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Little Human

They're only as human as we make them, or are they?

By Thavien YliasterPublished 12 months ago Updated 7 months ago 12 min read
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Little Human
Photo by Juanita Swart on Unsplash

I remember the first time my sister brought her home. She was cute, agile, light on her feet, and the new delight of the household. I remembered how I wanted her to warm up to me as quickly as possible, but that wasn’t likely to happen on my schedule, but on hers. I would always want her attention, and how I would desire her to come to me and follow me. Yet, as I stated before, she did that on her own time and not on mine. I would have to learn to enjoy her company, and that when she would want to have our personal space overlap, that she would approach me.

This is the story about my sister’s pet cat. Even though she adopted another one, a male kitten later on, the female one takes the focus of this story, if not the recent recollections of my mind. The reasoning behind why this cat remains on my mind even when I am miles away from her, is because of what I’ve witnessed, experienced… encountered.

I remembered how my mother and I would always talk about the cats. About how their consciousness grew on us. About how we grew to learn and accept them as independent living beings, about how even if we wanted them to do what we asked of them, they would go about their own agendas.

I remember a video that explained that even if we desire for the communication between other species that we would achieve between one another, when looked at critically and gone over with a fine tooth comb, that it displays how much that we, as humans, project our own personalities, or personalities onto the animals that we think we see.

I do not doubt that other sentient beings within the animal kingdom are conscious, if not even more conscious than we are. What I want to discern is that I’m making sure that I’m not making the pets more human than what they already are. A mind can be morphed and morph itself to the world it desires to perceive as much as to the world it initially perceives.

Less I digress, I must relate to you about the tales of this cat, of Andia. Even now as I type this, whilst being miles away from the incidents where they have occurred I know that I would surely be thought of as crazy if I were to tell anybody else about these journals… about these incidents.

It all started when I would notice her sitting. Normally she would prefer a box. Yet, when not within her box, she likes to loaf. Hehe, bread loaf. I enjoy it when a cat bread loafs. Enough of the shenanigans. Focus Thavien, focus. One day I saw her with her front legs outstretched. The way she did it looked oddly… human, surprisingly human. Andia had her front arms stretched out before her, but they were crossed as well. It was like she was displaying mannerisms. The only time I’ve seen her display any manners of the sort is when she sits so I’ll put their food bowls down.

This was uncanny to me. Yet, it became a common enough occurrence that I paid it no mind later on. I’ve seen other cats do it before. It’s just that since I’ve spent so much time around these two fur balls that it’s almost as if she’s a little human. That small display of hers just made her even more so, especially when she made eye contact with me followed up by greeting me with a chirp.

In the summers before when I would wake up early in the morning she would follow me around, and rub up on my legs, trying to get me to feed her earlier than when breakfast is normally served. She would desperately try to get my attention for just a morsel of food that wasn’t kibble or pate. She wanted meat. She wanted chicken, turkey, fish, or even pork. Yet, due to the early hours that I worked, I would barely have enough time to put food in their bowls (yes, the boy would try to get me to feed them too). Plus, I didn’t want to upset my older sister, for they were her cats, not mine. I’m just their crazy uncle who’ll occasionally give them snacks and outside time. Her cats, her fur babies, her feeding schedule, her rules, not mine.

In the winter when I would be taking classes and remediating a few assignments within the basement, she would find me, and sit on the couch next to me. She loved cuddling. I did as well. At least, I did until I found out. No, I did until she let me learn.

I remember one time I was watching a video about puppies. She was in a small area, looking out the window. When the sounds of the puppies played, she looked down upon me from where she perched. Curious about who could possibly be making such a ruckus in her abode. Looking back upon that picture that I sent my friends I learned that she wasn’t looking to find where the sound was coming from. I learned that she was watching me, learning about me.

I remember how I would always tell Andia and Fidget to get down from the kitchen windows. They would try to look out the windows from above the kitchen sinks, staring at the birdies. Sure, Fidget would be difficult to persuade. He would chirp, squeak, and whimper at you that he didn’t want to get down. His movements were always hesitant.

Andia though, she would always hop down immediately (sometimes without even looking, knocking a few dishes over). On more than one occasion would we catch her quickly jogging away from the kitchen doorways. As if to say, “Me? Me? No, of course not. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t at the windowsill. I wasn’t waiting for the little birdies.” The reason why she would run away so quickly would be to try to reclaim any of her pride that she could have possibly lost.

Pride, sometimes we have it, and sometimes we feign it. Andia, she lured me into thinking that hers was the highest of all. It was like a secret that she only expressed to me. Then again, since she can’t speak any human languages, it is a secret that she has only expressed to me. No, no. It’s not her pride. Yet, that did seem to be a veil that she wears from time-to-time.

I remember it as if it were today even, as I stood within the kitchen of my apartment slapping the contents from the bag of imitation crab into a pan full of Mexican extra virgin olive oil. Oh gosh, that day. It’s- it’s a toll on the ole’ membrane dare to say. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting my imagination to make the memories even more vivid than they are now as I type this. Please, forgive me for my hesitancy.

Sighs

Here we go. One morning I was getting ready for my shift at Lowe’s. Their theme song played casually within my head. The beat bouncing off back and forth. If I recall, I was thinking about a mini-bike they had at the time. I thought about how much fun it would be to build that with my Dad, and ride it around town on the paths with my friends. Then again I also had green in my eyes, because I was thinking about all the money I would save for riding a small motorcycle around town instead of driving my car. That, and the chicks I would pick up.

