Occasionally your cat brings you dead animals, mostly mice, squirrels and the occasional bird. However recently he has been bringing home some stranger creatures, with too many eyes and mouths full of razor sharp teeth
Your move, writer.
There's a cozy horror angle here: the cat as unbothered oracle, dragging in evidence of some thin place tearing open nearby while everyone else goes about their day, and you're the only one connecting the trash-can carnage to the strange lights over the neighbor's fence. Or play it for comedy — a deadpan log of increasingly absurd offerings, the narrator's growing exasperation at having to Google "is this a spleen or a flower," while the cat struts around like employee of the month. There's also a tender, quieter version worth chasing: the cat's gifts as an act of devotion that becomes almost unbearably poignant once you realize he's protecting you from something, and the strangeness of his kills is the only sign that the world you live in isn't quite the one you thought it was.
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