The Cat Who Saw The World End

The red threads had ensnared my paws, winding themselves tightly around my legs as I struggled to free myself. I tugged at the strings, but every pull only bound me further in the web of my own making. Sam sat across from me on the carpet rug, lost in a fit of hysterical laughter, his face red, hands gripping his sides as though he might split apart from the intensity of it.

Meanwhile, Anne remained on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, absorbed in the pages of some old thick book. Her eyes flicked up from the text, a frown forming as she glanced over at Sam. She said nothing, though her silence spoke of a quiet disapproval rather than outright reproach.

Sam had been digging through his mother’s cabinet drawer, an act that seemed harmless enough. Joe, always the voice of caution, had warned him—”don’t do it, Sam, you know that Mom will get upset”—but the youngest Kelping child, for all his good nature, carried within him that stubborn streak, the same impulse that drives most children to test the boundaries of their world, even if punishment was just on the horizon.

Somewhere deep in the drawer, Sam unearthed a ball of red yarn, round and tightly wound. Without a second thought, he tossed it casually to the floor, where it rolled and spun in a series of lazy circles before coming to rest directly in front of me.

At first, I didn’t know what to make of it. The yarn—it seemed innocuous, but my brain played with possibilities. Could it be alive? Or worse—could it be watching me? I raised my paw cautiously, my instincts firing off signals of both curiosity and caution. My claws extended and lightly tapped the soft, fibrous surface of the ball.

I swatted at it again, trying to provoke a response, a reaction—anything. I half-expected it to scuttle away like some strange creature of the deep. But the thing just wobbled there and rolled a little farther, taunting me with its stillness. Then, in an instant, I found myself locked in a struggle with the thing. The yarn, innocent at first glance, had somehow come alive—or perhaps, I thought, it was always alive, and I had only now become aware of its intent. Its red strings unraveled and wrapped themselves around my paws, my legs. I pulled, I twisted, but the more I fought, the tighter it clung to me. Who was really in control here? Was I wrestling with the yarn—or was it wrestling with me?

***

“For God’s sake, Page! Snap out of it!”

Lee's yelp jolted me from the fog of distant memories, thrusting me back into our present ordeal. The red threads were alive, bent on choking the very breath from our lungs. We were helpless, their hold tightening with each passing moment.

Lee clenched his jaw, thrashing his head side to side in a frantic attempt to keep the threads at bay as they probed, seeking a way in. His eyes, wide with terror, darted wildly, searching for any means of escape.

My teeth clenched as the red threads also sought entry, slithering around my face, eager to pry their way in. I lashed out with my claws, swiping at them frantically, but they were slippery. They slipped through my claws as though coated in oil, their slick, sinewy forms twisting and dodging every attempt to grasp them. The harder I clawed, the more they multiplied and weaved around us. Still, I fought, not knowing if escape was possible, but knowing that the alternative—a complete surrender to this beast—was a fate far worse than any death I could imagine.

Just as my muscles reached the brink of collapse, something else moved with quick speed. It dropped silently from the tangle of clotheslines above and soared over the rat, twisting its body in midair before coming down hard on the creature’s back, sinking all four sets of claws into its flesh. A paw, claws extended, rose and sliced through the air and found its mark–the rat's head.

The blow sent the rat skidding across the grimy pavement. The tendrils slackened just enough for me to crawl out of reach, though the entire scene felt surreal—like a half-forgotten dream I couldn’t shake off.

The monstrous vermin rose, unleashing a furious scream that rippled through the air. It lunged at the cat, slashing with its hooked claws, while its tendrils lashed out wildly. One coiled tightly around the other cat's neck, but with a sharp hiss, the cat struck back, swiping at the tendrils and tearing itself free.

More tendrils lashed out, one wrapping around my hind leg and yanking me to the ground. This time, its touch burned like fire, searing through my skin. But I couldn’t give in—we couldn’t. We all had to fight.

Lee snarled, sinking his sharp canines into the writhing tendrils, tearing them apart with savage fury. I clawed and bit at them too. The taste was vile, bitter like rusted metal and blood, but I didn’t care. I ripped a few free and spat out the shredded pieces.

Whoever it was standing behind the rat sunk its teeth into the back of its neck, and it bit down, hard. Bones crunched beneath the jaws. The rat staggered, bleeding from where the claws and teeth had torn into its body.

I glanced over and saw Lee frantically scrambling away from the tendrils, his back pressed against the cold wall, a guttural growl rising from his throat as he bared his sharp canine teeth.

