Through an open window

Be careful leaving the window open all night. Something far from friendly could enter your home through it—I've personally found that out.

First, I don't suffer from any mental disorders, I don't dabble in alcohol or drugs, and I generally try to lead a healthy lifestyle. So blaming it all on drunken delirium won't work.

That fateful evening, the house was incredibly hot. Sweat was pouring off me in streams, and the fan, as luck would have it, had broken three days ago—it probably couldn't handle being on all day. I had to get up for work in the morning, but how could I sleep in this steamy place? There was only one solution: open the window and try to drift off into oblivion, even for a few hours.

After taking a shower and settling into my bed, I fell asleep surprisingly quickly. But my sleep was restless; I tossed and turned in bed like an eel, and eventually came into contact with the cold floor, covered in age-faded parquet.

"Damn!" My head was pounding, my ears were ringing. "How long..."

I stared in shock at my T-shirt, which was smeared with something. Looking closer, I made a rather unpleasant discovery: I was covered in... blood, BLOOD, damn it! Still in a state of shock, I examined every part of my body. Everything was fine, no injuries...

I began darting from room to room, searching every corner. Who was I looking for, you ask? My favorite cat—my three-year-old cat, Radish. And, unfortunately, I found it—or rather, what was left of it: a muzzle staring at me with empty eye sockets, and a small ball of fur...

I vomited—first in the hallway, then in the bathroom. Everything that had happened boggled my mind. What could have done such a thing to my cat?! Have you ever seen a Maine Coon? Maine Coons are beautiful, large cats, very hardy, with well-developed muscles. These animals are quite massive, with adults weighing up to 18 kilograms. You must admit, it takes immense strength to harm such an animal, and my Reddish had an arrogant personality and only allowed me near him.

A guttural growl in my apartment distracted me from my sad thoughts. Animal fear gripped my body. Literally a second later, I was sliding down the closed bathroom door.

Blow, another blow. Something was persistently hammering at my hiding place. Another blow. It seemed the wood would soon give way, and then I would suffer a fate no worse than my cat.

In a state bordering on hysteria, I rocked back and forth and muttered some kind of prayer. God, all I wanted was for this creature to go away, and for everything to turn into a dream. A nightmare. Oh, how I wanted that! Meanwhile, outside the door, there was loud chomping, periodically squealing and noisily sniffing...

For a long time, I hesitated to go outside. And when I finally did, it was already past noon.

After searching the entire apartment, I found nothing. Neither the cat nor his remains—only a drop of dried blood congealed on the window glass.