My cat Urus - 1

Brad hated Tuesdays. Not because of anything specific, just the rhythm of it. The hallways of Southview High were loud and stale, filled with the same half-hearted gossip and the slap of sneakers on linoleum. At seventeen, Brad felt like a background character in his own life. He did well enough in school, had a few friends, but mostly drifted through the hours with his hoodie up and earbuds in.

That night, sleep refused to come.

He rolled in bed, one arm slung over his eyes. The air was warm, too warm for a summer night, but a breeze tapped against his window like fingers urging him to move.

With a sigh, Brad slipped out of bed, padded barefoot downstairs, and slid the back door open.

The garden behind the house was small, boxed in by hedges and an old wooden fence, but the sky, tonight the sky was everything. A heavy moon hung low and silver above him, and the stars shimmered like they were humming secrets. His black cat, Loki, trailed behind, leaping onto the garden table with grace only cats seemed to master.

Brad tilted his head to the sky. Something shimmered. No, glowed. A streak of light, faint at first, cutting across the sky.

It grew brighter.

Faster.

Closer.

His eyes widened.

“...No way,” he whispered, stepping back instinctively.

The meteor hit the garden with a soundless boom, a pulse of wind, a crack of light, but no explosion. Just… impact. Soil flew. The earth shook under his bare feet. He stumbled but didn’t fall.

Loki darted forward with no hesitation. “Hey!” Brad hissed, trying to grab him, but it was too late.

The cat leapt toward the glowing crater, then—gone.

Vanished, sucked into the stone like a wisp of smoke.

Brad’s jaw dropped. “Loki?!”

Before he could even move, a sudden flash burst from the meteor. And then… something moved.

Not the cat.

Not anymore.

The figure that stepped out shimmered, feline in shape but stretched, cloaked in swirling light and shadow. Its body flowed like smoke, its eyes glowing a deep, ancient gold.

And it spoke.

Not with a voice, but with something Brad felt in his bones.

“Your companion is unharmed. I am Urus. I require a vessel.”

Brad blinked. “...What?”

The creature, Urus, tilted its head, eyes studying him. The wind picked up again, swirling around them. Distantly, Brad heard his parents' voices from the living room.

Panic shot through him.

“Crap, come on,” he muttered, reaching out and grabbing Urus's form like it was a hoodie he could throw over his arm. “You’re coming with me.”

And just like that, he rushed back to his room, heart racing, an alien spirit cradled in his arms and his missing cat somewhere inside it.