My cat, Shadow, and I are as close as we can be.

When I adopted her from a kill shelter, she was a tiny thing—barely even able to walk, much less meow. The only sound she did emit was a small squeak.

It’s common superstition that cats like her—aka black cats—are bad luck, which is just plain bogus. She’s been an absolute treasure. She’s kept me sane during this pandemic, and she keeps me company too.

She would always hide in places that were small, too. Cupboards, underneath tables and chairs, under my bed. Eventually, she started coming out more and more. Nowadays, I’d say she’s pretty comfortable around me. She still squeaks. Meows, too. Her favorite food is wet food. She’s also very playful.

Ever since an attempted break in a couple of months back, she’s always been at my side—literally. She won’t leave even for a second, and hisses whenever she hears anyone outside. These past couple of months, though, she’s been acting a bit off. For example, she has a cat bed at the corner of my room, since she isn’t allowed on the bed. A couple of nights a week, I feel her fur rubbing against my hand, and end up petting her and muttering something in a half-asleep state. When I awake fully, she’s always asleep in her cat bed.

Similarly, when I’m half-asleep, I could swear that I hear her moving under my bed despite her bed being in the corner and me swearing that she had fallen asleep there.

Despite her weird antics as of late, I still love her, and she loves me. One of our favorite games to play is called “Pass The Hair Tie”. I play with her whenever I’m bored or whenever she initiates.

I was in the bathroom with the door closed when the hair tie flew towards my feet from under the door.

“Hi, baby,” I murmur, pulling the hair tie back and flinging it under the door to the opposite side.

I wait for a few seconds, and, as predicted, the hair tie comes flying back to me. I stand up, washing my hands, and hear the doorknob wiggle. “Didn’t know you knew how to open doors with your paws,” I joke. After washing my hands, I wipe them on the towel and sling the hair tie under the door again. “It’s locked anyway.” That was true; the door locked automatically and could only unlock if I turned the doorknob from the inside.

The doorknob noises stopped, presumably because she was too busy getting the hair tie. The space under the door wasn’t big enough for a paw to fit, but it was enough for the hair tie to be slung under, which it was in a matter of seconds. This time, though, it seemed… faster. Angrier, somehow. Mostly because the hair tie flew underneath the door so fast that it hit the bathtub’s exterior and bounced off it a bit.

I heard a soft “mrrp” from the shower and froze, heart thumping painfully in my chest. Slowly, I opened the shower curtain, and there sat Shadow, staring at me with wide eyes. Her gaze then travelled to the bathroom door. The doorknob jiggled, and she let out a low hiss.

I’ve since called the police. It was apparently the same person that had tried to break in—he’d been inside my house several times, according to them. They also found evidence that he was living in the house as well—specifically in my room and under my bed, which makes me think the noises under it and the fur… well, they weren’t Shadow.

I’ve since moved into a new place, and both she and I are happier and a lot less tense. I do know one thing, though—if she starts hissing at any doors or windows, call the police or move again immediately. She hasn’t been hissing at anything yet, though, so I’m taking that as a good sign. She still has her cat bed at the corner of the room, but she no longer sleeps there. Instead, she sleeps cuddled next to me as she should.