"The Cat Distribution System" by Winona Morris

The Cat Distribution System

by Winona Morris

The first cat followed Miranda home on a Tuesday.

She was juggling her purse, some books, and her keys, when something small and furry pushed between her ankles. She dropped everything, and found herself face to face with a gray tabby when she bent to pick everything up.

“Shoo, cat,” she said.

The cat just blinked at her, slowly.

Frowning, she let herself in, but not before nudging the grey cat back several times as it tried to squeeze in past her.

She wasn’t a cat person. Her life was quiet and precise. She went to work and came home. She had some tea, read her book and went to sleep. She didn’t want to be responsible for anything that shed.

That night she thought she heard something moving around in the walls of her house. She thought the cat might have found its way into the vent system, but when she looked out the window it was still on her porch.

She felt foolish for the prickle of unease its presence sent through her. 

The next day, two cats followed her home.

One was a rough looking black cat, with scarred ears and missing fur. The other, an orange cat so fat he looked like he could barely walk, was clearly someone's housepet. 

Now she had three cats on her porch. They sat in a loose semicircle as she let herself in. When she flicked on the porch light, 3 sets of eyes reflected up at the window, watching her. 

At least they didn’t try to get in this time.

That night as she lay in bed she heard more sounds coming from inside the walls. Persistent scratching, like something was trying to dig out. She got out of bed and checked on the cats. 

Four sets of eyes started back.

Must be mice then, she thought. I’ll have to call an exterminator.

Throughout the week the cats multiplied.

Every time Miranda left the house, more of them followed her back. It didn’t matter if she walked faster, or if she tried to chase them away with the broom when she got home. They stayed behind her, and easily dodged her halfhearted swipes.

They were trying to get in now, too. Every time her door opened she had to fight back a mass of feline bodies trying to push in. They didn’t hiss, meow, bite, or scratch, but they were very persistent about it. 

As afternoon turned to evening turned to dusk, she could hear them thumping their small bodies against the door, or scratching at the sill.

It was all made worse by the thing that was living in her walls. It sounded too large to be mice, or even rats. Whatever it was, she could hear it clawing at the walls all hours of the night. Once, when she was in the shower, she was sure it was right behind the tile where she stood. When she turned the water off and pressed her ear against the tile she swore she heard something breathing on the other side.

When she finally got the exterminator out, they told her there was nothing there. When she called the landlord, she was told that old houses just make noises and nothing could be done about it.

Both of them suggested she do something about the cats.

Miranda wasn't sleeping anymore. She started skipping work.

The cats no longer sat a silent vigil. They meowed as they scratched at the door, leaving long gouges in the wood. Some took turns throwing themselves against the door. The sound of it was driving her insane.

So was the thing in her walls. Something heavy was moving back and forth, scraping its way along the pathways it had worn in the building's crawlspaces. Plaster chipped away in the places it liked to claw at the most. And every night she heard it breathing, inches from her head, as it worked to get out of the wall and into her bedroom.

It was storming the night it ended, thunder and hail adding to the ruckus of cats and whatever else was in her house. She sat on her sofa, a pillow pressed over each ear, when the power went out.

There was a brief moment when all was silent.

Then there was a loud crack, and the wallpaper across from her bulged out. The thing that was living in her walls birthed itself in a cascade of plaster and dust.

It had a long, fat body, like a snake. But it had four legs, and feet that were tipped with claws that had been blunted by its unceasing scratching, but were still sharp enough. Drool dripped from the corners of its mouth, where teeth poked out, like a crocodile's. It flicked its tongue out, tasting the air, and immediately turned its head towards Miranda. 

Then there was the sound of exploding glass. The cats came in a wave, all hissing and yowling, claws exposed and fur bristling.

They leaped on the lizard's back, dug their claws into its leathery hide, sunk their teeth into its body until they found the soft places.

The mass of cats never stopped moving, as if they had done this before. As if this was what they were made to do.

Miranda realized they had never been after her. Probably they smelled this thing on her as she walked, and thought they had better come do something about it.

The cats didn’t stop until nothing was left but blood stains, broken furniture, and the hole in her wall. 

And cats. 

Some left, but there were still so many. They filled her porch. Her yard. Her life.

Miranda never dreamt of getting rid of them.

She repaired the walls, scrubbed up the blood, and bought cat food in bulk.

Because whatever that was in her walls might not have been unique, but If anything else tried to move in her walls, she wouldn't be alone.