If someday soon my body is found lying on the floor of my house, it isn’t the coronavirus that killed me, it’s this damned cat. I am her sole obsession. Every day she sits and stares at me, and when I get up for any reason, she follows me. No, “follows” is the wrong word; she anticipates my every footfall and makes sure to place herself exactly where it’s most inconvenient for me. Just going to the bathroom has become an epic journey, where I’m forced to walk at half-speed through the vibrating quanta of Cat. I may have to get a machete so I can hack my way through this Cat Jungle. I know it’s just one cat, but she has the ability to plane-shift and and seems to have mastered the power of simultaneity.
I think so far she’s only toying with me, but if this isolation goes on much longer I know she sees me as a backup food source, and is practicing how she’s going to break my neck. I’m afraid.
If I suddenly drop off the internet and later my body is discovered, tell the police to investigate the cat. She can’t be allowed to get away with murder.