For weeks, the scratching sound came like clockwork. Every night around 2 a.m., faint footsteps tiptoed across the bedroom floor—soft, quick, almost taunting. At first, he thought he was imagining it. Maybe the house creaked, or maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But soon, it became impossible to ignore. Something was living there with him.
He’d lie still, eyes open in the dark, listening to the faint skitter-skitter near his bed. Then came the unmistakable sound of something dropping—a tiny crunch, the shuffle of paper, a soft squeak. Whatever it was, it was small. Fast. Bold.
He decided to find proof.
The Uninvited Guest
One evening, he set up a small camera monitor facing the floor near his dresser. If something was running around his room, he’d catch it on tape.
The next morning, he reviewed the footage, coffee in hand—and nearly spilled it.
There it was: a tiny gray mouse, darting in and out from under the bed, stopping occasionally to sniff around his shoes. It looked completely at home, like it owned the place.
He laughed nervously. “Okay, little guy,” he muttered. “You’ve had your fun. Time to bring in some backup.”
That’s when the plan was born.
Enter Mittens, the Furry Solution
He visited the local shelter that weekend, determined to find the perfect feline partner. The staff introduced him to several cats—some playful, some shy—but one immediately caught his attention.
A sleek black-and-white cat with bright green eyes pressed her face against the bars of her cage. She purred loudly, her paw reaching out like she already knew she was going home.
Her name was Mittens.
“She’s a natural hunter,” said the shelter volunteer proudly. “You’ll never see a mouse again.”
He smiled, relieved. “Perfect. Exactly what I need.”
That evening, Mittens explored every corner of her new home. Her tail flicked with purpose as she sniffed under the furniture, pawed at curtains, and finally paused near the bed—the mouse’s favorite spot. Her instincts were awake. Her new territory had an intruder, and she was ready for duty.
That night, he fell asleep feeling confident. Problem solved. Or so he thought.
The Dream That Felt Too Real
Sometime after midnight, he started to dream.
In the dream, he was surrounded by darkness and sound—the faint squeaking of dozens of mice. Then, out of nowhere, he felt them. Tiny feet crawling across his chest, brushing his arms, scurrying near his face.
He couldn’t move. Panic flooded him as hundreds of little paws danced across his body. One even brushed against his lips.
He woke with a start, heart pounding, sweat dampening the sheets. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner.
It was just a dream, he told himself. But as he wiped his mouth, he could swear he still felt something there—a faint, lingering tickle.
He looked at the floor. No mouse. No movement. Just Mittens, curled up on the rug, purring softly.
Still, unease settled deep in his gut.
A Day of Discomfort
All day, the dream haunted him. The sensation, the vividness, the eerie sense that it hadn’t been entirely imaginary. He replayed it in his mind again and again.
Maybe it was stress. Maybe he just wasn’t used to having a cat around yet. But something about the way Mittens watched him that morning—calm, confident, almost proud—made his skin prickle.
By evening, he couldn’t resist the urge to check the footage. The security camera was still there, recording every moment of the night. He told himself he was being silly. He just wanted closure, proof that it had all been in his head.
He turned on the monitor.
And what he saw made his stomach drop.
The Chilling Footage
The recording showed his room in soft night vision gray. He was asleep, motionless, the blankets slightly rising and falling with his breathing. Mittens appeared in the corner, her eyes glowing faintly as she crept forward.
Then, she froze—her gaze locked on something under the dresser. A blur of movement. The mouse.
In one swift, silent motion, Mittens pounced. There was a brief struggle, a squeak, and then silence.
He felt a wave of relief just watching it. Good girl, he thought. She got it.
But the footage didn’t end there.
Mittens, victorious, trotted across the floor with the mouse dangling from her mouth. Instead of leaving it by the door—or disposing of it like any normal cat—she leapt gracefully onto the bed.
Then she did something that made his blood run cold.
She climbed onto his chest, looked down at his sleeping face… and carefully placed the mouse right on his lips.
For a few seconds, she just stood there, watching proudly, her tail flicking with satisfaction.
Then, with the gentlest motion, she sat down beside him, as though guarding her trophy. She purred—a deep, rhythmic hum of accomplishment. After a while, she picked the mouse back up and carried it off, her mission complete.
The screen went dark.
He stared, frozen.
The dream. The feeling. The brush against his mouth—it had all been real.
The Hunter and Her Trophy
When he finally found his voice, he laughed weakly. “Oh my God. She actually did it.”
It was horrifying, yes—but in a strange way, it was also incredible. Mittens had done exactly what he’d brought her home to do. She caught the intruder, proved her worth, and proudly presented her “gift.”
It was her way of saying thank you.
But he couldn’t unsee it. The image of her standing over him, mouse on his lips, purring with pride, was burned into his brain.
That night, he double-checked the camera—just in case—and kept his door closed. Mittens meowed softly outside, probably wondering why her owner wasn’t letting her deliver the next prize.
Lessons from a Proud Little Predator
In the following days, he told the story to friends, and it quickly became legend.
“She didn’t just catch the mouse,” he said. “She… presented it. On my face.”
They laughed, horrified and fascinated. Some said it was gross, others said it was adorable. But anyone who’s ever lived with a cat knew exactly what it meant.
Cats are hunters by nature. When they bring you “gifts”—mice, insects, birds—it’s their instinctual way of sharing food or showing affection. To them, it’s an honor. To humans, it’s often a nightmare.
He started sleeping with his door closed, but he couldn’t stay mad at Mittens. In her mind, she was doing everything right. She had defended her home, caught the intruder, and presented her success to the one person she trusted most.
He wanted a hunter, and that’s exactly what he got—only with a flair for dramatic delivery.
The Night He Learned What Love Looks Like to a Cat
Sometimes, he still laughs about that night. He’s grateful, in a strange way. The mouse problem was solved. And he learned something every cat owner eventually does: love, in the feline world, doesn’t always come wrapped in comfort. Sometimes, it arrives with fur, claws, and the occasional terrifying surprise.
Even now, when Mittens curls up beside him, purring softly, he glances at her and wonders if she’s remembering that night too—the moment she proved herself.
One thing’s for sure: he’ll never forget waking up to her “gift.”
A nightmare for him, maybe. But for her? It was the proudest moment of her life.
And in the end, he couldn’t really blame her. After all, she was just doing her job. Too well.
