Revelation

When the cops left Tom sat at the table and stared at the wall.  What on Earth is going on here?  Why was his photograph found on a disguised dead human?  Why did said human have his photograph?
These are matters of import, thought the cat.  With something of a shock he realized it was only noon, and perhaps time for some lunch.  Tom got up from the table and made more coffee.  He poured some into his favorite cup and went back outside into the cold wind.  Lighting a smoke, he thought, alright...a two course meal. 
So what do I know.  A mythical creature disguised as a lion rips my head off when I interrupted his assault on the bunny twins, the cops kill him and come here to tell me about it.  But where is here?  Tom looked around the hill he lived on, at his house, at the horizon.  How did I get here?  He didn't remember ever living anywhere else, and now that he thought about it he had no memory of a family, of his parents, of a hometown, or anything other than he had always been an adult cat living by himself on a windswept hill in a stone cottage.  He tugged at the fur on his hands.  Nope, that was genuine.  He felt his face, traced the scar running across his cheek and nose.  Real enough, and painful as hell.  He looked beyond the fence he built last year at the small grove of yew trees.  So someone lay in wait under them to take a picture of him.  He poured his coffee out and half walked, half slid down the hill to the trees.  There was nothing there but leaves and mud, not really surprising all these months later.  He took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it.  Looking back up to the hill he could see the small, neat house against the sky.  And then he froze.
Against the scudding clouds a flying machine was circling the general area.  An airplane, thought Tom, I know about those.  The machine was only several hundred feet off the ground, and then and turned and headed off in the direction of the town.  Tom watched it out of sight.  I don't remember ever seeing one of those here before, in fact - I don't remember ever seeing one at all.  So why do I know that's a single engine four seater cantilevered-wing tricycle landing gear Cessna 177B?
Tom walked back up the hill to the house and changed into his town clothes.  He threw on a scarf to minimize his facial scars and pulled an old felt hat down over his ears.  He made sure the stove had gone out, then left by the front door.  He didn't bother locking it.  The red mud squeezed up over his toes where his boots were cut out but Tom didn't notice.  Images of machines and tools he had never thought about were darting about on the edge of his consciousness and it was distracting him to no end.
As Tom got to the bottom of the hill he looked at the grouping of trees.  No way, he thought.  No goddamn way anyone could have approached here that day without me seeing them.  Forgetting about going to town, he walked over to the trees and looked hard at the ground.  All he could see were his footprints from earlier.  Tom dropped to his knees and began scooping up the muddy soil with his hands.  About 4 inches down he felt what he knew would be there, a piece of metal.  Shoving and pushing the mud away, he uncovered a round lid similar to a manhole cover.  There was a recessed handle filled with mud in the center, Tom wiped that off with his scarf.  There didn't appear to be any type of locking device.  Placing his feet on each side of the trapdoor, the powerful cat placed his right hand around the handle and lifted with all his considerable might.  Nothing happened.  Tom tried again, the handle didn't move at all.  He stepped away and lit a smoke, staring at the now bare steel surface of what must be an entryway.  He stepped back, tripped over the discarded scarf and landed on his tail in the mud.  Furious, Tom snarled, and then started laughing.  The hatchway door popped up and two faceless beings in hazmat suits climbed out, one after another.  Both were armed and had rifles pointed at the wet, muddy cat.  One gestured with his gun barrel for Tom to get into the open hatchway as the other walked behind him and lifted him from the mud by his shirt collar.  Both of these individuals were half again as tall as the cat was.  Tom dropped his cigarette.  'If you want me to do something, then ask, princess', he said.
The last thing he remembered was being gripped around his neck by a powerful gloved hand as the apparition in front of him reversed his weapon and slammed the butt into his jaw.

Header picture from pxfuel Wallpaper Images.