She was always good to me. From that day on that she found me, took me in and fed me, I had loved her. I’d been shivering, hungry and miserable. Ready to give up, too weak to even hiss at her.

I’d been born outside, late in summer. My mom had given birth to us in an old abandoned shed, sheltered from the rain and wind. Life was good at first. All I knew was the shed, the warmth of my brothers and sisters. My belly was full of milk, my mom licked us and I was happy. Later she’d started bringing us mice and other small animals and the wild taste stirred new things in me. Awakened instincts, made me want to chase and catch my own prey.

One day she had not returned though. Hunger stirred inside me, and one by one my brothers and sisters grew restless and left. I ventured outside as well, hoping to find… something. Food, shelter, warmth. Small as I was, I was incapable of finding any of them and when the rain soaked my fur I found myself shivering weakly, meowing for my mom to find me. Please come back.

Then she had passed and noticed me. Gotten off her bicycle and picked me up. Took me home with her. Wrapped me in towels, fed me. I didn’t realise it at that time, but my mom had found me. Just not the one that gave birth to me.

She named me Elmo, and it felt right. Fifteen summers went by, and life was good. I slept in her lap as she read, played with her. Sometimes I’d wake up in the middle of the night and a feeling would come over me of having been left alone. My heart would race and the only way to assail those feelings would be to go to her where she slept, rub against her face and let her know I loved her. Often this would wake her, and she’d scold me… but I could always tell there was love in her voice.

As the sixteenth summer came I could feel the change in me. My paws had gotten stiffer over the years, my naps had gotten longer and longer. Playing became harder, but it was OK. I enjoyed the company and warmth. Her hair had started to show some streaks of grey as well, but she still moved with the same grace as always.

Something changed though, breathing became harder. I developed a cough, something I’d never felt before. My appetite faltered. Several times she took me to the cold building, where a man would prod me and look at me. I could tell that my mom’s anxiety was rising, and that day when she got the carrier I saw the wetness on her cheeks. She hugged me tight and when she took me to see the man again it was different. He was solemn in his manner, and when he gave me the shot I felt myself drifting off to sleep. I remembered my mom hugging me tight to her, and then darkness. Nothing for a while.

I opened my eyes, and I felt… different. It no longer hurt to breathe, but then I realised I didn’t actually need to breathe any more. I saw my mom hugging a ginger shape to her, crying harder than I’d ever seen her do. She talked to the man, and he gently took the ginger shape away from her. I was confused, what had happened? That was… me? But I was still here. I meowed at my mom, but she didn’t seem to see me.

She made to grab the carrier, and I quickly hopped inside. I didn’t want to be here, I wanted to be home with her.

That evening she sat in her usual chair, trying to read a book but unable to focus. She held my picture, sobbing softly. For all the world I wanted nothing more than to comfort her. I jumped in her lap and purred my hardest, and for a second she seemed to notice. When her eyes focused on her lap though, she looked right through me and she just sobbed harder.

That night in bed I snuggled into my favourite spot at her feet. She moved in her sleep, and moved close to me. She never touched me, as if she could sense me while asleep, even if she couldn’t see me while awake.

The next few days were strange. I watched as she slowly removed my things from the house. My food bowl, the litter box, the scratching post. I rubbed on her legs, trying to tell her it was OK. I no longer needed any of those things. She kept the bed around the longest, absent-mindedly petting the place where I used to lie. Her hand went straight through me, which gave me a weird tingling sensation. I meowed at her, but she didn’t hear me. She just turned away and cried softly.

The days developed a new rhythm. Friends came by, she read her books, watched TV-shows, ate dinner. I basked in the sunlight, napped and enjoyed my newfound pain-free existence. I missed the joy of eating, but I didn’t get hungry. All in all it wasn’t bad.

It all changed when he came back.

She was at work, and I had the house to myself. I’d been napping on the windowsill when a noise woke me. It was the front door opening, but it was way too early for her to come home. Had something happened?

I hopped down to explore, and I saw it wasn’t her at all. It was him. The guy. The one that hadn’t smelled right. I hissed at him, but he obviously paid me no mind.

She’d met him several months ago. They’d gone on a date, and when she’d brought him home for a second date I took one sniff at him and knew he was wrong. He smelled off, and I didn’t like the way he looked at her when her back was turned. I’d made my dislike of him clear and she took notice.

That second date ended pretty quickly. I’m not sure what she told him, but he ended up leaving pretty soon afterwards, obviously seething but doing his best to hide it. The anger and resentment was all over his body language though, that much I could tell.

What was he doing here now? I followed him as he walked into the bedroom. He picked up the baggy t-shirt she had worn that night. He pressed his face into it, inhaling her scent deeply. Then he went to the cabinet where she kept her buzzy things. She always made me leave the room when she used them, but they smelled of her. He took each of them out, running his tongue over it and moaning to himself.

