[ TT ] You meet a talking cat . No one else can understand it , and it keeps warning you about your demise .

You're going to die alone. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 That was what the cat said to me one day. It came out of nowhere, right in the middle of my alone time with the Monday paper. The voices in my head only talked on weekends. Like any reasonable and well-adjusted person, I went back to reading. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 The cat repeated what it said. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 I looked around, and saw the cat gazing back at me. We stared for quite a few minutes. I cautiously asked if it was him. You know, like a crazy person. The cat rolled its eyes, like I was a slow child that realized his brother actually did leave the family because of him. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Stay on this track, and you'll be going early too. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Like any sensible human being, I rushed to tell everyone about it. Not over that newfangled `` social network'' everyone was so excited about. Who keeps a book of faces, anyway? Serial killers and lonely people, that's who. No, as a man of great social acuity I told everyone about it over the phone. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 They'll just think you're lonely AND crazy. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Shut up. You're just a cat. He was just barely right, though. My best friend blew me off, told me to loosen out a bit. He seemed more annoyed than usual. The pretty veterinarian recommended me a therapist. The last two did n't work out, so it was clear that I did n't need one anyway. Mom tried to convince me I was just tired, but I insisted otherwise. Dad hung up when he got passed the phone. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 See what I mean? 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 The cat was grinning, the same self-satisfied grin from mean bullies and girls that rejected you with a giggle. Time to establish who was the alpha male. I sat down in front of him. He lazily flicked an ear at me in acknowledgement. I asked him why he chose now to speak. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 These issues are starting to get in the way of you feeding me. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 3 years of good, dutiful care, and it only saw me as a food source. The whole time he could speak, and he only started now that I was experiencing a few personal issues. I yelled at it. I would show him. I was a strong, independent food source. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 My meals are n't the only thing circling down the drain. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Out of spite, I ignored it. A little less went in his bowl each week. Food started disappearing from the fridge and cupboards soon after. The cat was actually getting fatter despite it all. I locked everything up in response. Ignoring its wails, I went to bed satisfied that night. Out of sight, out of mind. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 You ca n't run from yourself. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 I woke in the middle of the night with a gash in my leg and scratches all over my face. The drapes were completely shredded. The door hung open. Worst of all, the toilet was clogged. With the drapes. That was a line I did not expect him to cross. The cat was nowhere in sight. I put a double helping of food in his bowl, shivering all the way. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Do n't do that again. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 He came back three days later in the form of a crushing pressure on my chest. I grunted and pushed him off. Pamphlets and potato chips were scattered over my bed. One of them was for a 2 week gym trial. His tail swished back and forth expectantly, like Cookie Monster about to get his daily fix of *stuff*. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Ca n't die without living first. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 The drive was quick and uncomfortable. The shorts felt far too airy and the headband make me look uncool. The cat sat in the passenger's seat, an ad for Goodwill resting in his jaws. Very funny. A few guys ran out of the gym when I entered, probably because they knew they could n't compare to me. I managed to hit a new record of one and a half push-ups. Take that, Steven Hawkings. The cat could've used the exercise too; I think the car's bumper went down a few centimeters when he jumped in. Which explained that screeching sound the whole trip. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 This is about you, not me. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 I made a big dinner to celebrate that night. Hard to make, too. First time I seriously exercised a muscle since my dad spanked me for ruining Christmas. Never thought a cat could eat so much, but he showed me. He curled up on my lap after eating most of the lasagna, and the most horrid rumbling emanated from him. Close enough. I reached down and stroked his spotted orange fur, ignoring the soreness in my arm. 
 
 & nbsp; 
 
 Keep this up, Jon, and you might not die totally alone after all.
