the apartment into the stairwell, falling to my death down several flights of stairs with a feral cat clinging to my head. 

Not usually one to participate much in class, I was even more useless today. I oscillated between dissociation and begrudged engagement. How could they be debating German immigration policy at a time like this? I might be dying tonight. I had half a mind to raise my hand and ask why we don’t just let everyone in, no questions asked? And walk out on the eruption of opinions behind me. 

After another couple hours of pontificating by unconcerned classmates, I grabbed a sandwich at the cafeteria and found a bench at the square at Gendarmenmarkt a few blocks over. I was exhausted and desperately needed a nap. Normally I would have gone home after my classes, but I wasn’t ready to face Schnuppi again. I needed more time to prepare. But how or what I would prepare, I still had no idea. 

It was late October, but the weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun was lulling me to sleep. I decided to lay down on the bench and rest for a minute before I figured out what to do. I tucked my hands under my head and instantly fell into a wearied, dreamless sleep. 

After what felt like only a minute, but turned out to be nearly two hours later, I awoke to a tapping on my foot. The bright sun made opening my eyes difficult, and I struggled to pull myself up, my back riddled with aches from the hard bench. Once I finally managed to get myself upright and pry my eyes open, I found, through the blaze of sun, what I thought could only be a figment of my sick imagination: Schnuppi. There, inches away, perched on the armrest, nonchalantly licking his paw. I rubbed more sleep from my eyes. There was no question in mind that I was seeing him. His orange fur, those strange eyes, that general air about him of what will you do now, idiot. But was he really there, this, my truest nightmare realized, my source of dread and panic, my reason for madness?

I ripped my feet away, my breath hitching as I stood up, staring at the creature in horror. I looked around, wondering where he had come from, who had placed him there, what he wanted from me. Was willst du eigentlich, du Scheiss Katze! With lazy eyes, he turned to look at me then, unperturbed by my outburst. 

I didn’t wait for him to do anything else. I turned and ran. I ran the two kilometers home to my apartment. I honestly don’t know why I ran. It felt freer, faster. And what if Schnuppi could ride trains now? How else would he have made it all the way to Gendarmenmarkt? 

I had to see for myself. If it wasn’t him here now then he would be at home waiting for me, and I would face him. I had no other choice. If it was him, then what had he left behind in his wake?

It took me twenty minutes to make it to my building. When I ran into the stairwell, I noticed dull red spots on the floor, leading all the way back up the stairs. When I looked closer, it was as I feared: bloody paw prints. 

I looked up the stairwell, sick at the thought of what awaited me at the top. I texted Jorge again. 

I saw him. He escaped. He’s after me wtf wtf

With another surge of adrenaline, my body propelled me up the stairs, ignoring the blood that Schnuppi had painted everywhere on his way down. I wondered where the neighbors were, why there wasn’t some kind of commotion.

My legs burning, my lungs heaving, I made it to my apartment door, which stood slightly, terrifyingly, ajar. I took another deep breath and pushed in. But the door didn’t move, instead slamming against something heavy. I squatted down to get a better look at what was blocking the door. Forgetting myself and what could be on the other side, I reached a hand in to feel behind the door. I quickly found the rubber sole of a shoe, still on a person's foot, which, thankfully, still seemed like it was attached to a body. I turned around and put my back against the door, using my legs to boost open the door with the full weight of my body. After a moment of straining, the door budged, slowly gaining momentum, a swishing sound coming from the body as it was pushed across the floor. 

I toppled over as the body was finally out of the range of the door and it was wide enough for me to fit through. I put my hands down on the floor and nearly vomited as my hands sunk into a warm stickiness. I crawled forward towards the body. It was dark in the hallway in the waning afternoon light, and I hadn’t noticed his shoes or his clothes, that green jacket of his that he always wears, his tousled black hair, a bit too long, now fanning out around his head. 

It was Jorge. How was it Jorge? How could it be him? I cupped my hands in his face, or what was left of it. His nose and eyes scratched nearly beyond recognition. There was so much blood, but I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. 

“Jorge, oh mein Gott. Jorge.”

No response. I put my ear down to his nose and heard a shallow, ragged breathing. 

“Jorge, can you hear me? It’s me. I’m so sorry. Jorge, please, please, wake up, wake up.”

A soft groaning escaped his lips. 

“Schnup–”

“I know. I know.”

“Waiting,” he managed. Then a gurgling sound. “Attacked.”

“I’m so sorry, Jorge. It should have been me. It should have been me.”

“Came.” Gurgle. “Back.” Gurgle. “Roommate.” Gurgle. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok. Shh, Jorge. Todo va a estar bien.”

Of course I didn’t know if anything would ever be ok again. How could it? Schnuppi had made his message clear. The apartment, the city, Jorge. They were all his. I was not welcome. And as long as he was out there, then I would never be safe.