A while ago (10 years ago or something), I have written a story about a twelve-year-old girl and her cat Azazel. It’s on Art-Anima now, and I’m also posting it here. After that, I’ve written a few more stories about this girl (she was older in them), her cat, her little brother, the friends she gained, the troubles they got into (if there’s a story, there are troubles as well)… Some of them briefly appeared at a now dead forum for writers, some of them I never posted anywhere. Back then, I intended to write a series of novels about her (does every writer starts wanting to write a series of novels?). I gave up on that since I’m no longer interested enough in exploring her story, but the already written stories still exist, and I hope they are fun enough to read (well, if you don’t mind horror elements and… no, I better not spoil it).
Tl;dr version: here’s a story, there will be more stories with the same characters. I hope you enjoy them!
MY CAT, A GENIUS
It was just the four of us, me, my Mom and Dad, and Azazel, and everything was fine. Azazel is my cat. My folks would tell you it was their cat too, but I named it, so it’s mine. Black male. Big cat. Beautiful, really. We got it two years ago, small black kitten. They wanted to name it Lucifer or Mephisto, but I objected. Too many Lucifers and Mephistos already, and Azazel is a demon’s name too. My parents smiled and agreed. They thought it was cute, their ten years old girl knew that there was a demon named Azazel.
Like I said, everything was fine. My parents had their room, I had my room, and Azazel had his. You see, we had a spare room in the house, my folks called it “the baby’s room” and there was even a bed for the baby in it. And as soon as Azazel was big enough to get in that bed, we found him there, sleeping. He simply decided to make it his bed and his room, and I talked my parents into permitting him. He was with me usually, but when he went to his room, it meant he wanted to be alone and that he didn’t want to be disturbed. I don’t think anyone ever had a cat like my Azazel.
Then, one day, my Mom told me she was going to have a baby. At first I thought that would be cool, I was the only one in my class with a pregnant Mom and I would be the only one with a new baby in the house. But Mom started to talk about me not having any obligations, that she and Dad would do all the work. Which was great, but she was saying it too often, so I started to doubt it. I told her I didn’t want to change baby’s diapers or wash it or run to see what’s wrong when it wakes me up in the middle of the night. Mom said okay, but I could see she was disappointed. What did she expect me to do? If she wanted a baby, she was supposed to take care of it.
The baby came, and Azazel was kicked out of his room. He wasn’t happy about it, but I explained to him it was the baby’s room now, and he could sleep in my bed. I told him not to hurt the baby, so he didn’t.
It wasn’t that bad in the beginning. Everybody was saying how cute my baby brother was, and although I thought he was ugly, like a little Churchill, red and fat, I agreed with them. And Mom and Dad did all the work. I was watching, but I didn’t want to help, and nobody forced me to.
But then they started to go out. And who was baby-sitting? Me, of course. It wasn’t fair. They didn’t go out before; why did they have to do it now? To show everybody that they could still have fun, even if they had a little baby?
Azazel knew I was unhappy about this. He was unhappy too. He didn’t have his own room anymore, and baby was waking him up too, just like everybody else in the house. And he didn’t like being awaken by screaming. It disturbed him. I didn’t like it either.
So he would sit and look at me with his sympathetic yellow eyes when I complained. There was nothing I could do. It’s not right to hurt your own blood; it’s not right even to wish it hurt. Azazel knew this, and he didn’t blame me for anything.
One evening, I opened the closet in the baby’s room. I was looking for something, I forgot what it was. Azazel entered the closet. I was in a hurry, so I just left the closet door open.
That night, Azazel came to my bed purring. I hugged him. I wanted it to be like it was before. Oh, well. I had a baby brother, and I had to get used to it.
A scream woke me up. It took me some time to realize that it was morning, not the middle of the night. And it was my mom that was screaming. I jumped to my feet and rushed to see what was wrong. My folks were in the baby’s room. Azazel was there too; he seemed to be alarmed with all the noise. My Dad was trying to soothe my Mom. I started to ask what was going on, and I realized my brother was not in his bed. I asked where he was, and my Mom started to scream again.
The closet door was open. And there were some slimy trails leading from the little bed to the closet.
After Dad managed to calm Mom down, he told me the baby was missing. I asked if they had called the police. Dad said no, not yet. He told me to take care of Mom while he did it.
Azazel looked pleased with himself. He was licking his paws and cleaning his face. I looked at the slimy trails again. When Dad came back and took Mom to the kitchen, I looked in the closet. Nothing. Just a closet. No hidden doors or anything. Azazel peeked in too, careful not to step in the slime. He looked at me. I absently scratched him behind the ear. He purred.
The baby was never found. The police didn’t have a clue what the slimy trails were. For a while, I was the most popular girl in the school, all because my baby brother disappeared. Even older boys asked me to date them. Not the best looking boys in school, but nothing’s perfect, I guess.
Things are pretty much back to normal now. Azazel is back in his old room. Mom and Dad are more quiet now, and they don’t talk about having new babies anymore. They never forbid me anything, and they are very nice to Azazel.
I’m nice to Azazel too, like I always was. He’s taking good care of us. We’re having a good life.