“Well?” Elvira arched a brow at the pastries arranged on the floor. “Do you think it’s too shy to come out?”

  “Or,” Finn added, eyes wide with catastrophic imagination, “worse. Perhaps it thinks we’re the starter.”

  I scratched the back of my head, trying not to visibly calculate how edible I might look. Finn and I exchanged a glance. Yes, the prospect of being eaten by a cannibalistic cat was not particularly uplifting and was making pet management much harder.

  “If it were truly dangerous, it would’ve attacked Malinka when she was alone” Elvira said with deliberate scepticism.

  “Maybe we should step outside?” I suggested, nodding toward the door. “You know. Give it some space.”

  “Yes. There are three of us now. It’s probably intimidated.”

  A deep, resonant growl rolled out from beneath the bed.

  Finn leapt back as if personally insulted by gravity.

  “Agreed! Leaving the room is an excellent idea!”

  We slipped out carefully, pulling the door almost closed but leaving a narrow crack to spy through. Finn hovered behind me, barely breathing. Elvira tapped her fingers against her thigh in restless anticipation. I pressed myself to the gap and waited.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Something moved in the darkness.

  What crawled out from under the bed made my stomach attempt a gymnastic routine it was not qualified for.

  Yes, it was technically a cat.

  In the same way a guillotine is technically furniture.

  Its fur was thick and dense, like a thousand tiny needles woven together. Not soft. Not remotely cuddly - more like an aggressive hedgehog had chosen a feline career path. The light slid over its coat unevenly, almost metallic. And I had the uncomfortable feeling that if I tried to pet it, I would come away slightly perforated.

  Its eyes burned a poisonous green. Vertical pupils narrowed into precise slits. There was something ancient and deeply unimpressed in that stare, and I suddenly felt as though I’d entered its property without permission. Its ears were sharp and alert, twitching faintly. Every movement of its head was too smooth, too precise — as if it wasn’t walking, but calculating angles of attack.

  The cat stopped. Its tail swayed slowly from side to side — black and bristling, like a living barbed whip.

  “Holy unlife!” Finn whispered, retreating another step. “Is that a cat? Or have my worst nightmares unionised?”

  “That’s an umbrifelis!” Elvira breathed, eyes shining with academic enthusiasm. “And a kitten, at that! Extremely rare — even in the demonic realms. They grow to the size of horses. Quite lethal, if improperly raised.”

  Of course they do.

  “How did it even get here from the demonic world?” I muttered.

  Then it struck me. It didn’t belong here either. Like me.

  Another accidental export from another world. Different species, same cosmic administrative error. Well. At least I wasn’t the only interdimensional misplacement in the building.

  Fellow sufferers that’s who we are.