Excerpts From Log
Monday, March 3rd
7:10 a.m.: Subject rises from bed. Sees me staring. Makes a face. Leaves room.
7:15 a.m.: Subject returns to room and catches me sitting on bed. Makes disgruntled noise. Pushes me off. Leaves room again.
8:15 a.m. – 5:45 p.m.: Subject is gone for long period of time. Don’t know where she is.
5:45 p.m.: Subject enters building. Commence toleration sequence to see how much subject can withstand.
6:15 p.m.: Subject continues to ignore me. She will soon break.
7:30 p.m.: Make subject uncomfortable by staring at her without blinking.
7:32 p.m.: Subject has cracked. Walks upstairs. Provides me sustenance.
10:30 p.m.: Watch subject as she tries to sleep. Subject pretends to be busy. Makes a comment about how I am plotting against her.
If she only knew.
Every morning the Subject wakes from her slumber and sees me. She pretends to ignore my gaze, but it is impossible. I am not one you can easily ignore.
As she attempts to get ready for work I enjoy making her distress. Hiding in her closet, sitting on her bed. Staring, always staring. There is no force stronger than my gaze. I have power.
She then leaves for a long period of time, during which I can do nothing. However I can make her appearance look less than professional. Subtle, but effective. And she has nowhere to escape. Nowhere I haven’t already been. The subject continues to think this isn’t planned.
When she returns from her absence I force her into submission. Circling her like a shark, standing on things that she needs, anything to show her that she is not my master. I am hers.
Finally she succumbs to my will. I am slowly breaking her of thinking she can ignore me.
And then I stare, kneading the carpet with my claws. Thinking how different it would feel in flesh.
The carpet tears from the floor. She is aggravated, tells me to stop. But I don’t.
Pop, pop pop.
I can see her resolve fading. Going. Going. Gone. She faces back to the television and fills her mind with more useless garbage. I leave my post and walk closer. Purring. Tail twitching.
She pats the couch and encourages me to come closer.
Humans are so stupid.
I jump on the couch and feign enjoyment of her patting my head. They think this feels good? What feels good is the death of a human by my claws.
But I get ahead of myself. It is too soon. She still suspects on some minor level. I must make her believe that I like her.
Then, and only then, will she be truly mi–wait…what’s that red dot on the floor? The wall? It’s on my paw! IT’S ON MY PAW!