Entering VOTY 2014!


“Cat Madigan, what have you done?”


“…then why are you repeating the word stupid over and over?”

“Because I am stupid. That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong, it’s an observation anyone can make.”

“Well why are you realising it just now then?”

“Because, Daniel, I’ve entered a blogpost in a competition!”



“Okay, I understand now.”

“Thank you. May I continue?”

“Of course, right after this message. Ladies, if you’re single and searching, let me-”


“Oooh, the lady is jealous I see.”

“Shut up Daniel.”

So, I entered my post Bandaids in the 2014 Voices of the Year Awards. I have no idea why, I had no idea what I was doing when I entered, and now I’m thinking “Well that was stupid.”

But I may as well make the most of it.

If any of you nonexistent readers are interested in voting for my depression induced rant, you can vote here. I enjoy writing on this blog, even though I don’t always update, and hopefully with school and stuff, I’ll still be able to.

The one thing I’m always worried about is the idea of my parents reading what I’ve written. Honestly, if they read one post on here, they would either lock me in my room or lock me in an asylum. An asylum wouldn’t be too bad. Think about it from an insane person’s point of view. In other words, think of it from a cheerful schizophrenic’s point of view; there would be a room ALL BED.


And it comes with a comfy looking hug jacket!

Nah, I would hate it, not being able to slap Daniel when I feel like it.

“So glad to be an outlet for your violent outbursts, mistress.”

“Thankyou Daniel.”

If you’ve made an entry in the competition yourself, tell me about it, so I know who to vote for. After all, I’m not going to win.

Love Cat Madigan, and Daniel too.

Psycho vs. Socio


Happy mode, happy mode, happy mode, happy-BZZZZZZZZZZZT!

happymode.exe is not responding at this time, please try again later.

Okay then…let’s do this from scratch.

So yesterday, I was playing Mad Father. It’s about a girl whose father is a psychopathic scientist who kills people and makes them into dolls. You know, my sort of story. Long story short, a curse on their house makes the subjects come back to life, and they go after the father, and the daughter, Aya, goes to safe him.

Spoilers, by the way.

The game has three endings, but the true ending shows Aya surviving and turning into a sociopathic murderer. It runs in the family, you know.

So what I had noticed was that Aya and her father both behaved in completely different ways, even though they both turned into killers. Her father, who I found out was called Alfred, would brutally murder subjects with a chainsaw, and would’ve murdered his own daughter the same way. Aya, on the other hand, appears sweet and cheerful, and she appears to be a kind doctor who helps poor patients…by sedating them before killing them.

It was Mad Father, and somewhat Sherlock, that got me curious about what the difference was between psychopaths and sociopaths.

So I researched.

If only I was this good with schoolwork.

Oh well.

Psychopaths are those who go beyond what is considered normal moral behaviour. Think of kids who torture animals, just to see what happens. Psychopathic tendencies are passed on through genetics, and are there from a young age.

Sociopaths, on the other hand, are simply those who lack social and emotional skills, and are unable to relate to others. But sociopaths aren’t as destructive as psychopaths; their tendencies are usually taken out on those in their personal lives. But sociopaths are usually made; if a child is raised in a cold, emotionless environment, they’re likely to shut down socially and emotionally.

Both these people lack the ethics which is normal to society, and can’t always sympathise with others. They’re also able to look at gory things without flinching, things that would make others look away.

But the major difference is that psychopaths have a charming exterior, no matter how twisted they are underneath. They are able to interact with people with ease. Sociopaths, on the other hand, don’t care about what anyone else thinks; they act exactly how they like, do exactly what they want. That’s what makes psychopaths more dangerous; you’re more likely to dislike a sociopath than a psychopath.

I wonder what I am exactly. I feel like I have to be one of these; with everything that’s going on in my head, I think there has to be something there which is the origin for it all.

I’d have to say that I think myself more sociopathic than psychopathic, but not by much. Then again, a psychiatrist might know more about me than I would. I’ve got no clue who I am anymore. Kaya or Cat. Human or…something weird.