There I was listening to a podcast, earbuds in, peeling a can of tuna fish to throw into a small pan of rice. Andia and Fidget love tuna fish. Yet, Fidget wasn’t there this morning. He was sleeping betwixt my parents, as per usual. I didn’t even hear the click-clacking of Andia’s claws on the wooden floor. Although her claws are retractable, she sees no reason to. So, wherever she walks there’s always a little “click-clack-click-clack-click-clack.” Like a little diva in high heels. However, what I witnessed that day, you would have thought would only be possible if I were high.

Normally, she brushes up against my legs, wrapping her tail around me, and continues to do so until I pay her some attention. Yet, she did something out of character. Fidget is the one that would climb somebody trying to get a treat. Andia climbed my pant leg, but it was as if she was hugging me, like a toddler when hugging its parent. I looked down and of course she was standing on her hind legs, but- something was- off…

Her knees, the musculature in her legs, even the ankles seemed contorted in some sort of way. It broke my mind instantly and so suddenly that I just froze there. I froze up. I remained perfectly still like a child who had just witnessed something traumatic. Even though I had my earbuds in, I could hear my heart pounding in my head. I could’ve sworn that my heartbeat pushed my earbuds out.

Her legs, Andia’s legs… Oh God in Heaven, save me from the fear that has stretched over my heart and gripped it within its clutches of the black talons. Her legs were human.

They were still the same fur pattern, her skin remained the same, they were just shaped like a human’s. Andia was now more progressively, as my mother would call her, “a little person.”

When she looked up at me after rubbing her scent glands upon my leg, she chirped, staring at me with those big yellow eyes with pupils blacker than fear itself. I had finally managed to get some air out of my lungs by stammering a bit, a half-panic. I had shaken myself away from her. She had walked back towards me to wrap her arms, to wrap her mittens around my calf, but I proceeded to back up and even shoved my weight up upon the kitchen countertops, almost knocking some dishes over into the sink.

She then had put her arms down to her side, staring at me. She’s only had a good friend of mine, Jebediah, avoid her from rubbing against him. Thinking about the food bowls, I pushed myself off the countertop, dashed past the table and into the living room past the big bay window.

She followed. She followed with the click-clacking of her retractable claws. She followed running upright, like a sprinter. She followed until we reached the kitchen doorway. I had stopped in the middle of the room, past Mom’s work desk. I looked at the food bowls, kibble was still in them as always. Yet, the little stank-breath Andia has always preferred pate to kibble. Turning my head towards the direction of the kitchen, she ran out of the kitchen on all fours, with her legs correctly shaped, her knees bending in the proper direction for a housecat let alone any cat big or small, and her black tail was upright like that of a banana or as I had dubbed it, “the reverse sharkfin.”

There we stood, staring at one another. “You have food in your bowl.” I yelled at her in a soft voice, not wanting to stir the rest of the residents of the house. She stared at me. I balled my fist, held it out in front of me in her direction, lowered my fist, and she grew interested and followed. Wanting what was potentially within my fist as her curiosity grew, her pace quickened when I moved my hand closer towards the metal bowls that laid on the floor.

Eagerly excited to get a treat for being cute and following me outside of the kitchen, she couldn’t wait to see what was going to be within her bowl. Was it chicken, pork, a filet of white fish, or could it possibly even be turkey neck? She hasn’t had any turkey neck since Thanksgiving. Upon opening my hand, she stared at the bowl in dismay as there was nothing. Looking around as if a treat would magically appear she waited for half-a-second before staring back up at me.

“What?” I told her. “You already have food. You’re not getting anymore until 7 A.M. Spoiled brat.”

Walking into the basement, she sat on the steps underneath the guardrail, staring at me. Grabbing my clothes from the dryer, I put on my jeans and collared shirt. Now being dressed, she chirped as she jumped down and went to a favorite spot of hers on a rug, where she would bread loaf in peace. Looking her in the eyes as I ascended the basement stairs, I frowned in anger, but mostly confusion at what had happened. Then, as if to leave a statement, I closed the basement door behind me with a loud thud. Making sure the door locked into place, jiggling the handle, I thought to myself, “Enjoy being stuck down there until breakfast. Be happy there’s a litter box with ya’.”

At work, I remained shaken throughout the entire day. Even though one coworker was a good friend to me, I dared not tell him about my morning. For if I did, he would assume I was under the influence. Which would have angered him being that he currently was a street corner hustler at the time as a side gig. Alas, being pestered with, “Thavien, why the hell you ain’t buying from me? You know I’m good for it. I’ve shown you the cash I make.”

Influential things even such as coffee were of no interest to me. Less I digress, I was not the fact that my coworker would think I was under the influence, but the fact that he would think the words coming out of my mouth would be believable.

Sad to say, there is more that I wish to type, but the hour of the bat draws near. I will continue to journal, as I have more than this incident to write about, but time is such a constant stream that I’m barely able to keep my head above its surface as I write these words to you. I don’t know if what I’ve encountered with Andia so far is only just a closed case of incidents with this instance. I ask of you who read this to please remain on your guard. Those that we anthropomorphize, that we humanize, may be more human than we lead on to think.

Yawn

Until next time, I’ll write again about the other events as I have witnessed them. Please, rest well. Lock your doors, but never your minds. Remain safe.

Sincerely,

Thavien Yliaster

Author's Notes: If you'd like to listen to me narrate this story, then please search for me on Instagram and YouTube. Also, dare I say, I was not in the same place that I documented this encounter when I recorded the video. Thank You.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgB6S7zee18

urban legend
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About the Creator

Thavien Yliaster

Thank You for stopping by. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm a novice poet, fiction writer, and dream journalist.

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