Nobody knows when it began.Some say it was a Monday morning, but it could have been a Tuesday, a Sun

Nobody knows when it began.Some say it was a Monday morning, but it could have been a Tuesday, a Sunday or anything in between. It’s hard to even remember the season - was there snow? Had the trees lost their leaves yet? Were other cats squeaking when their paws touched the concrete because the sun was burning down with too many degrees and no mercy? It could have been years ago, or centuries.All the people of the small town know is this:The cat doesn’t move.And it doesn’t seem to eat, either. They’re not even sure if it’s a she or a he. (Some whisper it’s neither. A kid told his friend in school, during break. His friend said that’s stupid, but her eyes were a little watery and very wide.)When it rains, the cat nuzzles flat into the ground.When the sun shines, its nose lifts into the air, eyes blinking, fur uncoiling in little happy motions.When the heavy blizzards come, nobody can see it. Every year, they think: This is it. There’s no way this tiny thing survived. Children don’t go to school, adults don’t even need to call into work because snow rules the world and the sky spits ice into the streets and lakes. As soon as winter leaves, the people go out looking.The cat is still there. Its eyes are soft half-moon smiles. Someone always leaves food. It goes untouched, and somehow, not even the crows or seagulls dare come close to pick it up.Everyone hears when it begins.From one second to another, the sky is gone. There is no light. The universe yawns in horrible silence above their heads. Impossible, the people whisper as they stare where the stars should be and only infinite darkness grins back. The earth cracks. A sound emerges from it, loud and distorted and a million noises screeching at once. The people of the little town are running.The cat sits next to the hole in the ground. Something is next to it, a terrible shadow, eyes coal-glowing-red, a claw around the cat’s neck. It looks at the people, half-moon happiness now despair, as if to say: I did all I could.And the people realize (too late), and they beg (too little), and they shiver when the shadow moves toward them.The cat doesn’t cry. It can’t. But it sits and looks at them with sad full-moon pupils, as if to say: I’m sorry for not being stronger.  -- source link
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