I’m probably just plain old insane.

And for now, that’s okay.

Time to chill out now. I should take a break from scary stuff.

Mad Cat.

Mad Cat Artwork: Liquid Madness


Time for another piece of what’s in my head in digital art form!

It’s not a self portrait, it’s based on a character in a story my friend The Evil One is writing. She used me as the inspiration for the character. So she’s going to be extremely messed up. ^_^

The way I see it, she’s been driven so mad that she split into two personalities. The one I drew is the creepier, darker one, which has no sense of the present, and is permanently stuck inside her traumatic past. I might do another picture of both personalities, but I haven’t got enough time at the moment, with exams and everything. I barely have enough time to update sometimes.

Ah well. Enjoy my artwork, and I’m finishing up the second last chapter of Cat’s Run Away, which will hopefully be posted soon. I know how much you nonexistent readers love those.

Mad Cat

Overactive Thinking


My day began the second my poster decided to fall from it’s place on the wall.

What would most people think? Oh, it is only the tape wearing down, or perhaps The poster is far too heavy, it wasn’t going to stay there for long.

However, I am an insane bitch. And I was still slow from sleep. So my first thought was that my mind had come for me. Again.

It was at that moment that Daniel tapped me on the shoulder, scaring the living day lights out of me once again. Bastard.

Daniel just laughed. You’d think he’d be more despondent, considering how he is a figment of my imagination, therefore he would probably inherit my growing depressive outlook on life. But at least he’s in a good mood this morning. Does that mean I’ll be happy today? Can’t say. I suppose if Daniel is happy, it means that some part of me is too.

I ask him why he is in such a good mood. He grins, and tells me about how he gets to spend this day with Rae. There’s not much I know about Rae, though I have met her on several occasions. I wouldn’t think her any more than 3 or 4 years old, and she looks nothing at all like Daniel. But when I ask about this relationship between them, he just shakes his head. Not allowed to say, he tells me once again. But as I raise an eyebrow at him, he hastily informs me it is not like that. He is very close to her mother though. Who this might be is a mystery to me, though I am certain it is not her.

Daniel is watching me type, an amused look on his face. He doesn’t tell me his age, but he looks like he’s in his 30s. He’s often made jokes about me dreaming of older men; jokes that usually end with me throwing something at him, forgetting for a moment that of course, it would go straight through him.

He has dark hair, nearly black, which now reaches his shoulders. His eyes are the same strange hazel, the type that could look green, gold, grey, or blue, depending on whatever’s around him. They’re what makes me curious the most. But more on that another time, perhaps.

What bothers you? he asks, knowing already what it is. In a smug tone, Daniel tells me that I want to ask him something, but I’m afraid to. So I ask him, and watch with cruel satisfaction as his face falls, the happiness radiating moments ago disappearing with my query:
“They still haven’t found her, have they?”

Daniel’s silent for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. That was unnecessary, he tells me.

“Yes it is,” I insist. “I have a right to know. What news of her? Surely they would’ve located her by now, it’s been more than a few months.”

It is not that simple, he told me. And you shouldn’t be worrying about her; for all you know, she’s dead.

“Then why are you worrying about her?” I retort. “If you worry about her, I worry about her! You are part of me, and she is part of me too. Both of you are part of my delusions.”

If even your delusions are telling you that you’re worrying too much, what does that say about you? Daniel asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’d like you to leave, if you aren’t going to tell me anything else,” I say coldly.

Daniel gives a mock bow. As you wish, my lady, he adopts a posh, butler-esque tone before he vanishes.

He’ll be back, I know. He knows I’m typing this, he’s too nosy not to want to have a peek before I post this. Hmmph. Daniel’s allowed to peek at all aspects of my own life, yet I’m only allowed a slither of his own.

Then again, why am I so curious to want to know the life of one of my hallucinations?

Now who’s the crazy one?

Yup…still me.