I wake up. My stomach is an empty sack with a hole in it's bottom. My fur is messy from my catnip induced sleep. Last night was too much.
I look over at the shredded remains of my owner's favorite jacket.
But maybe it wasn't enough.
I walk the darkened hallways of the place I call home. Dark. Find it funny how humans can talk to me about laziness when they sleep until seven in the morning.
My whiskers twitch slightly at my attempt at humor, ugh, too early for humor. Right now I need something else.
I enter my owner's room. Video games dot the book case, a mountain I'll conquer later today. He lays on his comforter, sleeping the sleep of the righteous. I almost feel bad for the action I'm about to take
Almost.
I jump at him like something out of the Discovery channel. Movements refined by years of practice. This is a play we act out every morning. The stage? This room. The actors? The occupants.
I slip on top of his chest. The steady movement shows his sleep before I get a good look. I start the engines.
A purr escapes my throat like a theif in the night. The vibrations are the trick. Always.
I'd smile if I wasn't so damn hungry.
It only takes 5 minutes this time. The look he gives me is humorous in it's practiced ease. We both know the score.
This is my home. My city.
A twitch of my tale is the only outward sign of my internal laughter.
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I look over at the shredded remains of my owner's favorite jacket.
But maybe it wasn't enough.
I walk the darkened hallways of the place I call home. Dark. Find it funny how humans can talk to me about laziness when they sleep until seven in the morning.
My whiskers twitch slightly at my attempt at humor, ugh, too early for humor. Right now I need something else.
I enter my owner's room. Video games dot the book case, a mountain I'll conquer later today. He lays on his comforter, sleeping the sleep of the righteous. I almost feel bad for the action I'm about to take
Almost.
I jump at him like something out of the Discovery channel. Movements refined by years of practice. This is a play we act out every morning. The stage? This room. The actors? The occupants.
I slip on top of his chest. The steady movement shows his sleep before I get a good look. I start the engines.
A purr escapes my throat like a theif in the night. The vibrations are the trick. Always.
I'd smile if I wasn't so damn hungry.
It only takes 5 minutes this time. The look he gives me is humorous in it's practiced ease. We both know the score.
This is my home. My city.
A twitch of my tale is the only outward sign of my internal laughter.
MY owner.