Chapter 4: The Mastermind Exposed

Sure enough.

There it was, in full HD. My cat, the mastermind, in action.

I showed the video to Dr. Sen, who was left speechless, mouth open.

He sat back, muttering something in Bengali under his breath, eyes wide. "Ei toh ascharya!"

The footage showed the cat watching me go into the kitchen, circling the living room a few times. Once it was sure I wouldn’t return suddenly, it crept to the bedroom. Switching to the bedroom camera, I saw the cat pick up the drawing pin, glance at the camera, and carry it to a blind spot. After some hesitation, it darted behind the curtain, lifted its paw, paused, and then pressed down on the pin. The wince on its face made me flinch.

A dozen seconds later, I appeared in the footage, scooping up the cat and rushing out.

Everything finally made sense.

My head spun. The doctor quietly crossed himself, which for a Bengali is saying something. Even he looked rattled.

We both felt a chill—this was no ordinary pet. The cat had orchestrated the whole thing, just to stay in my home.

Even in all those horror tales from old Calcutta, I’d never heard of a cat so calculating. Goosebumps prickled my arms.

But… why did it want to stay so badly?

The question wouldn’t leave me. I remembered how my cousin’s cat ran away and never came back. Most cats, given a chance, simply vanish—find a new lane, a new aunty to feed them.

After all, ‘billi ghar ki nahin hoti’—a cat is never truly anyone’s.

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

He looked like he’d rather not have this cat in his hospital another minute.

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

In my mind, I pictured a tiny shrink’s couch, my cat stretched out, complaining about childhood trauma.

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

He scrolled through his phone, showing me an ad for ‘Pet Wellness and Mind Clinic’. Even animals get more options than us these days, I thought.

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

Rohan sounded annoyed. “Didn’t I tell you to just get rid of it? Why are you still fussing?”

I could hear the rattle of test tubes behind him—typical Rohan, never fazed.

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

My voice was half-exasperated, half-defeated—like telling Amma about a naughty child.

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

His tone changed instantly. Scientist instincts—anything weird, and he’s all in.

I sent him the surveillance video on WhatsApp. A few minutes later, he called back, sounding thrilled. “Your cat is a fascinating research subject. Bring it to me—I’ll give it a psychological test. Let’s see what else this little guy can do.”

For the first time, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe someone would finally understand what I was up against.