Catscratch -

Not the gentle pad of a paw on wood. Not the soft scrape of claws on a rug. This was a slow, deliberate thrrrp-scrape … thrrrp-scrape … coming from the other side of the basement door.

It was three in the morning when the scratching started. Catscratch

The basement had been off-limits since the day Leo moved in. Grandma’s final note, taped to the door, read: “Leo, whatever you do, do not open this door. Feed the cat. Trust the cat.” Not the gentle pad of a paw on wood

The scratching stopped. A long pause. Then a single, clear word: “Company.” taped to the door