The Dark Somnium - All Eighteen lives of Omen, The Cat

Episode Date: January 19, 2021

The Eighteen lives of Omen, The Cat--- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/darksomnium/message Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

1. It was a shock when our family cat, Nancy, passed away whilst giving birth to a litter of only one kitten, and an even further shock when we noticed that this particular kitten, wrinkled and pink, had two heads. Paw said it was an omen. An omen of what? The kitten made a noise halfway between a squeak and a cough. Pa paused. I don't know. We were silent for a bit, whilst we thought on this. We didn't know either, but no one could doubt that it had to mean something. It made for a good name, though, Omen, and so it stuck. The vet told us Omen didn't have long for this world, said that animals with mutations

like this rarely lasted more than a few weeks at best. He suggested we make a quick bit of cash and find a museum or a lab nearby to sell them to. Two heads, two sets of genitals. He said Omen was a five-figure paycheck waiting to happen. We refused. Omen was ours. In the end, Omen would end up outliving that vet, and part of me, even though I know it can't be true, believes that Oman always held a grudge against him for what he told us that morning.

The vet made a joke and poor taste as we left. Might last a little longer, you never know, nine lives and all. I remember our whole family watching the way Paul looked to Omen's two heads, and then back to the vet. 18. He corrected. 18 lives. 2.

We spent the next few months hand-feeding Omen, both of their heads desperately hungry. Ma often joked that it was like they had two stomachs with the amount of milk they'd get through. We'd take turns to feed in the night, and even though I was much too young to be staying up that late, they could see how much this cat meant to me, and they'd give me an hour or two after dark. Oman had the most beautiful black coat, with sleek white socks, and a small cream spot like a monk on the top of their left head. The heads would sometimes chatter to each other, in meek little meows when they were alone,

as if comparing notes on their new body. Omen always ate better if they could sit in your lap, nestling their body in the folds of your legs, while both your hands would hold two small bottles for them to suckle from. Sometimes I'd sneak out of bed and sleep on the floor in Omen's room, only to be found and scolded by my parents when the morning came. But they didn't mind, really. Omen was our favorite. 3.

On the morning before his first birthday, Omen brought in a two-headed mouse, clamped in its right head's jaw. The thing was limp and made a soft pat when they dropped it onto the floor. I must have been twelve at the time, but I remember poking the mouse with a brush, turning it over to have a better look at each head. I was so absorbed in the rodent's strange biology, I completely ignored the sound of my ma and paw coming to stand behind me, hands on hips, watching me watch it. I think it's a message, Pa said.

Ma made a noise. He's right. I think they're telling us they're not alone. Both of Omen's heads meowed in sync, as if to agree. 4. We went on holiday as a family, and as much as it pained us, we were unable to bring Omen. Omen knew something was up when they saw us putting our clothes and bags, and when we all left at once, and when they tried to sink their claws into our shoes to beg us not to go.

But we had to, and we did. When we returned, sunburnt and at ease, we found the Omen had taken the time to smash every single clock in the house. Five. Omen would bring in all sorts of creatures, rodents, small birds, beetles that found interesting, frogs, toads, even fish every now and again. One evening in particular, the family were gathered around the TV, watching, I can't remember what, when Oman strolled in, sat straight in front of the screen, and dropped the bottom

half of a squirrel at its feet. The organs and intestines were hanging out, putrid and red, and we could see the way Oman's fur was matted around the mouth. He thinks we're hungry, trying to feed us, Paa said. Disgusting. Doesn't look half bad. If you're so hungry, you can clean it up. Oman watched with disappointment as Pa dropped the offering into the bin.

Then, though I didn't miss the whisper that followed. Sorry, Omen. 6. We lived in a big house, and family and friends would often cycle through, staying in various rooms when they encountered problems of their own, or just needed a roof over their head for a while. Our uncle came to stay with us during the last days of his life. There was no more modern medicine could do for him, and he told everyone he wanted to die with dignity.

We obliged him. And so, for the last week of his life, Uncle lived as normal a life as he could, told stories until he grew too tired, never complained, and despite our protest, slipped Oman meat and fish under the dinner table. Around 24 hours before he died, Oman took up a vigil by his bedside. We'd been advised by the nurses that we should keep Oman away, that having a cat that close would only cause trouble, that you never know where your pet had. been.

But that day, Omen wouldn't budge. They hissed and bared their teeth whenever anybody made a motion to pick them up, and the whole thing quickly became more hassle than it was worth. It was clear Uncle was deteriorating, and we didn't want to disturb what could be his final moments. Oman lay on his stomach without moving for food or water all day. Both of their heads stood watch, making periodical sweeps of the room, examining the doorway. About an hour before he passed, Oman watched something, invisible to the rest of us, enter

through the door and come to stand by my uncle's bed. Omen meowed softly, pleadingly. The sound grew and grew until eventually Omen went silent. Five minutes later, whilst holding Ma's hand, Uncle nodded, as if greeting an old friend, and took his last breath. 7. Ma told us she was pregnant. In response, Omen sneezed twice, one for each head.

Eight. Ma had twins, and God Omen loved those twins. From the moment they came home, Omen was all over them, transfixed by their angelic little faces, their impossibly thin wisps of hair, their laughs and their cries. I could almost hear Oman's thought process as both heads stared up at the newcomers. them, just like us, two of them." Nine. A local kid, who must have been roughly the same age as the twins at that point, say around

four, fell from the top of their garden wall and broke their skull on the concrete below. Our neighbors told us they found omen at the scene, lapping at the pool of blood as if it was cream and a saucer. The broken child was taken to intensive care immediately. Despite the doctor's best efforts, the child didn't make it. Omen came home, with blood matted in the fur, around their mouths, and turned their noses up at the dinner we'd prepared. They were full.

