For the past few months, I’ve been feeling like someone’s been watching me.

It started small—little things like lights I swore I turned off being on, doors slightly ajar when

I knew I closed them. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but then I started hearing noises.

Late at night, I also hear faint noises coming from upstairs late at night, even though I live alone.

I tried to brush it off, but last week,

I found muddy footprints leading from the back door to the kitchen. I didn’t know what to do.

Then, yesterday, it got worse.

I came home from work to find my living room rearranged.

The coffee table was moved,

and the books on my shelf were in a different order. I was terrified. I locked myself,

in my bedroom and called the police.

When they arrived, but after searching, they found nothing.

Just as they were leaving, one officer hesitated and said,

‘Ma’am, there’s no sign of anyone breaking in, but…

I think I know what’s going on.’

My heart raced as he leaned in closer and asked,

‘Have you… checked on your cat?’

And that’s when I remembered. My cat. The gremlin.

The chaotic tornado who loves knocking books over, dragging muddy shoes around

, and swiping at the light switches like it’s her full-time job. Mystery solved. I’m just living with a furry agent of chaos.”