I’ve been noticing that Pandora’s been eating a lot more cereal lately, and it’s always the same brand.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. People go through phases. Coffee, tea, smoothies, whatever. But this isn’t a phase. This is… consistent. Like, alarmingly consistent.
We’re going through boxes every few days.
Pandora has never been a cereal person.
That’s the first problem.
The second problem is John Mercer.
Because suddenly, he cares about breakfast.
A lot.
He’s always in the kitchen now, pouring bowls like it’s a full-time job. Talking about fiber content. Crunch levels. Milk ratios. I didn’t even know “milk ratio” was a thing until last week, and now he’s explaining it like he’s defending a thesis.
Pandora’s completely bought into it.
That’s not like her either.
And then there’s Mr. Whiskers.
At first, I thought I imagined it. Just a cat being a cat. But I’ve seen him more than once, sneaking onto the counter and pulling pieces of cereal out of the box like he’s not supposed to, which—first of all—he’s not.
But it’s not random.
He doesn’t just eat it.
He takes it.
That’s different.
I started paying attention after that.
Pandora goes to the store, comes back with more cereal. Same brand. Same box. Every time. No variation. No “oh this one was on sale.” Just the same thing, over and over like it’s important.
Meanwhile, the boxes are disappearing faster than they should be.
Too fast.
And I know what you’re thinking—“Hal, it’s three people in a house, of course cereal goes fast.”
No.
No, this is different.
Because I’ve seen Mr. Whiskers take pieces and carry them off toward the living room. Not to eat. Not to play with.
Just… take.
And then he goes to the same spot on the wall.
Every time.
There’s a section of drywall near the corner that he’s been scratching at lately. I thought it was just normal cat behavior, but now I’m not so sure. Because every time he goes there, he drops the cereal first.
Like he’s putting it somewhere.
Like it belongs there.
I crouched down and checked the spot yesterday when no one was around. There are tiny crumbs along the baseboard. Not scattered. Not messy.
Placed.
That’s when this stopped being about breakfast.
I started thinking about when all of this began.
It lines up a little too neatly with John Mercer’s new job.
He’s been different since then. More relaxed. More talkative. But also… more observant. Like he’s paying attention to things he never cared about before. Especially what Pandora is doing.
And Pandora?
She’s been distracted.
Not stressed, exactly. Just… preoccupied. Like she’s following something. Keeping track of something. And every time I bring up the cereal, she brushes it off like I’m the one being weird.
Which is fair.
But still.
Something doesn’t add up.
Mrs. Jenkins mentioned the other day that Mr. Whiskers has been “busy.” That’s the word she used. Not playful. Not active.
Busy.
And she said it like she knew what that meant.
Dave’s been acting strange too. I caught him staring at one of the cereal boxes when he came by last week. Not casually. Like he was trying to recognize it.
Karen laughed it off, but it felt forced. Too quick. Like she didn’t want the moment to linger.
That’s when it started clicking.
Not fully.
But enough.
What if this isn’t about cereal?
What if cereal is just the thing I’m noticing?
What if it’s being used for something else?
Something small. Something easy to overlook. Something that wouldn’t raise suspicion if someone saw it sitting out in the open.
Like a signal.
Or a marker.
Or a way to keep track of something without writing it down.
I went back to the wall last night.
Mr. Whiskers was already there.
Just sitting in front of it.
Watching.
Not scratching. Not moving. Just… watching.
And when I stepped closer, he didn’t run.
He just looked at me.
Like I was interrupting something.
I don’t know what’s going on.
I don’t know why Pandora keeps buying the same cereal, or why John suddenly cares so much about breakfast, or why my cat is quietly relocating pieces of it to the same spot on the wall like he’s part of something I don’t understand.
But I do know this—
this isn’t random.
And whatever it is…
I’m getting close to it.