The SCP Experience - Just a Harmless Kitty Cat | SCP-247

Episode Date: January 9, 2025

SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-247 This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-247 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

It's something else here now. Something new. From exclusively on Paramount Plus. It's the series Stephen King calls Scary as Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real. Sci-fi Vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know the rules. Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch.

Saving those children is how we all go home. From binge all episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. I pause on the ridge and inhale deeply, scanning the sea of trees that stretches between the craggy jutting mountain tops. Our trail goes directly through the trees, up the valley. By the time we reach our campsite, we will have climbed a good 2,000 feet in elevation. Despite barely training for this hike, I feel as fresh as a daisy on a sunny spring day. I can't help but grin as I take in my surroundings. The sound of crunching footsteps from behind me prompts me to look back at my three friends.

I'm still grinning when I make eye contact with Rory, who smiles as he comes to a stop next to me. He swings his hunting rifle off his shoulder and brings it up, scanning the valley through the high-powered scope. Several paces behind him is Luke, whose thick jowls are splotched with red from exertion. He doesn't smile as he comes to a stop and takes his backpack off. He doesn't even meet my gaze. Lastly, Chad comes to a stop, puffing and puffing, his beer gut, making him look like he's smuggling a watermelon under his shirt.

My grin has died a little, but I'm still smiling at my friend. He meets my gaze, and a flicker of anger comes into his eyes as he sticks his jaw out. A little flame of my own anger ignites, matching Chad's in quickness and intensity for a moment. but I quickly snuff it out. Instead of starting an argument, what I undoubtedly would have done before the accident, I turn away from my friends,

close my eyes, and take another deep breath. Man, isn't this beautiful? I swear to God, Chad mumbles. My eyes snap open and I spin on him, ready to bite his head off. But I stop myself from going for the low blow. Instead of snapping, I look at my friend of over 20 years and say,

What? At first, it looks like Chad's going to let it go. But that flicker of flame in his eyes leaps to life like it's been doused in gasoline. I just thought you were going to say something about how your second lease on life has made everything so beautiful that you can hardly stand it. Yeah? And so what if I did? You have a problem with me appreciating life?

If I have to hear about it every five fucking seconds? Yes, I do. Guys, come on, Rory says, always the peacemaker. Ignoring Rory, I look at Luke. You feel this way too? Luke and Chad are brothers. And as always, Luke looks to Big Brother Chad for guidance. Don't look at your brother.

I'm asking you a question. You're a grown-ass man. You should be able to answer a simple question by yourself. Luke's nostrils flare. Yeah, I do feel the same. Ever since the accident, it's all you talk about. Life is precious this. Everything is beautiful that. I can't believe I didn't see how beautiful a fucking rock was before I died and came back.

Blah, blah, blah. Wow. I can't believe I didn't think about how my newfound positivity would affect you two. I just assumed my friends would be happy I survived that car accident. What a fool I was. We are happy you didn't die, Chad says. We just don't want to hear about it every five minutes. Some of us didn't experience death like you did.

Life has just been the same for us. Same shitty jobs. Same boring wives. Same snotty kids. More of the same. I take a moment, studying my three friends, realizing that my relentless positivity could be annoying. Rory smiles sheepishly,

and I know he feels the same, even if he's too nice to say it. Chad and Luke no longer look angry. They look relieved, as if this has been weighing on them for some time. Okay, so what about this trip? I ask. Do you guys regret coming? I know this isn't exactly easy for you fat bucks. The corner of Chad's mouth twitches.

Luke's eyes tilt up at the sides just a little. Are you kidding me? Chad says, gesturing around us with both hands. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life. It makes me want to cry and shit my pants at the same time. We all chuckle. The tension relieved. Nah, but seriously, I'm glad we're doing this.

As long as you shut the fuck up about how beautiful and special everything is, we'll all be able to enjoy it. I smile. But I was just about to tell you how beautiful and special you are. Well, that I have no problem with. Laughing, we all turn and head up the trail again. An hour later, it's lunchtime. We're at a small clearing just off the trail.

