The Cat and the Demon

Being a demon has its perks. For instance, the current human really needs sleep, yet it’s far too entertaining watching him spiral over that date he had six years ago. This is worth every lost hour.

The girl wasn’t even special. But the shame? Oh, exquisite.

I remind him of his awkwardness every time he starts believing things are going well. Can’t have a talented human like him gaining confidence now, can we?

“You farted in front of her and blamed an old lady.”

His mind plummets straight into the what-ifs. Beautiful.

“You’re useless. You’re socially awkward. Everyone thinks you’re a loser. And why wouldn’t they? You haven’t done anything profound your entire adult life. Peaked in high school and it’s all downhill from there.”

The best part? He believes me. Half the time I don’t even have to say anything at all; he repeats the lines for me. Poor little human.

He goes on social media, attempting distraction, but honestly, I should thank humans for creating such a wonderfully destructive tool.

“See? Look how well they have it all together.”

He swipes again. We both watch a cat video of an adorable little creature jumping at its own shadow.

“Maybe I should get a cat…” he sighs.

I remind him that cats cost money, and he barely has healthcare. He keeps scrolling anyway, slipping into a perfect doom-scroll. Yes. Swipe your life away, human. Forget your purpose. Forget that hidden talent of yours. Just remain the little worker bee you are.

Eventually sleep takes him. I smile, another day’s work complete.

The following day I make him late for work. Then, at the office, I watch as he sits silently in a meeting, too drained to speak up. For him, this is failure. For me, this is a triumph. Pleased with myself, I leave him for a bit.

That turns out to be the biggest mistake of my eternal life.

He comes home that evening later than usual. I’m about to track him down when he steps through the door holding, to my horror, a small bundle covered in white and orange fur, with sad green eyes.

A cat.

Oh no. No, no, no. Why did he get a cat? We agreed a cat is a terrible idea. You barely have food in the fridge, human, and don’t get me—

He sets the little thing down gently and goes back out the door. I follow him, fuming. He returns moments later carrying a litter box, a bag of food, tins of even more food. My jaw drops when I see the feather toy; purple, attached to a string and a stick, with a little bell.

The cat runs straight to him, rubbing against him, purring like a tiny engine.

“You stop that,” I say, but the creature ignores me completely. “We need him sad and depressed, not lovey-dovey.”

But the human is smiling. And the cat is purring. And, for the first time in ages… he doesn’t hear me at all.

Days pass and every attempt I make to sadden the human fails. He’s even taken out his old sketchbook. I should have tipped the candle onto it when I had the chance.

I lean over to see what he’s doing. The man has a talent for drawing. He could, if I allowed it, become the best animator of his generation. But where’s the fun in that?

“You can’t draw anything.”

He pauses. Yes. Good. I’m back in action, baby. No cat is going to stop me. I laugh dramatically hands reaching for the sky like a villain when his plan comes together, only to be silenced by the softest little meow.

The human looks down.

“Hey, Snapper. Want to see what I’m doing?”

The cat immediately licks his chin. My very essence boils.

This little monster… Does he have any idea how close I was to making the human take his own life?

The human scratches the cat’s ears and continues sketching. And it’s brilliant. Of course it is. I sulk next to him and watch as the pencil traces line and shading.

If I can't stop him from drawing rough imposter syndrome maybe I can steal away his time instead.

I do everything in my power to distract him. I make his coffee cold. Burn his toast. Let the bathtub overflow. But he doesn’t lose control. He simply accepts, cleans it up, and then rubs that blasted cat’s ears.

That’s it. That cat has to go.

I’ll leave the door open...no. Too easy. We’re on the fourth floor. What if I leave the window open? Maybe nudge the little furball just enough to chase a bird.

Yes. Yes. I can see it now…

When the human isn’t looking, I open the window. I call upon my demonic pets, and a single, dumb pigeon lands on the sill. Perfect.

“You see that thing?" I point at the furball on the couch, “make sure it doesn’t come back.”

The stupid bird tilts its head, first one way, then the other, in that perpetual state of confusion pigeons seem cursed with. Then, without warning, it shuffles to the edge and simply drops off.

I face-palm. “Stupid bird.”

“Snapper, come get your dinner!” the human calls, and the tiny monster springs from its lazy slumber and bolts toward the kitchen.

I take a seat in front of the human. The cat chews softly in the background, crunching kibble like it has no idea I’m plotting its demise.

“I need a better plan.”

Perhaps I can make the human hate it?

No. That was not a good plan. It only gave the human more inspiration, and worse, the confidence to ask his supervisor to look at his work. Years of self-hatred flushed down the drain because of one fluffy, cute little furball.

I’m about to give up on my quest when a miracle happens.

The cat gets sick.

So sick, in fact, that the human has to take it to the vet. Ahh, glorious. He is vulnerable, terrified, and he knows he can’t afford the treatment.

“Mr Simmons, I’m afraid because you didn’t have her vaccinated on time, she has Feline Leukaemia Virus.”

“What does that mean?”

The doctor explains, and the human listens, wide-eyed.

“Did you notice she’s been sleeping more than usual, or less active?” the vet asks.

“No, I just saw the weight loss. Other than that, she’s been her usual playful self. Is it treatable?”

“You didn’t take care of her. She’s going to die. This will cost more than she’s worth. Better to let her go,” I whisper into his mind.

But the doctor says, “It’s early stages. It’s treatable.”

What makes me smile, truly smile, is when the vet hands him the bill. I know he doesn’t have the funds unless he uses the credit card, and he can’t afford another increase on the instalment.

“If you want her to live, make the payment.”

Ah, how beautifully painful.

In the car, I reinstate every detail of how this is his fault. I whisper the cost of his bad decisions, layer the self-blame thick, paint the small cat’s imagined demise squarely on his shoulders.

And it works.

The human grows gloomier by the day. He stops playing with her. He barely looks at her now. Good. So good.

He’s so depressed I feel inspired; I give him nightmares. I sit back, eating popcorn, watching the scenes unfold in his head. Glorious.

Meow. Meow.

The cat jumps onto his chest, waking him.

“I was watching that!” I snap.

“Hey, Snapper… are you okay?” he murmurs.

The cat rubs against him, kneading biscuits into his chest. He doesn’t react at first, and I nearly leap with joy, thinking he’ll shove her off and get back to the misery I’ve curated for him.

But no.

“You scared too?” he says softly, finally stroking her head. “Yeah… me too. But we have each other, so… we can make this work, right?”

My jaw drops as I watch the wall; I worked so hard to crumble start building itself back up again, brick by stubborn brick.

Not only does the cat get better… the human’s life improves.

A pay increase.

His supervisor gives him the green light to animate his sketches.

He’s drafted to join the lead animator on a massive film project.

I have failed.

Outwitted by a cat.

I sit on the window sill, watching the city lights blur into the night. Perhaps I can find a new soul to torment. One less furry.

Something soft rubs against my leg. I look down.

It’s the cat.

“I think you should stay,” the cat says, settling herself beside me. “Keep him on his toes.”

“I knew it,” I mutter.

“Took you long enough.” She flicks her tail. “Do you like my form?”

“Better than wings.”

"Better than horns."

We sit together on the sill, watching the city breathe below us. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The lights shimmer like distant embers; cars hum like tired ghosts.

My hand moves on its own. I reach for her, scratching the angelic creature behind her ears.

She purrs; soft, pleased, absolutely insufferable.

And for the first time in my eternal, miserable existence… I let her.