The Campus Cats at Night
I have spent a large sum of my time at Centenary tracking the actions of the Campus Cats. I’m sure you know, dear reader, the felines of whom I speak—the sweet babies who lay in the sun, hide under cars, and generally provide joy to the human inhabitants of Louisiana College. During the day, they tend to roam around and bask amongst the wildflowers of the Arboretum. They seem healthily fed and friendly with one another. Some have been given names, and some have not. For the sake of this report, I will name them all for you: the black and white cat, sometimes called Boink or Bonk or other varying onomatopoeias, two orange cats I will call Thing 1 and Thing 2, a white cat I will call Shadow, a black cat I will call Sunray, and the ringleader, our very own Mr. Mistofelees.
During the day, these cats seem friendly enough, not terribly timid of the students around them. During the night, however, their actions transform into that of a highly sophisticated society. Many weeks ago, I went out to find the cats at night, and what I found was shocking. I have avoided the campus cats ever since.
Warning: This type of investigative journalism is dangerous and not to be repeated by a standard student.
As the sun fell behind the lip of the world, I snuck out of my dorm and made my way through campus, looking for the tell-tale signs of the cats. Somewhere by the business building, I saw a white tale slip past me out of the corner of my eye. Nonchalantly, I turned my course and followed far behind Shadow so as not to call attention to my actions. I followed for a few hundred yards and stopped in the middle of the grassy plains behind the Magale Library. All of the cats, Boink, Things 1 and 2, Shadow, and Sunlight stood as still as statues and surrounded the tell-tale form of Mr. Mistofelees. For a terrifying moment, I thought they were going to attack the black and white house cat, but as I watched closer, I heard small noises moving together in time.
The cats seemed to be chanting around Mr. Mistofolees, weird noises that did not quite register as speech. As they did this, Mr. M circled his head around. His eyes were wide and knowing. I have a cat myself, and often his eyes hold no thoughts, just static. Mr. M’s eyes, however, held all the understanding of a human mind. He glared down at the cats around him, and I realized then that he was conducting this odd ritual.
The cats got louder over time, although their words were no clearer than before. Coming out of the grass, the trees, and the flowers that surrounded the animals, small particles, iridescent and white, flowed into the cats. The light surrounded and outlined them. They all seemed to take up more space than before, becoming the center of the universe. Despite the fear and confusion that urged me to run and hide, I could not pull my eyes away. The chanting grew to a climax, and with the final note, Mr. M floated off the ground for just a moment. All of the light surrounding the cats got sucked into the animals, and then the world was silent. The cats seemed filled with life: bigger, fuller, and more alive than before.
My limbs unlocked, and I was able to stumble back toward the safety of my dorm room. As I turned, I stepped on a pinecone, and the crackle resounded through the empty space. Six feline heads flew in my direction, and as one unit, they all began to creep toward where I was hiding. I did not want to be caught. I knew, within my heart, that any confrontation would not end well for me. I turned to run and, not being any sort of runner, had no choice but to pray.
Luckily, I was covered in black, and a hood covered my face. If the cats could see my figure, they could not see who I was. I ran all the way back to James, through the doors, and into the safety of my dorm room. Breathing hard, I sat down on the floor, absolutely shocked by the scene I had just witnessed.
***
A few weeks have passed since that night. I have avoided the campus cats with genuine effort. They seem the same: lying in the sun and playfully batting at each other in the grass. I do not make eye contact with them. Mr. M is seldom seen. Some say he’s confined to his room; others wonder if he’s run off completely. I know he is lying in wait until the next ritual.
I have only gone back to the place of the scene once. I walked towards the grassy plain at the height of the day, looking none-the-wiser like a student looking for a place to picnic. As I approached the spot, chills descended down my spine. A circle of yellow and brown stood starkly amongst the Louisiana green. All the plants surrounding the spot, the ones the cats had drawn on, were completely and utterly dead.