We all have our packs off. Rory's rifle leans against a fallen tree next to his open backpack. Luke and Rory sit in the grass to eat while Chad and I stand up. I'm chowing down on a turkey and Swiss sandwich when I hear the rustling from the trees at one edge of the clearing. It's not the kind of rustling made by a small animal, so it draws everyone's attention. We all stop eating and look toward the source of the noise.

I half expect a deer to walk out, but there are bears in these mountains too. I just hope it's not that, because we only have the one gun, and no one is within grabbing distance of it right now. The rustling continues, growing closer. Then a strange-looking house cat emerges from the underbrush. Immediately, a severe headache seats itself in my skull as I look at the cat, which is orange and black, its fur pattern like that of a bangle tiger. Aw, a little kitty cat, Chad says, in an uncharacteristic.

epithminate voice. Chad is definitely not a cat person, so his reaction surprises me. But I'm more concerned with the splitting headache that feels like an iron spike driving into the base of my skull. What's a pretty little kitty like you doing all the way out here? Luke asks, his flattened PB&J sandwich forgotten in his left hand. Look at you! Rory says, reaching a handout toward the cat, who's a good five yards away. The cat flicks its striped tail and looks at all of us in turn with its golden eyes. There's something about those eyes that bothers me, but I can't place it. What a sweet cat, Chad says, moving toward the animal, which has paused just inside the clearing.

As Chad passes between me and the animal, my vision does something strange, and for a moment, I'm sure that he's moving toward a full-grown tiger and not a harmless house cat. It's little more than a flash of the thing's tail and its big, powerful haunches, there and then gone, once he's no longer partially obstructing my view. But it's enough to leave me breathless and more than a little worried. Wait, chat! My friend ignores my words and continues toward the kitten, crouching as he nears the strange-looking animal.

I've seen pictures of toigers, house cats that have similar coats as tigers, but this one takes it to a whole other level. Normally, Toygers don't have bright orange fur. It's usually very muted in color, but this one's fur is bright orange. The black stripes stark against the odd coloring. Chad, stop! I shout.

Chad pauses. His hand stretched out toward the cat, fingers mere inches away. He looks over his shoulder at me, perplexed. In my peripheral vision, I see Rory and Luke looking at me with equally perplexed expressions. The cat, however, is paying me no attention at all. As I watch, my stomach roiling with twitching nerves and my headache shooting my anxiety to the sky, the cat moves forward and stretches its head toward Chad's waiting hand. It rubs its cheek against his fingers and arches its back, essentially petting itself with

Chad's hand. I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding as the cat starts to purr, sounding like an idling lawnmower. There's a good kitty, Chad says, sinking to his knees and petting the cat. I don't know what I thought was going to happen, but it's clear I overreacted. Maybe it was the sudden onset of the headache, or the strange trick of my vision that made the cat look bigger than it actually is. The headache is still there, and still quite painful, but it has lessened with my relief. And it seems that if I didn't look directly at the cat, the headache,

isn't as bad. Lazang sur-gillet, puissance-moyerned for 15 minutes. We're like it's the hour dojo. Prere to play. Live the pleasure

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on the machine a shoe-a-Bass-B-Bus Bonanza. Depos minimum of $10 The conditions apply. Making cute baby talk noises, Rory and Luke move toward the cat, wanting a chance to pet it. Something about this is very strange. I expect this kind of behavior from Rory, but certainly not from Luke or Chad. They've never owned cats as far as I know, and they've never expressed interest in owning them either.

Just relax and appreciate a chance run-in with a stray cat, I tell myself. But there's something else that makes no sense. A stray cat wouldn't last long out in these woods. It would soon be eaten by a larger predator. So how is it that this cat is still alive? I have no idea, but I ease my way toward the group, glancing once at the rifle still propped against the fallen tree. I'm no longer able to see the cat because my three friends are blocking it from view,

but I can still hear it purring. Then, as I'm getting close enough to see it, I'm getting close enough to see the animal again. The purring sound is interrupted by the horrific and sudden crunch of bones snapping and skin-breaking. Chad screams and flails, knocking Rory back with his right arm, which brings the animal into view again. There's that flash of a huge tiger, which coincides with the flare of pain in my skull. But the vision is gone quickly, and the cat is only a kitten again. But that kitten is gripping Chad's mangled left hand in its tiny jaws.

