Hiding from the Shadows

Chapter 1

There are many different stories of how people choose their pets. Some choose the most remarkable and others the most simple. Whatever the reasons most will say that something about their pet-to-be spoke to them.

Well, mine literally spoke to me.

I was only in the pet shop because of my therapist. They said I wouldn't be so lonely if I had a pet to keep me company. I think they were at the end of their rope. You see, I may be a bit stubborn, especially when it comes to accepting help. Help means relying on others, and I just don't trust other people enough to do that.

So why, you may ask, am I going to therapy? Well, because I need it. Even I can admit that.

According to Mark, my therapist, I have been isolating myself for years as a protection mechanism. They think that something happened to traumatize me when I was younger. That I'm now convinced that the only way to protect myself is to not care about anything, so I keep my distance and make sure to keep my walls up. They're not wrong. Not that I'll tell them that.

But a pet isn't going to help me. When I brought this up, along with several other points that any normal person would take as legitimate reasons to not get a pet, such as time and money, Mark ignored me. They said that a pet would work as an emotional companion and help me come out of my shell. That a pet would help me make friends and get through this whatever-it-is-that's-wrong-with-me. To get rid of the shadow that follows me everywhere.

I thought that was bullshit.

Nonetheless, I decided it would get them off my case, so I decided to get a cat. They're quiet, don't do much, and don't need a lot of attention. Or at least I hoped.

I arrived at the pet shop only to be bombarded with choices. Too many for somebody who didn't want a cat in the first place. I stood there for like, 15 minutes, really unmotivated to make a decision, when a voice spoke up.

"Just choose one already. They're all the same anyways."

I whipped my head around, eyes landing on the source of the voice. No way. No freaking way. Standing in the corner of one of the pens was a tiny black cat, staring at me like I was the dumbest being to ever walk the earth. And then it continued talking.

"Same boring personality and routine. Not even close to being as incredible as me. I honestly don't know what makes them so appealing to humans."

The cat. Can talk. What.

"W-what? You just- you can-" I stammered.

The electric blue eyes of the apparently talking cat widened, and then narrowed.

"You can understand me?" it asked.

"You can talk," I countered.

"Hmm." It eyed me, looking me up and down. I don't know what it was looking for, but apparently it wasn't impressed with my black ripped jeans and old band t-shirt. "Not much for a witch. Looks like I got my work cut out for me."

"I'm sorry, what?! I'm not a witch. See, no pointy hat." I point to my head, displaying the obvious lack of said hat. The cat just scrunches his nose at me.

"So stereotypical. There was only one coven that wore those types of hats. Damn rumors told everyone that all witches wore those. Idiots."

My heart beat picked up and the world might have been spinning a little. A talking cat just spouted witch history. What the hell is wrong with me.

"And so are you apparently," it said, turning the conversation back to me and my stereotypical ass. "Not knowing you're a witch," it scoffed. "What kind of witch would you be if you didn't know you were a witch."