She prowled her range from floor to floor, seeing well in the moonlight and the faint flickers from human-made light from outside.
A human stirred on her makeshift bed for the night. A pair of triangular ears perked like little radar dishes at the rustling.
Politely, she made an inquisitive sound at the human. The human mumbled something and sighed.
On silent feet, all still clawed, she leapt onto the armrest then walked along a part of the human. Blankets moved. A sleepy human face peeked up at the faintly glowing eyes and the feline silhouette, then went back to rest on the pillow again.
I will rest here, the feline mused with satisfaction, and settled comfortably in the space by the human’s sideways sleeping midsection.
The blankets were soft, the human was giving off warmth and there was a good view of her surroundings. The slender, little black cat with a tiny white spot on her chest purred quietly into a feline zen trance.
Perhaps one day, I will find out for sure…
…Why my kindergarten playmate kept having different pets in the same rectangular, glass fish tank whenever we would play at her house.
One time, it was goldfish.
The next, a little while later, it was hamsters.
I think goldfish came around again in the tank after that.
Eventually, the tank was left empty.
“Where are the fish?” I had asked, staring at it.
“The fish died,” was what I had recalled her saying.
But the second part of kindergarten for that year, we were in separate rooms. And shortly after, I would unexpectedly move away.