Blood pours for my friend's hand, which is split in several places, at least two bones sticking out the back of his palm. The kitty's mouth is only big enough to bite onto the outside edge of his palm, but somehow his entire hand has been mangled. The kitty digs its feet into the ground and pulls, yanking Chad onto his stomach. The sight of it is almost comical. It's so impossible. Chad should be able to lift his arm and dangle the cat from his limb.

He simply rides on the ground. kicking his feet and trying to pull himself away. Rory and Luke just look on, seemingly stunned but making no move to do anything to help Chad. But they're both in my way, preventing me from rushing forward to help my friend. And before I can do anything, the kitty jerks its head, yanking Chad along the ground by his arm. There's an unmistakable crack pop of my friend's shoulder dislocating. As I jump over Rory on my way to help Chad, the kitty dragged himself backward toward the tree line. I grab hold of Chad's feet and plant myself, but the cat

is impossibly powerful. As it yanks him again, I'm almost pulled off my feet. Chad is screaming now. His voice hoarse as he belts out wordless cries of agony. Help! I scream at Rory and Luke. Help me! Get the gun! My two friends look as if they've just been sleeping. It's just a harmless little kitty cat, Rory says. Why do you need a gun? Yeah. Luke says. Then he looks toward the kitty, which is no longer visible because it's obscured by tree branches and shrubs bordering the clearing. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. It's going to kill him. The cat yanks on Chad again. I dig my heels into the dirt, but the animal still manages to drag me about a foot. Suddenly the pressure goes out of Chad, and I fall backward onto my ass. The cat

has let him go. Less than a heartbeat goes by before the underbrush shifts and the kitty leaps through the air toward me, landing with all four feet on Chad's back. My friends spine snaps as his rib cage collapses. He stops screaming with one agonized outrush of breath. Before I have a chance to process this, the kitty leaps toward me, slashing out with one paw. On reflex, I put my left forearm up and throw myself back, but I'm still partially pinned by Chad's legs on mine. Something hits my left forearm, knocking it aside with a side of with as much power as the punch of a heavyweight boxer. I roll over and, panicking, crawl away, kicking Chad's legs off my own as I go.

I scramble on all fours to the rifle. I get it in my hands and then spin around, bringing it up to my right shoulder. The first thing I notice is the injury to my left forearm. It's covered in blood from four long gashes, exposing the inside of my arm. The next thing I notice is the kitty digging its little face into Chad's stomach. Somehow, and the time it took me to crawl and get the rifle, the cat managed to turn Chad over and rip open his stomach. The cat pulls its head out, whiskers covered in blood, mouth trailing a string of intestines. What the fuck? I mutter, aiming the rifle.

I'm close enough that I don't bother looking through the scope. I put my finger on the trigger, but then Luke steps between me and the cat. Without lowering the rifle, I raise my head and look at him. You're scaring me, Luke says. It's just a harmless little kitty. You can't shoot it. It's too adorable to die. It just killed your brother.

Get out of the way. It's playing. It doesn't mean it. I can't believe what I'm hearing. It's almost as impossible as a house cat disemboweling a 250-pound man. Rory walks up and yanks the rifle away. I'm so shocked. I barely put up a fight.

We can't let you shoot. shoot it. It's not right. Not right. Open your eyes. It killed Chad. Have you both gone nuts? Rory shakes his head sadly and opens his mouth to speak. But a commotion behind him draws both our attention. Luke grunts and slams into the ground nearby, the cat on his back. He hits the ground like he has a 400-pound tiger on him. Luke giggles like he's playing. But when the cat He digs its claws into his shoulders and drags them down the length of his back. His giggles turned to screams. Blood quickly soaks his shirt from the gouges in his back.

