Cats.

Chapter One

Robert and Angela went missing on the same day that Mr Kittens turned up at our house.

The most unusual thing about the cat turning up in our living room was the fact that she was clearly a feminist. We knew this because she was sitting in front of an opened copy of Simone De Beauvoir's "The Second Sex" (of which we kept three copies in the house at any one time). This all took place before the rise of electronic books, and lugging around the thousand page tome was not for the faint of heart, but myself and all my housemates tried to keep a copy each in our respective backpacks at all times, in case occasion called for it to be brought out and quoted.

Anyway, clearly, the fact that the cat was sitting in front of a copy of this book proved that she was a feminist. This was only logical.

Of course, the other dead giveaway was that she called herself "Mr Kittens". I knew this because I was sure that I could communicate telepathically with her. She told me very clearly– by way of her "cat thoughts" – that she had a PhD in gender studies, and quite frankly I didn't doubt her for a second.

"What is this?" I hear you all asking."A freaking Maurakami novel?"

No, it is a short story – not to mention a true one (did I mention all events in this story are 100% true? I should have) and this story is set both in modern day Australia as well as a brief foray 200 million years into the future, but we will get to that bit later. There are cats involved, but that is as far as the similarities between this and a certain Japanese author go.

So, of course, this is all a true story: a feminist cat – name of Mr Kittens - had come to live with us in our tiny unassuming house in the suburb of Summer Hill, Sydney. One day she had not been there, and the next day she was. Nothing too unusual about a stray cat turning up on your doorstep.

However the very strange thing about this cat suddenly turning up, was that my housemate Ruby was adamant that we had always owned this specific cat.

"Well has she always been a feminist?" I asked, at least admitting the possibility that I could be wrong. Maybe we'd always had cat I'd never seen or heard before. Unlikely as that was.

"What do you mean, a feminist? Cats can't be feminists." 

Ruby had always lacked in imagination, I will tell you that much. We often argued about what was real and what wasn't – occasionally getting into some very deep conversations about the 'nature of reality' itself, but I always preferred my colorful version of events over her practical, so-called logical versions.

I rolled my eyes, which was an activity I very much loved to do. "Then why is she reading that Simone De Beauvoir Book?"

Ruby proceeded to go into a little spiel about how cats can't read, nor can they technically be feminists. And I have to tell you, it was all a little bit bigoted against cats. I mean, not that I would label Ruby incredibly biased towards cats, but she was starting to sneeze all of a sudden.

"I think I am allergic to Mr Kittens," she said, blowing her nose.

More like jealous that she was now the third best feminist in the house, behind myself and Mr Kittens, I thought. Anyway, if we had "always had a cat" – to quote Ruby herself– why was Ruby only now discovering she was allergic to it? Another argument in my favour, if there ever was one.

I continued to be suspicious of the bloody cat for the remainder of the day, as well as concerned that she was judging my intellect – we had a very healthy debate about abortion over dinner, and she clearly thought she was intellectually superior to me. 

However, Ruby did not join in with any of the debate because she too busy worrying herself sick regarding the whereabouts of our other two housemates, Robert and Angela. They had gone camping in the Blue Mountains the day before and failed to return. She was scared, because anything can happen in the Blue Mountains: if you are not careful you can fall right off them.

"They should have been home hours ago," Ruby fretted as she tucked into some extremely disgusting mandarin sorbet. I was personally shoving some peanut butter and chocolate gelato into my own mouth, and pretending I was concerned over this so-called predicament. I mean, people went missing in the Blue Mountains all the time, didn't they? They either turned up, or they were eventually found dead. Either way, there wasn't much you could do about it.