I’ve always hated cats. It wasn’t for the reasons most people hated cats, though. I didn’t hate them because they were aloof and independent little devils. I didn’t hate them because I was allergic to them. No, I hated them because of the cat lady– Mrs. Norris.

I remember moving into the neighborhood way back when, sometime during the early 2000s. The neighborhood was always bright and fun and full of life– everybody seemed to get along and there were plenty of kids I could play with. All of the neighbors welcomed us, threw us parties, talked to us; all except that one little house at the end of the road. Something about it always seemed to throw off the course of things. While everybody on the street would go outside and watch the ballgame, that house would stay quiet. When everybody’s house was two-story and freshly polished, that house would seem as though it was falling apart, covered in chipped paint. Whenever our street seemed bright and happy, there would always be that little house at the end of it, covered in shadows by the overgrown trees surrounding it. It was off putting.

I finally met Mrs. Norris– the lady who lived in that house– two months after moving to the area. Mom and Dad had wanted to meet the owner, so on some Saturday, we went over. She was a little old lady, only about four-foot-ten, with a pale face and slim eyes. It was awkward for me, as a ten-year-old, to be able to look down at her. Every time I visited her, she was wearing the same two-inch-high heels. Maybe to look taller. If so, they didn’t really help.  

Mrs. Norris seemed surprised when we knocked on the door. “Hello?” she said.

“Hello! We’re your new neighbors. I’m Florence,” Mom said. She then pointed to my dad. “And this is Robert.”

Mrs. Norris– whom I didn’t know the name of yet– showed no response to my mother’s introduction. She only tipped her head down to me. “And who’s he?” Her voice was very rough, as though her vocal cords were rubbing against sandpaper. It looked like she had to put a lot of effort into her words, or maybe she just hadn’t talked in a while. She was a widow, I soon learned later, so I can only assume that she hadn’t spoken to anyone in quite some time.

“Oh– this is our son, David.” Mom pushed me forward a bit, nudging me towards her. “Say hello and ask her what her name is, David.” I was very antisocial as a younger child, so my mom always made me talk to other people. I wasn’t at the point of introducing myself, but I had learned to greet.

“Hi… ma’am,” I whispered, looking up at the old lady. “What’s y-your name?”

The lady’s eyes widened even more than they had already been, as though she was shocked that the question was aimed towards her. As though what I asked was like a gun pointing at her. She quickly responded, looking away and fiddling with her fingers. “I-I’m Mrs. Norris. L-Laura Norris, that is.” She pointed back into her doorway. “And h-here are my babies, running along n-now.”

I smiled the slightest, because although I was quiet, it didn’t mean that I didn’t want to make any friends. I was really just anxious in front of adults. But as soon as I looked behind her, I couldn’t see anyone. Looking up at Mrs. Norris, I tilted my head. “Where?”

Mrs. Norris chuckled. “I’ll grab one for you now. Just you wait one second.” She then turned around, vanishing into the darkness of her home. I could vaguely point out a hallway leading to three different rooms, two from the sides and one down the middle. In the center lay a large, comfortable-looking rocking chair with a tiny TV that looked as though it came from the fifties. The carpet had torn in some places, and so had the wallpaper; the house looked unclean, unfinished, and most importantly, it looked as though it belonged in a different era. 

Within a minute later, she came back, but not with a child. I widened my eyes at what was lying in her hands. Mrs. Norris was holding a cat.

“Here’s m-my oldest, about seventeen years old. His n-name is R-richard.” Mrs. Norris shoved the tom into my face as I sneezed, flinching back. Looking between them, I could notice some similarities. Both the lady and the cat were tiny, almost malnourished. By the looks of it, Mrs. Norris either didn’t have enough money to pay for it, or she simply didn’t care to. And then, their eyes. I hadn’t seen it before, but the lady’s eyes were more than just slim, they looked like cat eyes. Her pupils were now slits under the golden sunlight, and her cat’s were as well. 

“Oh, what a cutie! How many do you have?” my mother said, reaching out to the tom before it battered her away. 

I gave her a side glance. Really? You’re just gonna ignore the fact that I’m allergic to cats and you’re gonna get a ton of super stinky cat fur on you that will probably poison me? Thanks, Mom. But her words were soon overshadowed by Mrs. Norris’.

“Oh, too many to count, they’re a handful. Let’s see, you have Richard here, and Tommy, and Rachael, and Brian, and Steph, and Tina, and Fred, and–” The more she continued to say the names, the more my family’s faces dropped. By the end of her lecture, she had counted around one hundred and sixty-three names. One hundred and sixty-three cats.

At that time, the only thought that sat in my head was, How did she get so many? No– How did she have enough money for so many? She was well past the age of retirement, and as far as I could tell, there was no man in the house. I still don’t know now, but the most logical conclusion I came to was that she was broke. And if she was broke, then she didn’t feed the cats. The cats probably fed themselves.

And then I saw them. My mouth agape, I stared back into the darkness. And one hundred and sixty-three pairs of eyes stared back at me. Their eyes were so intense, each iris glowing unnaturally. I felt hypnotized under their gaze, as though they were seeping into my soul while I somehow made eye contact with each and every one of them. Mrs. Norris’ eyes were like that, too. Hers were glowing the most, her pupils were the thinnest, and somehow, they were the most cat-like out of the sea of cats.

I flinched back, tugging at my father’s sleeve. He took the hint, and started backing away. “It was wonderful meeting you, Mrs. Norris. But it’s about time David gets to bed.” I silently thanked him.

The little lady merely waved, a slim smile painted on her face. And behind her, one hundred and sixty-three other smiles followed her. 

And then I went home. I begged my mom to move again. I knew it was a stretch, but those eyes… those smiles… I couldn’t look at them. Something about those cats and Mrs. Norris, I couldn’t stand. It wasn’t because they were cats, and I thought cats were lazy. It wasn’t because I was allergic. I don’t know what it was. All I can think about was Mrs. Norris’ similarities with them, and how her cats all followed her as though she was their queen. She was the most like a cat out of all of them. Out of all the cats. The one hundred and sixty-three cats. How? 

But Mom wasn’t dealing with my nonsense, and so we stayed. Nevertheless, I never went to that house ever again, and I never saw Mrs. Norris ever again. My mom did, though. She told me that I was being insensitive, but the only reason why she said that was because she loved cats so much. Almost every other day, Mom would leave to go talk with Mrs. Norris. And every time she came back, something about her would be more feline. First it was her walk, which became as smooth as an ice skater’s. And then it was her talk, and soon enough it was her whole body. What came last, though, was her eyes. One day, she came back with eyes that were no longer human. And whenever she looked at me, I knew best to look away.

It was inevitable that Mom would bring back a cat one day. Dad was upset, but Mom brushed him off without so much as a glance. That wasn’t something human Mom would do, that was something cat Mom would do. But nonetheless, she brought that cat home.

 It was a small thing– her legs were bony thin and her walk was graceful. “I thought we could name her Grace,” Mom offered. What a fitting name.

And then I looked down. Those eyes… the same as all those other ones. They were the same as Mrs. Norris’ cats, the little old lady herself, and my Mom’s. I could find no life behind them, no joy, no soul. There was nothing there for me to dig deep into, all they were was a deep abyss. And all they did was stare into my eyes– and stare, and stare, and stare. And soon enough, those eyes followed me wherever I went. And now, today, they still follow me. And that’s why I hate cats.