The Start of an Unusual Day
There are some mornings that begin like any other—quiet, uneventful, and predictable. Then, there are mornings that etch themselves into your memory forever, not because of anything grand, but because of the small, surprising twists that make you stop and appreciate life in a new way. This particular morning fell firmly into the second category.
I woke up to the familiar sensation of my dog, Murphy, sitting by my bed. Normally, Murphy’s morning routine involved a few tail wags, a stretch, and eventually some gentle nudges until I got up. But this time was different. When I blinked my eyes open, I found him unusually still, his body tense, and his gaze fixed intently on something beneath the bed.
At first, I thought nothing of it. Dogs often get curious about shadows, dust, or even their own reflections. But then, I noticed something that made my heart quicken: a pair of glowing eyes peering out from the darkness.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The sight startled me so much that I jerked backward and almost hit my head on the nightstand. My pulse raced as I tried to comprehend what I had just seen. Murphy didn’t flinch or bark—he simply remained alert, like a watchful guardian standing his ground. His calmness reassured me, enough for me to take a second look.
With cautious breaths, I leaned down again, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress as if it could anchor me. I squinted into the dim space under the bed, bracing myself for the unknown.
That’s when I saw it clearly.
Not a shadow. Not some trick of the light. But the small, unmistakable shape of a fluffy tabby cat.
Its eyes, which had seemed sharp and glowing in the dark, now softened as they blinked curiously at me. Relief washed over me, and I let out a long exhale I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
The Cat That Didn’t Belong
I sat back up, rubbing my temples, trying to wrap my mind around the situation. Murphy’s gaze shifted between me and the bed, as though waiting for my verdict. Now that the “mystery creature” had been revealed, he seemed more relaxed, trotting over to nuzzle my hand.
But the real question remained: what was a cat doing in my house?
I didn’t own one. Murphy had been my only pet for years, and I had never considered adding a cat to the family. None of my immediate neighbors, as far as I knew, had a feline prone to wandering indoors. The whole scenario was baffling.
The cat, now aware it had been spotted, stretched lazily and crawled out from beneath the bed. Its movements were elegant, almost regal, as though it owned the place. Its fur was a mix of browns and grays, swirling in intricate patterns that shimmered in the slivers of morning light. A patch of white on its chest gave it a distinguished look, almost like it was wearing a tiny tuxedo.
This wasn’t some wild stray. Its coat was clean, its body healthy, and it carried itself with confidence. Clearly, it belonged to someone.