[Image credits: Night hunter by Vitali Skvorkin]

There are many important responsibilities in the universe.

The rising of the sun.

The turning of the seasons.

The slow collapse of civilization.

And, most importantly, the opening of the tuna tin at 4:52 sharp every morning.

This sacred duty belongs to my human.

Unfortunately, my human is extremely incompetent and must be reminded of his responsibilities on a daily basis.

This is why I wake him.

I do so gently, at first.

By sitting on his chest and staring directly into his soul.

Humans find this unsettling for reasons that remain unclear.

My name, incidentally, is Chairman Meow. I am in charge of the flat.

This arrangement has existed for some time. I live here, I supervise operations, and the human performs the necessary mechanical tasks: opening doors, filling bowls, cleaning the litter tray, and operating the tin opener. It is an efficient system, though not without its flaws, the largest of which is that the human occasionally forgets breakfast.

This morning began like any other.

At 4:52 AM precisely, I arrived at the human’s chest and stared.

He did not wake.

This was not ideal, but not yet alarming. Humans are slow creatures. Their reflexes are poor, their senses dull, and they frequently require multiple reminders before performing even the simplest function.

I proceeded to Phase Two of the Morning Feeding Protocol: Gentle Paw.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Nothing.

The human continued to lie there with his eyes closed, breathing slowly, making faint distressed noises.

This was unexpected.

Normally at this stage the human groans, flails weakly, and attempts to roll over. This is the signal that the process is progressing successfully.

I escalated to Phase Three: Ear Yowling.

I positioned myself carefully beside his head and delivered a precise, high-volume announcement directly into his ear.

“YAAAAAAOW.”

The human twitched.

But he did not wake.

This was extremely frustrating.

I paused to consider the situation. The room was dark and quiet, aside from the faint sound of the refrigerator humming and the distant wail of some unfortunate ambulance several streets away. Everything appeared normal.

Except for the fact that breakfast had not been served.

I prepared to deploy Phase Four: Controlled Object Removal.

Many humans believe that cats knock objects off tables by accident or to play.

These people are fools.

It is a highly refined training method.

Excellent.

I turned toward the bedside table and examined the available resources: a glass of water, a book, a rectangular glowing device the human stares at endlessly, and a small lamp.

I began with the book.

Push.

The book fell to the floor with a satisfying thud.

The human whimpered faintly.

Progress.

Next, the glowing device.

Push.

Clatter.

Still nothing.

I turned my attention to the glass of water. This is normally a highly effective tool in the training process, but I prefer to reserve it for emergencies.

Before I could proceed, however, I noticed something unusual.

Floating above the human’s bed was a dark shape.

It hovered there like a cloud of smoke, curling and twisting in slow spirals. Two dim red lights glowed within it, like embers buried deep in ash.

I watched this phenomenon for several seconds.

Humans cannot see such things, of course. Humans are very poorly designed creatures. They cannot see ghosts, hear spirits, or smell a tuna tin from three rooms away.

Cats, however, are far more advanced.

This particular entity appeared to be whispering into the human’s mind.

The human groaned again and shifted beneath me.

The dark shape chuckled quietly.

I frowned.

This floating nonsense was interfering with breakfast.

“Move,” I said.

The shape paused.

Slowly, dramatically, it rotated toward me.

The smoke parted, revealing a tall skeletal figure wrapped in shadow, with glowing eyes and a mouth that curved into a cold smile.

“I,” it said in a deep, echoing voice, “am Murmur, Great Earl of Delectable Nightmares.”

“Move,” I repeated.

The demon blinked.

“I have existed since before the dawn of your species,” Murmur continued. “I harvest the fears of mortals as they sleep. I weave dreams of despair and feast upon their terror.”

“You are sitting on the can opener.”

Murmur frowned.

“The can what?”

“The human,” I explained patiently. “He opens the tins.”

Murmur glanced down at the sleeping human.

“He is currently experiencing a nightmare of exquisite dread,” the demon said proudly. “He is standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff while the sky splits open above him.”

“That is nice,” I said. “Goodbye, now.”

Murmur drifted slightly lower, looming over the human’s face.

“I am crafting a masterpiece of terror,” he said. “An orchestra of fear. A symphony of—”

“Breakfast is late.”

“It is four fifty-five in the morning.”

“Correct. This nonsense has already cost me three minutes.”

“No human eats at this hour.”

“But I do.”

Murmur stared at me.

“You wake him for this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I stared back.

“This seems obvious.”

The demon sighed.

“Cat,” he said slowly, “I am Murmur, Great Earl of Delectable Nightmares. Mortals tremble at my presence.”

“Could my human tremble as he fills my bowl?”

“You should feel terror.”

“I feel hunger.”

Murmur shook his smoky head and returned his attention to the human.

The human whimpered louder now, thrashing slightly as the nightmare deepened.

This situation had gone on long enough.

I deployed Phase Five: Emergency Belly Launch.I leapt into the air and landed squarely on the human’s stomach.

He wheezed.

His eyes fluttered.

For a moment I thought success had been achieved.

But Murmur whispered again, and the human sank deeper into sleep.

This was sabotage.

I turned back to the bedside table.

The water glass remained untouched.

Murmur glanced at me suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

“Advanced technique.”

I placed one paw against the base of the glass.

Push.

The glass tipped slowly toward the edge of the table.

Murmur narrowed his glowing eyes.

“Why are you pushing that?”

“It is science.”

The glass slid off the edge.

Unfortunately, at that exact moment Murmur drifted slightly closer to the table.

The glass struck the demon directly in the chest.

Water exploded across the room.

Murmur shrieked.

Not a dignified scream of supernatural menace, but a high, startled yelp.

The smoky shape collapsed instantly, unraveling like mist in a storm.

“WHAT WAS THAT,” Murmur howled.

Apparently nightmare demons do not enjoy water.

The shadow twisted wildly, flickering and breaking apart as the droplets soaked through it.

“I HAVE FED UPON THE FEARS OF KINGS—”

He dissolved completely.

The room became quiet again.

The human bolted upright.

“WHAT—?”

He looked around wildly, breathing hard.

I sat beside the bed.

“Meow.”

He stared at me.

“You little menace,” he muttered.

I stared back.

He rubbed his face.

“What time is it…”

I continued staring.

He sighed heavily and stumbled out of bed.

The kitchen light flicked on.

Moments later, the sacred sound filled the flat.

Click.

Tin.

He placed the bowl on the floor.

Justice.

I ate with the calm dignity of one who has successfully resolved a complex crisis.

The human leaned against the counter, still looking confused.

“I had the weirdest nightmare,” he mumbled.

Naturally.

After finishing my breakfast, I began washing my paws.

The human shuffled back toward the bedroom.

“Since it’s Sunday,” he said sleepily, “I’m going back to bed.”

A reasonable decision.

I followed him and sat on the rug as he collapsed beneath the blankets once again.

The room grew quiet.

Several minutes passed.

Then a familiar wisp of smoke began to gather above the mattress.

Murmur slowly reformed, glaring at me.

“You,” he hissed.

“Yes.”

“You defeated me earlier.”

“Yes.”

The demon hovered cautiously.

“You could stop me again.”

I considered this carefully.

Then I curled up on the rug.“Ordinarily,” I said, “I would.”The human began twitching again as the nightmare returned.

Murmur smiled slowly.

I closed my eyes.“However,” I added, “I am now full.”

The demon stared at me in disbelief.

The human whimpered as Murmur leaned down to whisper into his dreams once more.

I tucked my tail comfortably around my paws.

“I will deal with the situation,” I said, “at lunchtime.”