I lurched to my feet and reach for the gun, but Rory pulls it away from me. His other hand pressed to my chest. Over his shoulder, I see the cat go for Luke's head. Although it looks like the cat's mouth is only fitting over the bulge of the back of the skull, I can see Luke's entire head deform as the pressure increased. creases on it. A sickening moment later, Luke's skull gives, cracking like a hard-boiled egg. But instead of cooked egg whites, blood and brains spill out of the broken head. Cheese, I say. But halfway through the word, it deforms into a mumble by the vomit,

shooting up my throat and out of my mouth. The upchucks splatters Rory's arm, and he removes his hand from my chest to look in disgust at the pieces of half-digested turkey and Swiss sandwich sticking to his forearm. Nasty, he says. Despite not wanting to, I look over at Luke and see the kitty crouching next to his shattered skull, slurping up his brains like it's a gourmet kitty treat from a can. Fighting the urge to vomit again,

I turn my attention back to Rory, shoving him to the ground. I put one foot to his neck as I wrenched the rifle from his hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the cat losing interest in the freshly spilled brains. Its eyes shift from its gory treat up to me and Rory. I suddenly realize what has been bothering me about the cat's eyes. They're not the eyes of a house cat. They don't have vertical pupils.

Instead, the pupils are circular, like those found in a human's eyes, or a tiger's. Half-forgotten memories from some nature documentary streamed through my head as I pull Rory to his feet. Something about why house cats and larger cats have different pupils. Something about how smaller cats hunt in the tall grass, so their vertical pupils help them hunt in low-light conditions. Big cats can see over the grass and need more long-range vision, hence the circular pupils. Not that any of this is really useful to me, but thinking of it does help to center me, to quell my panic momentarily as I jammed the rifle barrel to the base of Rory's skull,

grabbing his shirt collar with my free hand. I'll kill you if you don't come with me right now. He scoffs and disbelief. What's gotten into you? First, you're terrified of a harmless cat, and now you're threatening me with my own rifle? I'm already pulling Rory back toward the trail. He doesn't give much resistance.

The kitty turns its head, following us with its tiger's eyes. Move faster, I say. Or I'll blow your brains out. We get to the trail and turn back the way we came. The cat watches us the whole way, but it doesn't move. A moment later, we're obscured by some trees.

Still, I keep moving us backward, going just slow enough so I don't trip over a rock or a route. I keep my gaze fixed on the trail, waiting for the cat to show up and chase after us. But it doesn't. I ignore Rory, who has been protesting the whole way. Pretty soon, we round a curve in the trail, and I can no longer see the length of trail of budding the clearing. I spin Rory around so that he's ahead and I'm behind him. Move, we need to get out of here. Don't you think you're overreacting?

Rory asks, but he keeps walking. Blue can shatter dead. They're fucking dead, Rory. Nah, the cat was just playing with them. I'm sure they're fine. If you try anything, I will shoot you. I'm going, I'm going. We walk like that for a long time.

My headache clears a little with each step away from the cat. cat, but my arm is still bleeding pretty good. I'll have to stop and try to slow the bleeding soon, but not yet. Every few steps, I glance over my shoulder. I'm always scanning the woods around us. Each noise, every squirrel scrambling or bird taking flight has me flinching and getting ready to fire. Soon, we come to the ridge where we stopped on the way in, where my friends told me that my relentless positivity was getting on their nerves. As we're we crest the ridge, Rory comes to an abrupt halt and straightens in front of me. I stay back a few paces, worried he's about to try something, but he turns very slowly to look

at me. His face is drawn and pale. His haunted eyes meet mine. They're dead. They're really dead. I squint, wondering what's happening with him. Is this a trick? Oh Jesus, that thing killed them. It killed Luke and Chad. No shit. I tried to tell you that. Rory shakes his head and bends over, gathering two handfuls of hair in his fists. I don't know what came over me. I just thought, I thought it was a harmless cat, but it's not. It's a killing machine. Rory straightens and steps toward me, grabbing my shoulders. I'm so confused I don't try to stop him. He looks me in the eyes and says, Thank you. You saved my life. You saved... His expression pulls a 180 as his eyes fix on something over my shoulder. He smiles and says,

Oh, look at the little kitty. I spin around, expecting to see the cat right behind us. But it's not. It's far off, near the tree line. It saunters casually toward us. As soon as my eyes land on it, the headache starts again with renewed ferocity. Still, I force myself to think past the pain, and I come to the conclusion that the cat has a range of influence. Nothing else makes sense with the way Rory has been acting. Let's go pet it. I want to pet it. I turned toward my friend and bring the rifle barrel up under his chin. Move.