The rat tumbled to the ground, lifeless, but as it did, its body convulsed. The tendrils continued to twitch, as if they hadn’t realized their host was dead. They retracted, slithering back into the rat’s mouth.

Then, something began to writhe. The thing inside it—whatever it was—was weakening, but it wasn’t done. It tore through the rat’s mouth, splitting its head like overripe fruit with an audible crack. And from the gory mess sprung a shapeless, throbbing pink blob, with hundreds of tendrils probing and tasting the air, then latching onto the ground. The thing began to drag itself across the ground, its tendrils pulling it forward inch by inch.

They reached out toward the pufferfish, searching for new life to inhabit. The blob attempted to merge with the dead creature, but its thrashing soon faltered, slowing to weak, erratic twitches. Moments later, it stilled completely, shriveling into a desiccated, motionless gray husk.

I winced as I tried to take a step, my whole body aching. The spots where the tendrils had gripped throbbed with a sharp, stinging pain. I lowered my head and began licking one of the burns on my leg. The metallic taste of blood lingered as I cleaned the dirt from the gash, the sting slowly fading with every lap.

“What the hell was that thing?” Lee gasped, still catching his breath.

“It’s as much of a mystery to me as it is to you,” replied a voice from the shadows. That voice—I recognized it instantly. A wave of unexpected relief washed over my rattled nerves. I looked up to see its owner.

Our hero stepped into the light, carefully skirting the shriveled blob. His sleek, muscular body was covered in short, blue fur. It was a hue of deep cerulean blue that shimmered like the ocean waves.

Without wasting another second, we rushed toward each other. His tail shot up in excitement, and a joyful meow escaped his throat.

We had started the same—pulled from the same litter discarded in the trash. But from there, our lives took paths neither of us could have foreseen. He remained behind in the Floating City, while I found my way aboard NOAH 1. And now, here he was—my blood, my brother. Ziggy.

He greeted me with a delighted headbutt, and I responded with a playful swat at his ear. We circled one another, pausing to rub our sides together, savoring the warmth of our shared bond.

Ziggy winced and staggered back, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps. But then he straightened, forcing himself to stand tall.

“You're hurt!” I exclaimed, noticing the slow seep of blood where the rat's nails had sliced through fur and flesh on his shoulder.

“Oh, it’s merely a scratch,” he replied with forced nonchalance. But I wasn’t fooled; I could sense the discomfort pulsing through him, masked by a thin veneer of indifference.

“So, how did you find out I was here?” I asked.

He glanced between me and Lee, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You two stirred up quite a commotion on the Old Rig.”

“That’s because I was trying to catch Lee for stealing and destroying property!”

Lee rolled his eyes. “Nobody got hurt, at least. Well, I mean…” His voice trailed off, his eyes shifting to the dead pufferfish and the blob. “But that's not my fault!”

“Anyway, I happened to be up there myself,” Ziggy continued, “just picking up a fresh mackerel for my missus, when I heard a loud crash from one of the tents. The next thing I knew, a dog came barreling out with a fish in his mouth, and a very pissed off cat screeching right on his tail. So, I thought it had to be you, brother.”

“Thank God you found us!” Lee exclaimed, his tail wagging. “We’d have been dead meat, I swear! Cooked!”

I crouched closer to the blob, its sickly sweet odor of decay growing stronger. My attention drifted toward the rat next. It wasn’t just big. It was unusually large, almost my size! The largest rat I had ever laid eyes on.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I muttered in awe and disbelief.

Ziggy, standing beside me, seemed unfazed. “I have,” he replied calmly, his face growing serious. “I've been seeing more of these... things cropping up lately. The humans dismiss them as odd sea urchins or strange anemones. They think they're harmless—at least, harmless to them. But to us..."

He pointed at the rat, its headless and mangled corpse sprawled before us. “Well, you can see the result for yourself.”

“Where do you think they’re coming from?” I asked, a knot of dread tightening in my chest. "Could this have something to do with the masked stranger?”

Ziggy looked toward the alley’s entrance, where a few pedestrians had gathered, drawn by some perverse curiosity. As soon as they registered the scene—the headless rat, the deflated blob, the bloated fish—horror twisted their faces, and they recoiled, retreating back into the safety of their mundane lives. I envied them in that moment, their ignorance, their ability to look away and keep walking.

