“Oh-kay,” said Tommy, his hands covering his face. “I’m out of here.”

“Frak me,” Simon muttered. Light from outside reflected off cat’s eyes, small-mirrored gazes directed at them. “What’re we gonna do?”

“Leave,” stated Tommy, Mrs. B’s dead body still obscured by his hands.

“911,” Sarah whispered, glancing sideways at Tommy, clasping his hand harder than before. “We have to dial 911.”

A tan Tabby took several steps towards them. Looking closer, Simon realized that reddish-brown stains around the jaw line interrupted the cat’s mottled tan fur.

“Yeah, we gotta go,” said Simon. He slowly guided them backwards towards the doorway.

A scream pierced throughout the house, sustaining itself for what seemed an eternity, and the trio halted their motion. That wasn’t a cat, thought Simon. Was… did the words “Help me!” surface through all that agony?

When the sound subsided, another replaced it: purring, from behind them.

Simon finally realized: it was a game of cat and mouse, and cats surrounded them.