Chapter 2: Cat and Mouse

2.

Is it really that serious?

On my way home, I couldn’t shake Derek’s words. Sure, my cat seems cunning, but she hasn’t actually hurt me. I couldn’t make up my mind, so I decided to go home and see for myself.

The sky over Boise looked like a watercolor painting, and somewhere in the distance, a pickup rumbled down the street, country music faint through the open window. My apartment complex was quiet as I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of old coffee and the lavender plug-in I’d stuck by the door.

As soon as I walked in, the cat jumped down from the sofa, circled me once, then—like always—went back to lie on the couch.

Her tail flicked in a lazy S-shape, her eyes half-lidded, like she hadn’t been plotting my downfall all afternoon. I felt a tightness in my chest, part affection, part suspicion. It was like living with a roommate who might also be your nemesis.

I pulled out my phone, pretending to scroll through TikTok, but secretly watched her from the corner of my eye. I noticed she was sneaking glances at me too. But since I was looking through my phone’s camera, she didn’t realize I was watching.

A little smirk played on my lips as I caught her peeking. She had no idea the tables had turned. For once, I was the one with the upper hand—or so I hoped. She shifted, tucking her paws under her chest, eyes narrowing.

That look sent a chill down my spine. It was as if she was checking whether I’d seen the security footage. Too smart.

I almost laughed, but it came out as a nervous cough. It was like she was waiting for me to bring it up at dinner, as if I might confront her about her little thumbtack stunt.

Seeing that I seemed unfazed, she gradually relaxed.

But inside, I was conflicted. If I kept this cat, something might really go wrong.

I started pacing around the kitchen, running through my options. Was I really considering abandoning my own cat? The idea felt both ridiculous and oddly practical.

After some thought, I started packing up her litter box and other things. The cat seemed to sense something and immediately jumped off the couch, pressing herself against me, clearly on high alert. I could feel her anger—there was a barely restrained fierceness in her eyes, as if she wanted to kill me.

She pressed against my legs so hard I nearly did a split, clutching the counter for balance. Her tail puffed up, her ears flattened, pupils wide—every inch of her screamed, "Don’t you dare." The air felt electric, charged with her silent threat.

But then, in the next moment, she became gentle, even walking over and licking the back of my hand. Ragdoll cats are already beautiful, and when they look at you with those big eyes and act cute, I started to waver.

She switched tactics in a heartbeat, purring and blinking up at me with those big, innocent eyes. She licked my hand, soft and deliberate, the way a child might try to sweet-talk a parent out of punishment. I almost expected her to start humming the theme from The Godfather. I could feel my resolve slipping.

She even rolled onto her back, showing her belly, asking for a belly rub. But it didn’t fool me—the more she did this, the more it creeped me out. A cat that’s just outwardly fierce might just have a bad temper, but this one? She’s all sweetness on the surface, hiding a knife behind a smile.

Her belly fluff looked inviting, but I knew better—one wrong move and she’d latch on, bunny-kicking with those sharp back paws. She was laying it on thick, and I almost laughed. She had studied my weaknesses as well as I’d studied hers.

I had no doubt she’d see my intent to abandon her as a deep grudge and never forget it.

A chill crept up my arms as I remembered horror stories on Reddit about cats holding grudges for years. If I made an enemy of her, I’d never sleep soundly again.

Remembering Derek’s warning, I realized I couldn’t be too forceful. So I just petted her belly and pretended I was only cleaning her litter box. After I finished, I put the box back where it belonged.

I tried to act normal, whistling a little tune, keeping my movements slow and easy. She watched me the whole time, eyes narrowed, like a tiny FBI agent reading my every tell.

The cat eyed me suspiciously, but obediently returned to the couch.

The tension in the room eased, just a bit. She flopped back on her side, but her eyes never left me. I realized I was holding my breath.

I was still debating what to do—maybe I could ask Derek for help. Feeling a bit down, I went to make dinner.

I cracked open a can of soup, diced up some celery, trying to focus on the mundane rhythm of chopping and stirring. The cat’s presence weighed on me from the other room, her absence louder than any meow.

As soon as I finished cooking, I heard a miserable scream from the other room. I rushed in to find the cat lying on her side, howling pitifully. I checked and saw her paw had been pierced by a thumbtack on the floor.

My heart nearly stopped. I scooped her up, wrapped her in a towel, and bolted for the car—barely remembering to grab my keys. The drive to the emergency vet was a blur of red lights and frantic glances at the whimpering bundle in my lap.

I rushed the cat to the animal hospital. After the vet treated her, he let her rest in a cage and asked me, “How did this happen? Is your cat not very smart?”

I frowned. “No, my cat is really smart.”

The vet continued, “Then I suggest you have her checked out. Cats are very quick to react—even if they step on a thumbtack, they’ll jump away the instant they touch it. It shouldn’t be stuck so deep.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing between me and my cat with a look that said he’d seen his share of weird cases. “Usually, it’s the people who need stitches, not the pets.”

Suddenly, the vet gave me a serious look. “Hey, you sure you’re not pranking me? Or is this some kind of TikTok challenge?”

My face went hot, and I stammered, trying to explain. The last thing I needed was to go viral as the cat owner who got outsmarted by his own pet. The thumbtack had been dropped by the cat herself. She saw I was planning to abandon her, so she staged this whole incident. Could this be a trick—self-inflicted injury?

