Chapter 2
Stephen Strange was growing suspicious.
It had been two days since the cat—because that’s what it was, just a regular cat, according to every diagnostic spell he had cast—wormed its way into the Sanctum. And in those two days, Stephen had noticed something deeply unsettling:
The cat was too smart.
At first, he thought he was imagining it. A product of his overworked mind reading too much into a stray’s behavior.
But then the cat started doing things that no normal cat should be capable of.
For example, it refused to eat the regular cat food Wong had begrudgingly picked up from the store. Instead, it had glared at Stephen with the kind of judgment only an irritated aristocrat or a billionaire could muster, then dramatically turned its back on the food like it was personally offended.
Stephen had sighed, taken out some leftover roasted chicken, and placed it in a bowl. The cat had immediately perked up and eaten it with smug satisfaction.
Then there was the chair situation.
Every time Stephen sat in his armchair—the one he always read in—the cat would jump onto the armrest, stare at him, and then dramatically stretch out across his lap as if it had claimed him. The first time, Stephen had simply picked it up and set it on the floor.
The cat had jumped back onto his lap.
He had put it back down.
It had jumped back up.
He had tried reasoning with it—“This is my chair, you little parasite.”
The cat had meowed and curled up in victory.
Stephen had groaned and accepted his fate.
But the worst part, the part that made Stephen certain this was no ordinary cat, was how it watched him.
Whenever he spoke to Wong or studied ancient texts, the cat would sit nearby, golden eyes locked onto him with an unsettling intensity. Not the usual blank curiosity of an animal, but something more calculating. Knowing.
It responded to his words with little flicks of its tail, annoyed huffs, and—on one occasion—an exasperated look when Stephen struggled with a particularly old, difficult-to-read spell.
Stephen had half a mind to cast another spell on the cat, just to make sure it wasn’t some kind of cursed entity.
Instead, he narrowed his eyes at it. “You’re not a regular cat, are you?”
The cat, lying on its back on the Sanctum’s couch, stretched lazily and gave him a slow blink.
Stephen folded his arms. “You’re pretending to be a regular cat. I don’t know how, but I know what I saw.”
The cat twitched an ear.
“Who sent you?”
The cat yawned.
“Are you some kind of cosmic being? A transformed sorcerer? A demon in disguise?”
The cat flicked its tail, rolled onto its side, and proceeded to ignore him.
Stephen sighed and rubbed his temples. “I’m losing my mind.”
From across the room, Wong walked past, saw Stephen having a very serious conversation with the cat, and simply kept walking. He didn’t get paid enough for this.
Stephen exhaled deeply and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring the cat down. “If you are some kind of enchanted being, I will find out.”
The cat just purred and smugly curled up in his chair.
Stephen groaned. “I hate this cat.”
Little did he know, the cat was internally screaming, Oh my god, he’s onto me.