“Let’s not talk here,” Ziggy said, his tone clipped, as he agilely vaulted onto a pile of boxes. Without hesitation, he sprang toward the ledge of the half-wall at the alley’s end. “Follow me,” he added.

We followed him down yet another narrow alley, which soon opened into a market alive with activity. Faces flickered in and out of focus, lost in the rituals of daily survival. We moved on, crossing a bridge, leading us to the next borough – Little Eden, where the humans had built sprawling greenhouses. Within these glass domes, constructed from soda bottles, mugs, and shards of colorful glass resembling a kaleidoscope, their fragile crops struggled to thrive—a desperate attempt to control what little of nature remained.

Jimmy had told the younger stewards about this once. It was before the Great Wrath—before everything had gone sideways. He’d been on his farm, watching the slow decay of the world. The world, he had said, seemed to be teetering on the edge of disaster, and he knew that he ought to preserve a fragment of it—not just for his own survival, but for the future of humanity.

Seeds—he had to save the seeds. He boxed them up, hundreds, maybe thousands, with the quiet certainty of a man who knows that the future no longer belongs to him. But when the storm of destruction came, fast and without warning, there wasn’t time to think, only to move. He couldn’t take them all, not by a long shot. But he saved what he could, clutching those boxes, the last pieces of the old world, as he held on tight for his dear life.

Although the seeds had been saved and humans could grow food once more, Little Eden was not immune to the threat of rats—cunning little creatures that would slip in under the veil of night, intent on pilfering a carrot or radish from the garden’s bounty. That’s where we came in, the cats. The gardeners relied on cats to patrol the grounds, to hunt down the vermin. Whether the rats lived to be sold to a vendor or died, it mattered little to them, so long as the greenhouses remained untouched, the fruits of their labor unspoiled by the gnawing teeth of marauders.

A multitude of cats roamed Little Eden, guarding and loitering outside the domes. And if they weren't on duty, they rested in makeshift shelters that could snugly accommodate four cats. The gardeners routinely tidied these homes and replenished the bowls of food and fresh water.

Ziggy and his forever partner, Wanda, resided within a large plastic bin draped with a translucent tarp, propped above like a tent supported by slender metal rods. Their humble abode lay nestled near the entrance of a dome.

“What's taken you so long?” A cat slipped gracefully through an opening cut out of the bin. Her fur was a map of delicate swirls and stripes in tawny browns, burnt oranges, and soft grays. Her emerald eyes, flaring with both worry and annoyance, softened the moment they met mine.

“Page! Is it truly you?” She cried with a bright expression. “It's been months—so many months!”

She rushed toward me, her forehead brushing mine in a gesture of affection.

“Sorry I haven’t been by as much as I should,” I replied, feeling a twinge of guilt in my chest.

“That’s because he’s been off living the high life, playing shipmate,” Lee interjected with a hearty laugh, a crooked grin twisting across his face.

Wanda turned toward him, offering only a brief nod. “Lee,” she said, her tone sharp as a blade, “nice to see you out of the Shelter for once.”

“I never belonged there. That place isn’t for me.”

“But have you been staying out of trouble?”

“Oh, well, you know, I don’t go looking for trouble,” Lee smirked, “trouble always finds me.”

“I’m sure.” Her words dripped with skepticism.

Ziggy cleared his throat, interrupting their exchange. “I hate to say it, my love, but I need to go out again.”

“Again?” Wanda’s voice was edged with frustration. “Did you even get the food for—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto the dark stain on his shoulder. “Blood! Ziggy, what happened?” Concern flashed across her face.

“We had a brief encounter with a vermin,” Ziggy replied, casually.

“A rat? Oh god… was it—was it possessed?”

“Yes, but don't worry, it’s gone now.”

Wanda shuddered as a tremor ran through her body. “I hate it when you're out there too long. It’s too dangerous with those things crawling around. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you, like what happened to Tinker.”

“That’s exactly why I have to show Page what became of Tinker,” Ziggy said, his tone firm but gentle. “He needs to see what’s been happening in Floating City since his last visit.” In a gesture of comfort, he nuzzled his head against her cheek, a soft purr escaping him. “But I won’t be long. I promise.”

At that moment, a chorus of small voices echoed from the house. One by one, four little furry heads peeked out from the open doorway, their eyes wide and curious. They stared at me and Lee for a moment, but the second they caught sight of Ziggy, their dark gray eyes lit up. In unison, they cried out with uncontainable joy, “Papa! Papa!”