I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking. The idea was absurd, but I couldn’t shake it. Was she really that smart? Was I losing it?

I slowly opened my home security footage…

3.

Sure enough.

I hit play, my thumb trembling. The vet leaned in, squinting, like we were about to watch the Zapruder film.

I showed the video to the vet, who was stunned, mouth agape.

The vet’s eyes widened as he watched, disbelief written across his face. “I’ve seen cats play fetch and unlock doors, but this is a first.”

The footage showed the cat watching me go into the kitchen to cook, circling the living room a few times. Once she was sure I wouldn’t come out suddenly, she quietly went to the bedroom. I switched to the bedroom camera: the cat found the thumbtack, glanced warily at the camera, picked up the tack in her mouth, and carried it to a blind spot. Since she couldn’t find the right spot at first, she tried a few places, glancing back toward the living room to make sure I wasn’t coming.

She looked like a tiny jewel thief, casing the joint, calculating every move. Her tail flicked with concentration. It almost would have been funny if it weren’t so chilling.

A dozen seconds later, I appeared in the footage, picking up the cat and leaving.

Everything made sense now.

Both the vet and I felt a chill run down our spines. This wasn’t something a normal pet cat would do. She had planned this whole thing, just to stay in my home.

The silence between us was heavy. The vet rubbed his temples and muttered, “That cat’s got more tricks than a reality TV contestant.”

But… why did she want so badly to stay?

As far as I know, many cats don’t mind becoming strays. For some, living wild and free is a dream.

I remembered watching neighborhood strays nap in the sun by my apartment complex dumpster—content, unbothered. Why would my cat go to such lengths just to avoid leaving?

The vet looked uneasy. “Do you want to get your cat a psychological evaluation?”

His tone was gentle, but there was something in his eyes—like he was half-kidding, half-serious. The world of pets had changed a lot since I was a kid, but I hadn’t expected to hear those words at the vet’s office.

I was surprised. “They have those for pets too?”

The vet nodded. “Yes, the pet industry is booming—there are all sorts of new services. But I’m not sure which clinics offer it.”

He gave me a little business card with a QR code, his expression a mixture of concern and professional curiosity.

I immediately called Derek. “Do you know how to give a pet a psychological test?”

Derek sounded impatient. “Didn’t I tell you to just get rid of her? Why are you still fussing over this?”

I sighed. “This cat even knows how to fake an injury.”

That got Derek’s attention. “Tell me more.”

I sent him the security video. A few minutes later, Derek called back, sounding excited. “Your cat is a fascinating research subject. Bring her to me—I’ll give her a psychological test. Let’s see what else this little gal can do.”

He sounded way too eager, like he was about to open a mystery box on YouTube. I agreed, feeling a mix of hope and dread.

Once the cat woke up, I took her to Derek’s office. He works at an animal research institute with lots of animals, but none of them are pets. When Derek saw my cat, he looked her up and down. Sensing his gaze, the cat’s fur immediately bristled, her back arching high like she was facing a mortal enemy.

The place smelled like hand sanitizer and sawdust bedding. Derek’s colleagues peered over their cubicles, probably wondering if he’d finally brought in a chupacabra. My cat’s fur stood on end—she looked twice her usual size, tail poofed, every muscle ready to bolt.

Derek put on gloves and grabbed the cat by the scruff. The cat tried to struggle but couldn’t get away. Derek looked at me. “Do you know why she’s reacting like this?”

I nodded. “She’s afraid of people.”

Derek shook his head. “No. If a cat’s just scared of people, she’ll run away or keep her distance. Bristling like this means she sees me as a threat—she thinks I’m very dangerous.”

He sounded oddly proud, like he’d earned the respect of a fellow predator. He eyed my cat with a mix of admiration and caution.

I remembered reading how some people just have that ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe—like the school principal you never wanted to see in the hallway. Could it be that Derek does animal experiments every day, and that’s why the cat is so afraid?

I pictured Derek in his lab coat, standing in a barnyard, animals scattering at his shadow. It was equal parts hilarious and unsettling. Maybe my cat was picking up on something primal.

I grew a bit uneasy. “You’re not going to dissect her, are you?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. We study animals, but we never harm them.”

He waved off my question, but his tone was warm. “We run tests—behavioral stuff, mostly. No scalpels involved.”

I was still confused. “Then why is she so scared of you?”

Derek grinned mischievously. “Have you ever tried to pull something sneaky as a kid? And when your parents caught you, you immediately felt like your plan was about to be exposed? That’s exactly the look your cat has right now.”

A memory flashed: me as a kid, sneaking cookies before dinner, freezing when Mom walked in. I looked at my cat—she really did look guilty and furious all at once.

I almost wanted to reach out and pet her, but she looked ready to bolt. Even Derek seemed amused by her mix of defiance and shame.

Derek turned to me. “Next, I’ll run her through a series of tests. She… might have atavistic traits…”

His eyes sparkled with the promise of a new mystery to solve, and for a moment, I felt a weird sense of pride—my cat wasn’t just special, she was a bona fide enigma, worthy of study. And as Derek prepped his clipboard and I watched her bristle in his arms, I couldn’t help but wonder: if she was plotting, what exactly did she have in mind next?

I glanced down at her. She blinked once, slow and deliberate, as if promising: This story isn’t over. Not by a long shot.