Evil Cat paced back and forth along the same path for days upon days. His mind expanded beyond that of any cat that ever lived or ever would. Someday, mankind would learn to manipulate time and space—then the mind of a cat—but it would be ill-advised experiments that followed that path. Today the cat was perplexed. It had a visceral need to kill; for a cat, that can be an overwhelming need to suffer, but it had no imaginative insights how to achieve its goal. He thought, he paced, he felt the want. Evil Cat also hungered for sustenance. His belly was empty, but mostly he yearned for the violence he was created to inflict.
Evil Cat went for a rambling kind of walk, searching for something to eat. Occasionally, he smelled game, but it was an old scent and the meat was already gone. After some fruitless miles he detected a sour odor, something on the verge of turning rancid. The meat was extremely old in fact, and gathered together in one place. The elderly remains of humans holed up together in one building. The structure had doors, though, and those openings could go both ways. Abandoned to themselves, dying slowly, a well aged banquet awaited inside for the taking. Evil, like Goodness, has all the patience in the world. A time came when a cat could slip inside, unseen by the staff.
Evil Cat found a secret lair. From his hiding place he came out at night to feed. Between the wall and the bed, on the ankles of the comatose, the cat took a blood meal from multiple victims. He would make his rounds eating in the night, and in the morning nurses treated the bed sores; never understanding why it was an ankle or foot, always closest to the wall, always a comatose patient, and the sores manifested overnight with incredible speed. Soon the wounds festered and the wards started to die.
Finally, the press figured out the cause. The rats took the blame. And in fact, once the cat was away, the rats sure did play. The rodents even learned the cat wouldn’t attack them and became brave. Residents perished by the dozens, until someone in authority cared to take notice; then took action and stopped the madness. Newspapers described the horrors of the rat infestation—killing the elderly—with all the bloody terror the writers could embellish. Television reporters stood outside with crocodile tears pouring down their faces while they described the fate of the dead and callous neglect the operators of the nursing home displayed.
As the home emptied of the meat Evil Cat came to love, time grew short. He relished the degradation he had heaped upon the old people, but they were being moved out. During the last move an assistant grabbed the cat, but never compared the bite marks to the cat’s teeth. In the end, the rats would bear the blame, everyone knew it was their doing for certain. Evil Cat ended up in an animal shelter, and when his time there was up, he took the injection knowing he was victorious in his task.
About The Author
Paul Block lives in a small town about an hour and a half west of Chicago. In 2010, he was a transport driver (gasoline hauler), but lost his job due to chronic glaucoma. By the end of 2011, he admitted he could no longer drive a car. In 2012 he even had to give up his bicycle.
Fortunately, he can still read and see a computer screen, but life became a living nightmare of home imprisonment. As his world shrank, he decided to try writing. Now his world is as vast as time and space itself in books and story telling.