Cat-entity

I live alone; my parents recently moved out of town and told me I'm a big girl, ready to live on my own.

They told me to clean, air out the room once a day, don't forget to water the flowers, and all that jazz. Yeah, yeah, bye-bye! That's it, we're off. I immediately turned up the music, bounced around the apartment, and was happy, basically.

I started making plans; there's plenty of space now. We moved into this apartment about ten years ago. It's a normal apartment: three rooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a hallway, and a balcony. But it's great, being alone, and without the thought that my parents might come back any minute!

Evening quickly arrived, and it was already night. I showered, chatted with a friend on the phone, laughed, then turned off everything and collapsed on my parents' big bed. Mine is narrow, but I've always loved theirs—they have plenty of room to spread out.

 I was just starting to fall asleep, barely registering the surroundings. The cars outside were making a barely audible noise, the neighbors were watching TV. Otherwise, it was quiet.

I'm lying there, almost asleep. Then I feel someone jump on the bed, walk across the blanket, and step on my shin with little paws. I'm sleepy, too lazy to open my eyes. I think it's probably Pusha. He tossed and turned, laying down, heavy and warm on my legs, vibrating slightly from his purring. I fell asleep.

I wake up in the morning. It's nice and light outside, a day off. It's 11:20. I try to get out of bed, and suddenly my leg cramps up! I almost cried. Then it tingled and seemed to go away. I remember what I did yesterday that caused this cramp today. And these goosebumps run down my spine when I remember the cat lying at my feet. We don't have a cat anymore.

Pusha died a year ago. 

I drank some coffee, dumped half a sugar bowl in it, and my hands were shaking. Then a friend came over, we played a little on the PlayStation, and then ran off to the movies. It all seemed forgotten by the end of the day.

I came home tired, quickly sorted through my work documents, put them in a folder, and fell asleep.

I was just about to fall asleep when something jumped onto the bed again. My consciousness was in fits and starts, but I still wanted to wake up. It crawled up the covers and lay on my stomach. And it was still "purring." I started to sway and fell asleep.

In the morning, I threw up.

After that, I moved out of my parents' room and back into my own. And in the evening, after work, I went to church and got some holy water. I sprinkled every corner of the house and said a prayer. Just in case, I also burned some juniper and lavender and sealed the threshold of my room with it.

That night, it came again. I don't remember it, but that morning I had an asthma attack; I hadn't had one since I was fifteen. I don't know how it got past the door. I barely made it to work.

I asked a friend if I could stay the night. She said my neighbors were renovating, and the smell of solvents and paint was unbearable! She let me in.

I woke up to a terrible scream. My friend was screaming so loudly, beating her hands on the blanket, and she couldn't wake up. I shook her and slapped her cheeks. Finally, she opened her eyes, looked at me with horror, and cried. We sat up all night hugging, drinking tea and watching cheap TV shows. It turns out I'd had a nightmare about someone strangling her.

I returned home just as the subway started working.

I waited in dread until nightfall, scoured Google, stuffed garlic everywhere, hid candy and cookies in corners. I turned on the light. Next to me lay a flashlight and pepper spray. And a carving knife.

By three o'clock, despite everything, I began to fall asleep. I crawled under the covers, tucked them in like I used to when I was a kid, to be in a "house," and put a pillow behind my back. My eyes closed. And so I fell asleep.

I woke up to someone pulling me out of bed, smoothly and forcefully. Along with the blanket. At first, I didn't understand what was happening, and then my throat tightened with terror, and I couldn't even scream. I gripped the headboard tightly. My feet were already touching the floor. Something hot and soft was wrapped around my ankles. What use was a can of pepper spray and a knife? My legs were kicking, my shirt was bunched up, my throat was constricted, my fingers slipped, and I was jerked backwards! And straight to the floor. I rolled over, braced myself on my elbows, and looked around, but I couldn't see anything, it was dark, there was nothing around my feet. The blanket had slid almost to the floor, covering what was under the bed. I sat there, staring at the blanket in horror, my heels pressing against the foot of the bed. And then someone breathed in my ear.

I ran out into the street in what I was wearing. It was good – it was summer. I ran barefoot, further away, to the playground, climbed up a slide, sat down, and tried to catch my breath.

I sat there the rest of the night until dawn.

I returned to the apartment with a sinking heart, the door wide open, but everything seemed to be in place. My room was perfectly tidy. The bed was made, no flashlight, no knife, no spray can.

I called my parents, sobbing into the phone, telling them. They paused, tried to reassure me, and offered to come over. But I was afraid to go over there; I remembered what happened to my friend.

I sat down on a chair in the kitchen, my hands resting on the countertop. I'm sitting here, listening to the clock.

Something rubbed against my legs and disappeared.