John and his wife always left notes for each other (Book club tonight, back @7:00) (Your mother called) (Need milk) on the door to the garage.
It was covered in sticky notes because nobody ever threw the old ones away until they fell on the floor.
One day, John found a new note from his wife.
--Honey, that stray cat I heard meowing last night is in the basement now. Can you get him? <3
John sighed. When had trespassing wildlife become his responsibility? Glancing at the basement door, he sighed again. His wife had left it cracked open, with the light on.
The cat had probably already escaped. He went downstairs anyway.
It was creepy down there. Dark, dusty, and…what was that sound?
A scraping noise, whenever he took a step, like something was moving in sync with him to disguise its own movements. Cats did that. Right?
He took another step. Scrape.
He stopped, almost panicking, before thinking to check his shoe. A sticky note clung to the sole, dragging when he walked. He must've stepped on it upstairs.
--Honey, I called the exterminator (tomorrow @3:00) and locked the basement door. Don't go down there. I don't think that's a cat.
John looked up at the basement door; the door that had unquestionably been open when he got home, the door that, before going down the stairs, he'd shut, and presumably, inadvertently,
locked behind him.
From behind the furnace, he heard a meow, but not like any cat he'd ever known. It was followed by a low chuckle.
Suddenly, John didn't think that was a cat either.