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 The Cats of Evil 

By Isla  



I froze.

I could feel two pairs of golden eyes bore into the small of my back. Oh god, I thought, not again. The mere thought of what could be there sent an evil little spider running up and down my spine. I told myself to relax, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. A small, but loud, engine sound started from where the horror lied, as if a small car was about to ram into me. To keep my mind away from the miniature monstrosities, I furiously wrote the last paragraph of my French essay. J’habite en Écosse – il est tres froid! But my momentary calm was about to be suddenly disrupted.

‘Meow!’ The noise made me jump out of my chair. The noise was quiet and high-pitched, but in the silence of my high-ceilinged bedroom it was almost deafening. There was only one thing that the noise could come from… cats. I forced my head to turn around, bit by bit. Peeking over my shoulder, I saw the bright amber fur on a rounded head, topped with sensitive ears on either side. Her glowing, sinister eyes were wide and suggestive, calling on me. Isla… come to us… The cat’s face was tilted to the right, with what looked like a slightly evil smile underneath the wet, rosy nose. Fine whiskers, as light as silk, portrayed from the sides and top of her face. Her traditional moggy shape echoed with deep purrs.

I looked to the left of her and saw the other one. A pointed face, of oriental descent, looked back, covered with traditional tabby markings. Whiskers, as black as jet in the middle grading out to a snow white at the tips, flew around her face. Her eyes, as yellow as daffodils in springtime, were enormous discs above the black shadow that was her nose. I could see her slender body vibrating from the throaty engine of her purr.

Both so cute, so hard to resist from going over and giving them a cuddle… but only I knew the evil that lurked under the fluffy, innocent exteriors…

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