All Cthulhu ever wanted was a kitten to call his own. A nice little black kitten all for himself.
‘Oh, how the empty, cyclopean streets of R’lyeh would be filled with joy if only a kitten could be had’ Cthulhu would pine, as he lay belly down, head in hands, dreamily (but dead) looking from his chamber window.
Across the lonely expanse of his sunken city, Cthulhu would wander, arms flailing and skipping. He would skip and skip and skip, his feet fluttering in the air as his misshapen wings allowed him to land gently.
‘Oh! My city for a kitten! In the name of all that is dark and terrible, a kitten! Great Old Ones grant me a kitten! Even the Flying Polyps had kittens!’ he shrieked.
Deep in his heart however, gentle Cthulhu knew the likelihood of a kitten in R’lyeh was as that of Azathoth taking human form and becoming a folk singer. The years went by and Cthulhu lay dreaming. Dead, but dreaming of his little black kitten. His heart breaking with despair and loneliness. All until one day when a ship wreck floundered upon his dark shores. There were no survivors. None but a kitten. A little black kitten. A little black non-Euclidean kitten.
‘Calloo Callay!’ exclaimed Cthulhu as he picked up the small creature and held it close to his mighty chest. ‘Finally, a kitten! A lovely little kitten all for me! Oh! Truly all the joy in the universe is mine today. The Last Amorphous Blight that bubbles and blasphemes at the centre of all infinity be damned I say! A kitten! A kitten!’
Finally after so many years, Great Cthulhu had his kitten….skinned and fried, served with onions and gravy.