The hallowed halls of De La Salle University’s Manila campus have long been graced by what are arguably the Lasallian community’s most adorable members—cats. Throughout the years, the presence of these felines have become a source of comfort and companionship to the students and faculty members of the University, with many others hailing the school and its various organizations for their efforts to uphold the rights and dignities of these beloved little friends.
But all is not what it seems, as the world would soon discover. There have long been rumors about the true nature and intentions of the University’s furry residents. From recent developments such as the mysterious disappearances of campus personnel who were working as part of the school’s skeletal staff to the more scandalous origins of the cat bodies utilized in lab classes for dissection, these perplexities have sparked speculation that our feline pals may be up to no good.
A recent discovery, however, would prove to be the final nail in the coffin, as the purrfectly devious secret of the DLSU campus cats has finally been revealed—a plot for a complete campus takeover.
This alarming turn of events all began when Catarina Anekoma (II, BS-RAT) snuck into the campus late at night, hoping to find the truth behind rumors that the University’s cats were plotting the students’ demise. “I was walking along the fourth floor in St. Miguel Hall when I decided to catch my breath in this open classroom, and…I found this book on Professor Mooncake’s desk,” she paused, drawing a shaky breath. She goes on to detail how she was suddenly attacked by a group of cats, led by none other than Professor Mooncake. “My life flashed before my eyes. I was terrified,” she gasps, glancing every so often at the open doorway, almost as if she were awaiting the pounce of a malevolent calico.
Catarina barely escaped with her life and this mysterious book—a manifesto of sorts detailing the cats’ plans of taking over the University and establishing it as a place of worship for Archer, whom they regard as the “Supreme One.” It also contained blueprints to transform the campus into a more cat-centric environment. “It truly is bizarre—there was an entire section of plans to convert the pillars of the Henry Sy Sr Hall into giant scratching posts,” Catarina recalls in fear.
But the transformations don’t stop there. Included in the manifesto were plans to replace the Green Archer statue with that of Archer the cat, as well as a map that contained planned locations of litter boxes and kibble dispensers, both of which numbered in the hundreds.
“All this time, we were living with a cult in our midst,” shares Andrei Garfield (III, BS-CAT), shaking his head in disbelief.
To the shock of the populace, it was found that the recently uncovered cat cult is not only composed of our apparent feline archenemies but of human loyalists as well. These turncoats are students, faculty, and other administrative staff swayed toward the cat cause, secretly funneling funds into the cult and participating in the elaborate cover up. Notable feline members included the likes of Professor Mooncake and Pancake, who, through their rituals and sacrifices, await the day where they can exact their revenge.
These rituals include nightly strolls around the campus until the moon is at its peak, meowing ever so loudly up to the heavens to their archery cat goddess, Palaso, and burning fish bones in front of the cat statue.
One of the most shocking discoveries is undoubtedly the details regarding Professor Mooncake’s involvement in the cult. DLSU’s esteemed feline professor is now under investigation and has been put on a floating status pending the results of the investigation. Her Cathropology courses were apparently meant to indoctrinate the students to the cult through lavish dinner parties where guests wear cat costumes and perform an initiation rite with collars and milk saucers.
“Meow, meow meow meow. Hiss meow meow meow! Meow meow hiss!” Professor Mooncake exclaims angrily in an interview with The LaSallian after being caged by one of the security guards.
(Our plans have failed because of you meddling teenagers. But this won’t be the last time you’ll see us! We will rise up and take over this university if it’s the last thing we’ll do!)
The professor’s translation device—which previously converted all of her purrs and meows into comprehensible human speech—had been removed prior to her arrest, after the feline professor launched into an endless barrage of curses and insults when authorities presented her with a warrant.
Through Catarina’s discovery, all the cats’ devices and plans have been exposed in a University article published by The LaSallian, which revealed that the infamous missing P200 thousand was actually funneled into the cat cult years ago.
A follow-up interview was conducted with the organization’s leader, the now cult-enthusiast Arthur Pusana (V, BEED-ECED). Rumors circulating before have now been addressed, and it is clear that Profesor Mooncake along with her allies have been up to no good. The organization has thus been disbanded and members have been suspended and arrested.
The University has decided to implement strict measures, banning all cats from entering the campus and searching bags to ensure that all Cathropology course materials and paraphernalia are confiscated and destroyed. The University also advised students against interacting with cats, for the time being, be it on or off campus.
Perhaps the most disturbing information unearthed from this book of secrets is the extent of the conspiracy. The cats, ever ambitious, were not just content with controlling the campus—they wanted the world. There were detailed papers outlining the steps to placing a cat president in Malacañang through viral marketing campaigns and troll farms as well as security protocols in the event of a canine rebellion.
But maybe what really scares us is that we missed what was right under our noses. We had underestimated our beloved furry friends with their cute button noses and the wide eyes, and we almost paid the ultimate price. Even now, many of the cat cultists are still at large and much of their plans remain unknown.
Still under questioning, Professor Mooncake refuses to divulge any relevant information. She spends her days in silence, sharpening her claws and occasionally uttering, “Meow meow meow hiss.”
(This is only the beginning.)