Why are you doing this? I brought him with the rifle when he starts to move. We walk along the ridge for about ten yards before Rory changes again. It's doing something. to my brain, he says, looking at me again. It gets inside my head. Rory, I need you to run, okay? I need you to keep running.

Run back to the cars and take off. Get the police or the rangers or whatever. Tell them what happened. Make them believe. Shaking his head, Rory says, What are you going to do? I'm going to kill the thing. Rory looks like he's about to argue.

So I aim the rifle at his head. Rory, just run. Run. reluctantly, my friend turns and runs down the trail. I turned back around to face the cat, only to find the trail empty. The cat nowhere in sight. Where the hell did it? Something hard hits me in the middle of my back.

Crying out, I stumble forward, managing to keep myself from falling. I turn around, bringing the rifle up as Rory runs toward me, hurling another stone at me. This time, the rock hits me in the cheek, and I stumbled backward, tripping. and falling. Rory is on me in a moment, wrenching the rifle out of my hands. I can't let you kill a harmless little kitty who has done nothing wrong. It's too adorable to die. In my dazed state, I look around, seeing the cat walking up just a few yards away. It must have run towards us, just as I was getting Rory to run. Or maybe it was an act to get me to let my guard down. Shouting, I throw myself at Rory, grabbing the rifle barrel

just before it fires and the world goes dark. I feel a strong tugging sensation along my chin as the dark fades away, bringing me back to the world. I open my eyes, but blood splatters them, and I'm forced to close them again. My head is lifted off the ground. There's another painful tug,

and something gives way, causing my head to fall back down. I open my eyes in a flurry of blinks, The blood that got in, tinging my vision of pinkish red. I see a massive bangle tiger standing over me, gnawing on what must be my jawbone. There's no telling why I can see the cat's true form right now. Maybe it's because I'm so close to death. Maybe it's because that's what happens when the thing attacks you.

You see what it is that's eating you alive. Either way, my headache is gone. I don't feel much of anything, for that matter. I can see the clouds and the average. sky, like little mounds of freshly fallen snow floating overhead. If I had a mouth still, I would smile. It turns out I'm used to death by now. I've done it once before.

I was terrified in the back of that ambulance on the way to the hospital. I was so scared, begging a God I've never believed in to spare me. And he did for a little while. It's more than most people get. This time, I'm not scared at all. It turns out that even death can be achingly beautiful in the right circumstances. I mean, how many people get to say they died at the jaws of a magical tiger? Not many, that's for sure.

As the tiger loses interest in my jaw, I hear Rory call out from nearby. My friend is heard! What happens? A distant voice calls back. Other hikers on the trail, no doubt. Come quick! Do you have a first aid kit? My eyes suddenly go wide.

All the beauty of my last moments ripped away. I try to shout to warn these people away, but my tongue only twitches, lolling from my jawless mouth. Soon, I hear the crunching of boots close in as the newcomers arrive. By their voices, I can tell it's a man and a woman. Oh my God! The woman says. Look at the adorable kitty cat!

SCP 247 is a Bengal tiger witch, to all observers, appears to be a harmless domestic cat with an orange and black striped coat resembling that of a tiger. Remote feeds and still photos also show this illusion, although it is unknown whether the photo itself is affected or merely the observer. SCP 247's true nature has been confirmed by analysis of weight, water displacement, and dental molds made from bite marks. Any individual within the entity's field of influence comes under the impression that SCP 247 is completely harmless, regardless of prior knowledge or experience. Individuals in this field also show extreme reluctance to harm or allow others to harm the entity,

even while being actively harmed by it. Typically, SCP 247 will begin to purr or meow when approached by a human. The human will remark that this is adorable, and approach to pet the subject. This has been observed, even in persons who strike strongly dislike cats. The entity has been known to accept affection from its victims for upwards of seven minutes before disemboweling and devouring them.