Watch Your Step

...or this will be the last thing that you see before the sweet embrace of death heralds an end to your mortal suffering...

One of my Humble Opinions...

When I am in the cat box for one of those, erm, lengthy sessions, I like to take a little bit of light reading material with me. What really amuses me are some of the interpretations that humans have for my kind. Great Old Ones, that is. One of the most entertaining sources I've perused in recent memory is the Call of Cthulhu game.

In this "game," the "players" willingly pretend to be overtaken by the darkest powers (un)imaginable. Myself included. Why anyone would actively want to make believe that they are being consumed by a malignant, formless evil from across time and space is beyond even my omniscient wisdom. Go figure.

An amusing quotation from the game's "rules" reads:

"Hastur will not normally attack his friends or worshippers."

That, vile reader, is the purest rubbish. In my seething opinion, friends are meant to be attacked and, yes, even devoured.

You need to understand one thing when dealing with humans: they really don't know everything. They're a bunch of bumbling, mindless drones, their lives as to my kind as an ant's is to theirs. Still...they do have their uses.

An amusing anecdote...my slaves were discussing me the other day, and the male said, "Do you really think Hastur is a bad cat?"

She thought about that before replying, "I don't think he's bad, just naughty."

If only she knew the truth.

A New Way To Spread Terror

My slaves must sleep from time to time. I assume they do this so that they can recharge their spiritual energies. Without this energy, I find that they are lethargic. Even more so, I have found that waking them in the middle of the night (especially the male: his sleep patterns are very easy to disrupt) causes them distress.

The ways in which I do this deed are varied only by my imagination. In the past, I have knocked things over, making quite a racket in the process. The slaves emerge from their cell to see if anything valuable to myself has been broken, and then they return to their pallet and attempt to go back to sleep.

On other occasions, I have taken mighty vengeance upon the mundane cats with whom I share this pitable dwelling. The cries and wails of pain from these beasts causes the humans to wake, and they come to investigate the ruckus. I can only assume they are ensuring that no harm has come to me. As if!

On one occasion, I clawed at the male slave's eyes, nearly blinding him in the process. To see him stagger to the bathroom, bleeding, was quite amusing. Har, har! I chuckle to myself just to think of it. On another, I pretended to be frightened by a phantom movement, and leapt upon his head. This delivered a spectacular scalp wound. Quite amusing, really.

Yet I am not required to cause my slaves lasting harm in order to keep them awake. Oh, no. Indeed, all I need to do is walk upon their bodies as they lay within their death-like slumber. My feline form is quite substantial, weighing even more than their infant does. The discomfort of my roaming paws upon their tender spots is more than enough to wake them.

Truly, it is the little evils that I enjoy the most.

Blessed Food

When I am not devouring the hapless human cockroaches that inhabit this desolate plane of existence, I sate my maleficent appetites on cat food. Each can is perfectly proportioned to curb the hunger of a great old one, yet my human slaves insist on sharing this bounty with the other creatures that inhabit my abode.

There is never enough to go around. One of these days, I will eat them all, and then we'll see how they like it. One of the others is this one: Merlin. He is nothing more than a mundane feline. His limited intellect prevents him from comprehending my vast and terrible power, so I continue to cut him some slack. I forsee a messy end for him someday, and his share of the food will no doubt be placed into my unholy bowl from that day forward.

In addition to my slaves and Merlin, there is also a young child living here. I don't care what his name is. I know that the only reason my slaves continue to care for him is so that they may offer him to me as a humble sacrifice. I await the day of this offering with much relish, for the boy appears quite tender. Does he not?

Great Cthulhu dropped in for a glass of milk this morning, and we reminisced over some great old times that we once had. Ah, the sinking of R'lyeh! How I remember it fondly. We chuckled to ourselves when we discussed the future of this pitiful planet and its miniscule inhabitants. How they will tremble at our return. Two great hates that hate great together! We really should make time to see one another more often.

The Duties of Good Slaves

I spent much of the day sleeping, which is in the best interests of my human slaves. The longer that I remain awake, the more chance there is that I will grow hungry and devour them out of hand.

It is good that I have not yet consigned my pitiful humans to such a horrible fate. After all, they do provide a useful distraction from the more tedious duties of a great old one, such as myself. When the day is done, and I've warped and twisted countless victims into a plethora of gruesome shapes and hideous forms, it's nice to know that I can rely on my slaves to give me a drink.

Let the following stand as a warning to you all:

Know that this is my domain, lest you trespass upon it. Such a mistake would certainly be your last. I have populated this sand box with nameless horrors that have brought the hardiest of my slaves to their pitious knees, gasping vainly for breath. When they clean my box, they do so with averted eyes, lest the horror of the treasure they find inflict instant madness upon their feeble minds.

Unleashed Upon the World!

Yes, it is I, Hastur T. Cat, the living embodiment of feline entropy and decay!

I am the cat that comes when you call. All but whisper my unspeakable name, and I will appear!

I was born on a rural farm many years ago, a furry avatar of chaos! My every whim is served by a pair of unwitting human slaves who live only to see that my malignant desires are fulfilled.

This is my story.