The Clockwork Cat

In the autumn of 2023, I had to travel to a remote observatory for a week-long data collection project. My colleague, Marcus, was to pick me up at 4:30 AM. The night before, I decided to sleep in my son’s room, as his bed was closest to the back door and I wouldn’t have to wake my wife. I laid out my gear, packed a hearty meal, and set my alarm for 3:15 AM, thinking I’d have ample time to shower, eat, and feed our cat, a temperamental Maine Coon named Jasper.

At some point, I drifted into a dream where I was at a family reunion, but everyone was wearing Victorian mourning clothes and speaking in hushed tones. My grandmother, who had passed away in 2019, stood in the corner, holding a silver pocket watch that ticked loudly. She kept pointing at the watch, then at me, but I couldn’t understand. The ticking grew louder and louder until it became a deafening roar.

I woke with a start, my heart pounding. The room was dark, but the digital clock on the nightstand read 3:30 AM, which was odd because I felt like I’d just closed my eyes. I got up, groggy, and stumbled toward the bathroom. As I passed the hallway mirror, I caught a glimpse of something—a faint, shimmering figure, like heat rising off asphalt. I turned, but nothing was there. I shrugged it off as sleep paralysis.

I went to the kitchen to start the coffee. Jasper was already there, sitting on the counter, staring intently at the wall clock. The clock’s hands were frozen at 4:00 AM, even though I knew it had been working the day before. I shook my head, reset it, and began my routine. But as I reached for the coffee beans, the canister slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor, sending beans everywhere. I cursed, cleaned up, and decided to just have tea instead.

While the water boiled, I went to check my bag. I had packed it the night before, but now the zipper was stuck halfway. I tugged and pulled, and finally it gave way with a screech. Inside, my clothes had been rearranged—my thermal socks were on top, my waterproof jacket was folded inside out, and my lunch bag was missing. I searched the kitchen, the living room, and finally found it in the laundry room, empty, with the sandwich I had made sitting on the floor next to Jasper, who was licking his chops.

A chill ran down my spine. Jasper never got into cupboards. I stared at him, and he stared back, his eyes glowing in the dim light. I noticed his collar was askew, and the little bell attached to it was silent. Normally, it jingled with every move. I picked him up to fix it, and he was cold—not like a cat that had been sleeping, but like he had been outside in winter. As I set him down, I heard a faint ticking, like the pocket watch from my dream. It was coming from Jasper’s collar. I looked closely, and the bell had been replaced with a small, antique pocket watch, its hands stopped at 4:00 AM.

I was about to call my wife, when I remembered my phone was still in the bedroom. I rushed in, but the phone was dead, even though I had charged it overnight. The charger was unplugged, and the plug was lying on the floor, as if pulled. I plugged it in and waited for a few minutes, but it wouldn’t turn on. Frustrated, I went to the landline, but the line was dead too. The clock in the hallway now read 4:00 AM, and it was ticking normally, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

I decided to step outside to calm down. The air was crisp, and the stars were out. Our house was on the edge of a small town, with woods behind us. I saw lights flickering among the trees, like fireflies, but it was too late for them. I squinted, and the lights seemed to form a path leading away from the house. They pulsed in a rhythm, like a heartbeat. A memory surfaced: my grandmother used to tell me stories about ‘the guide lights’ that appear when someone is about to be taken. I dismissed it, but the hairs on my arm stood up.

Back inside, I decided to just get ready and wait for Marcus. I went to the bathroom, and the mirror was fogged, even though I hadn’t run any hot water. I wiped it with my hand, and in the reflection, behind my own face, I saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was young, with long dark hair, wearing a white dress. She looked like my wife, but her eyes were black. I spun around, but no one was there. My hands were shaking.

At exactly 4:30, I heard a car engine. I rushed to the window, and there was a car in the driveway, but it wasn’t Marcus’s blue sedan. It was an old black hearse, with the back doors open. A figure sat in the driver’s seat, but the windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see who it was. The hearse’s headlights blinked, and then the engine revved. I felt a cold breeze pass through the house, and the lights flickered. The hearse began to move, slowly, out of the driveway, and as it passed, I saw a white cat with a silver collar sitting in the passenger seat. It turned its head and looked right at me, and I felt a wave of familiarity.

I snapped out of it and realized I had been standing at the window for what felt like hours. The clock on the wall said 5:45 AM. Marcus was due any minute, and I hadn’t even showered. I rushed to get ready, but every step was like wading through molasses. My clothes felt too tight, my hair was a mess, and I couldn’t find my keys. Finally, at 6:00, I heard a honk. I grabbed my bag, which now seemed heavier, and ran out the door to see Marcus in his normal car, looking at me with concern. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ he said.

On the drive to the observatory, I told him about the morning’s events. He laughed it off, saying I must have had a vivid dream. But when we got to the observatory, I found that my lunch bag, the one I thought Jasper had eaten from, was in the back seat, perfectly intact, with a note in handwriting I didn’t recognize: ‘Sorry for the scare. I wanted to ensure you were awake. Some things are better left unseen. – G.’ I had no idea who G was.

That night, after a long day of work, I tried to call home, but the phone lines were down. I decided to head back early the next morning. When I arrived, my wife greeted me at the door, worried. She said Jasper had been missing all day, and she had found him outside, near the woods, with a limp. The vet said he had been poisoned, but he would recover. I picked him up, and he was warm and purring. His collar was normal, the bell jingling. But as I held him, I noticed a tiny scratch on his ear, shaped like an hourglass.

I told my wife everything, and she looked at me with a strange expression. She opened her hand, revealing the pocket watch from my dream. She said she found it in Jasper’s bed that morning. The watch was ticking, and its hands were set to 4:00, but the date window showed a date ten years in the future. She handed it to me, and as I took it, the ticking stopped. The watch’s face became blank, and then numbers appeared: 11:11. A chill ran through me. My grandmother’s name was Grace. I hadn’t thought about that until now.

I still carry that watch in my pocket, though it never works again. Sometimes, on quiet nights, I can feel it warmer than the rest of my clothes, and I hear Jasper’s collar jingle even when he’s not moving. I never learned what those lights were, or who G was, but I know one thing: that morning, something wanted to make sure I was awake, so I didn’t miss the one thing that mattered. And I’m still not sure I’m grateful.