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Introductory Text

The Oily Ones
The Cat's Narrative Part 02 44th Post Posted 10 May 2016 at 02:38:32 EDT Link to original

The Oily Ones lack all harmony. They are neither silky nor subtle. They are slow and stupid. And loud. Evilly loud! Arrogantly, thoughtlessly, senselessly loud. Night and day, they make noise. Their unnatural things make noise. They cry to each other like kittens. They are far larger and stronger than any of our kind, but they are more hairless than the newly born, and they cry like hungry whelps. It is evil. It is abomination.

They make dead things live. Things which do not have the smell of life should not live! But these things are touched by the Oily Ones, and they live and move. This is evil, unnatural magic. Their unnatural things come in all different shapes, and contain deadly mysteries and tricks and traps. Some are invisible. Some are faster than sight. Some never sleep. Some cut and claw. These unnatural things lack all harmony, like the Oily Ones themselves.

I've seen the deadly darkness of the their magic. I've seen our kind crushed and smeared by their things. I've seen our kind disappear inside their things, never to be seen again. Once, I saw a kitten who was struck by their magic, who made bloody foam from the mouth for three days, who died in agony.

Yes, I have known sleeplessness.

I know them as evil. And this would seem to be all, but there is more. There is more. There is mystery.

There is the mysterious smell of the oily ones, the smell by which we know them. It is both awful and alluring, disgusting and entrancing. It smells like the sweet oily fat that coats the heart of a pigeon, the best part of the flesh. We find ourselves drawn to it, drawn to them. And there is their food, which can contain dark magic, but also feeds many of us, and truly tastes wonderful and righteous, and does not scuttle but always sleeps and is easy to hunt.

Even more mysteriousness is their kindness. For it is they, they alone of all the living things, who show our kind any affection, who bring us food, as if we are their young.

As if they are our mother.

How could this be? How could these evil beings show us affection? How could they show us more affection than the world itself, who is of our kind? This is the central mystery. Ever since my kitten died, this has become my obsession.

I have watched them closely. I have looked into the strange places where they hide, where they appear and disappear, the places full of mysterious lights and smells and ten thousand forms of evil and wickedness. If I am to capture this mystery, if I am to feed on its sweet, oily heart, I must go inside one of these places. I must go through one of their portals.