Ten. An old woman with matted hair and yellowed teeth came to the door. She said she'd seen our cat, and she would pay good money to take them off our hands. She looked like a ghost dragged through a swamp. Her skin was so pale you could see the mass of veins underneath, contracting like small worms. and when she spoke it made my skin hurt. She said they were touched by the devil. We told her they were ours, that they were family.

She snarled and spout on our front door. I'll see you soon, she said. 11. One night I heard a noise from the kitchen. Upon investigating, I found that someone was banging against the door. I recognized the voice. The woman from the week before. She was hammering the door now with her fists frantically.

She was saying let me in over and over and over again. I stood paralyzed by fear. There was something about her that I didn't trust, that I couldn't trust. I'd seen the way she looked at Omen like she wanted them for something. Then the noise spread out over the house and I was aware of the windows on three separate sides of the room and that through each window as I turned I could make out the same dark figure pounding against the glass screeching. It was as if there were several of her, all silhouettes, all at once, begging and pleading

to be let in, and the voice cracked and changed grew hoarser, harsher, and before long she didn't sound much like a woman at all, but like something hungry and vicious. Paw eventually came down and found me hiding under the table. Oman was sat, facing the door, tail flicking from side to side. side. Paa said that in the following silence, he could hear their heads chattering away to one another. He said they sounded serious, concerned.

12. I was brushing my teeth the following week, just after my shower, when I heard some scratching at the door. I tried to ignore it. Sometimes Omen would do this, begged to be let in after you'd had a shower so they could drink the water around the drain, but Ma had said we had to stop Oman from there more. unsavory habits in case we had guests. I kept the door firmly shut.

Omen grew more and more persistent, raking their claws down the wood and meowing as if there was a fire. I could have sworn the door was shut, but in my reflection, behind me, I could make out the door start to open, slowly, fraction by fraction, and my hand stopped moving the brush, leaving it stuck in my mouth like a cocktail stick. I saw a hand slowly emerge from the door in the reflection, a hand, and then a face I recognized, a gnarled, an ancient face, all gums and loose skin. And I could see the woman slowly force her way into the room in the mirror, and falling backwards,

it was all I could do to try and grab the door, slipping on the handle. The door flew open in both real life and the reflection, and as I staggered back, I could see the woman now dead on, smiling. reaching out toward the surface, towards me, and my hand found something hard and heavy, and it was all I could do to throw it at the mirror. There was a crash and the sound of falling glass, and the silence. It took me a while to absorb my surroundings for the adrenaline to wear off. I had thrown my alarm clock, a heavy brass thing that was so loud it was impossible not

to wake up. Omen was sat by the shattered clock. Their two faces reflected endlessly in the dozens of mirror shards that covered the floor, blinking and preening themselves before stepping closer and pushing their forehead against mine. Just for a moment, I felt as if I'd touch something old and dark and so hot, and then Omen pulled away and let me clean up the mess. Thirteen. The twins were followed home by a strange man in a long coat, with thin, blonde hair.

that he'd carefully slicked back over his otherwise bald head. He made lewd gestures at them, which they could repeat but not understand, and said words that made Ma blush. Ma said she'd found the man by our gate, staring into Oman's eyes, all four of them, without blinking, said that she told the man she'd call the police and that he should get off their property this instant. But the man stayed still, and wouldn't take his eyes off Oman. He spoke strange words to himself under his breath, prayed.

When the police came, some time later, the man was gone. 14. The strange man made local headlines, filling his pockets with rocks and throwing himself into the river. They said he'd finally lost it, that the weight of whatever he'd done had finally caught up to him. But I knew something happened that day. Oman had shown the man something in that moment, shown the man something so very, and he

real and terrifying, he'd had no choice but to drown himself, and, as if to confirm my suspicions, Oman coughed up a wet, blonde hairball. 15. Oman discovered catnip and spent three days in a day, like some sort of feline junkie, until Ma caught them staring at their own reflection. Embarrassed, Oman quit their newfound habit there and then. 16. Oman brought in the top half of a squirrel, while she was.

we were watching TV. The twins laughed. Paa said, Looks familiar. Moss said she felt something a little like deja vu. Try as we might, we couldn't place it. 17. Oman was sick in the night, and when we took him to the vet, he'd showed us his tattoo of

a two-headed cat. It's like yours, I'd never seen a real one. He said, feigning surprise. But the looks he shared with Oman made me think. otherwise. 18. Omen spent their last five nights with each one of us. First, paw, then ma, then the twins for one night each, and last of all, me.

They slept by my side, purring like kindling whenever I'd tickle one of their chins. We both knew that their time was nearly up. They were getting old, and what had once been muscle and fat had quickly become skin and bone. Their eyes were not as sharp, and had developed a thin, milky membrane. Sometimes one head would wake the other, and they'd spend a while bickering before they realized they were talking to themselves. Before they passed, they made one last slow circuit of the house, checking behind each door and under each bed, as if to say to us and to the twins, see, you're safe now.

We buried omen under our favorite tree. In our little wooden box we filled with shredded news. paper. Just above the box, to commemorate omen, we planted a single orchid. We thought that every time we looked out and saw the flower, we'd be reminded of our friend and protector. It was a surprise to none of us when, a month later, we saw two green buds rising from the soil.