His right hand was on his crotch, rubbing the bulge that had grown there. I wanted to bite him, sink my claws into his legs. Get out of my house! Leave her things alone! Stop spreading your awful smell here!

A sudden sound made him jump and stop what he was doing. The mail had come and the sound of the envelopes being pushed through the mail slot had given him a fright. He quickly replaced all the items where they were and snuck out the back door. He locked it behind him from a big keyring he carried.

I paced the house, waiting for mom to come home. I couldn’t sleep any more. I no longer had a heart, but still there was this tight feeling in my chest. When she got home I rubbed on her legs, weaved between them and meowed with all my might.

She was wearing her big headphones, and I could tell she had that look where she didn’t really see her surroundings. She was deep inside her head, just going through the motions automatically. Getting home, putting her things away, making dinner in the tiny kitchen.

I jumped on the counter where she was cutting vegetables. She’d never let me do that when I was alive, and somewhere it felt deeply wrong to be on here now. Still, I needed to get through to her. I meowed as loud as I could, and she looked up for a second, took off the headphones as if she’d heard me. I meowed again, pleading for her to please please hear me. She shrugged and put the headphones on again.

In pure and utter frustration I batted at the knife, and to my surprise it fell off the counter and landed on the floor with a loud bang. Mom jumped back in surprise, getting her feet out of the way.

When she went to bed I was sure she’d smell that he had been in there, but she didn’t. She just put on the shirt he’d been sniffing and got under the covers. Absent-mindedly she said “Good night Elmo”, and then looked sad again, as if she’d forgotten I was gone for a moment and then remembered.

A few days went by without incident, but then he came back again. He went through the same steps, sniffing the shirt, licking the toys. This time he did something new though. He laid down on the bed with one of her toys and opened his pants. He started doing something with his hand, and moaned to himself.

He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t hear the front door at first. Only when mom’s footsteps sounded down the hall did he notice. He jumped up and looked around wildly. The bedroom was pretty sparse, so the only place to hide was behind the door.

I ran out to mom, trying to warn her. He’s in the house! Run away! She had her headphones on and was looking through the mail. I did everything I could, meowed my loudest, but she didn’t notice me. As she walked to the bedroom I tried to stop her, but she walked straight through me. Again I felt that weird tingling sensation, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I needed to keep her safe!

She walked up to the bed, and started to take off her sweater and bra. As she turned around to grab the hoodie that was on the chair in the corner she saw the man, and her eyes widened in shock. She tried to run through the door, but he kicked it shut and in the next moment he had grabbed her.

I hissed and ran frantic circles around them. I had never felt so powerless. The man roughly grabbed mom by the hair and squeezed her breasts with his free hand. “Finally!”, he said.

Mom tried to scream but he clapped a hand over her mouth. Bite him mom! You can do it! Use your teeth!

She struggled and did indeed bite his hand. He cursed and hit her across the face. Then he grabbed her by the hair again and dragged her towards the bed. I jumped on there with them, trying to claw him.

He pushed her down on the bed and got on top of her, using his weight to push her down. She tried to push him away, but he was too heavy. He started to try and undo her pants, and in an act of desperation I jumped on his back.

I remembered the tingling sensation as mom had walked through me, and I focused on the feeling. My front paws sunk inside him, and I felt the blood coursing through him. Felt the eager excited beating of his heart. His heart! I pushed deeper until my paws reached it, and then remembered the knife. How I’d made it fall. I called on all my love for my mom, all my anger of this man who dared to hurt her. All I needed was one second. I got the second.

For the span of one heartbeat my claws were there again, and they were sharp. I pushed with all my might, sunk them deep into his heart… and he just stopped.

He made a strangled noise, his face showing surprise and he collapsed on top of mom. She gasped for breath, but finally managed to roll him to the side. He fell off the bed and stayed on the floor, unmoving.

After a frantic sobbing phone call the house was full of people I didn’t know. Cars with colourful lights were parked outside. Mom was wrapped in a blanket, and the man was taken away, zipped inside a big bag.

I slept on her bed every night for a year, snuggled up to her as she’d wake up from nightmares. Slowly she started sleeping more again, but the hollow look in her eyes didn’t go away.

Then one rainy day, she brought something home. Tiny, sodden wet and shivering. It was a kitten. He was black and white, and his eyes focused on me. I went over and licked his tiny head, and he purred. I looked at mom and I saw her smile for the first time again since that terrible evening. I saw as she fell in love with that kitten, and I knew the time had come.

Something in me loosened and I felt as if the room got lighter. I rubbed my cheek on mom for one last time. Take good care of her little brother. Love her as well as I did. Make sure she never feels alone. Keep her safe. Always.