A Dialogue from Cat

The sunspot near the window seems perfect, were it not for the chill of the exterior wall. The carpet over here is a bit rough, but that's alright. I really don't mind it. It’s rare this time of year for them to let light in. Usually, it’s too cold when the leaves start to change colour, but the sun is bright in the sky.

I was out earlier. I felt the bite of the wind as it pushed me around the driveway. I watched as the birds mocked me, perched on the eaves trough as I sat with my feet bundled underneath me on the cold asphalt. When a strong gust shook me to the bone, I walked past the windows, eventually knocking as loud as I could to get someone's attention.  The warm air hit my face as I walked inside, my body still shaking as I acclimated to the temperature, capturing the warmth under my coat. I went to my bowl, ate the same brown pellets I always do that left my mouth sore. I lazily drank the cold water they set out for me, by then the feeling had returned to the bottom of my feet.

 I have a place here. They bought me some kind of cushion, it's large and smooth. It's filled with something, it feels like the pellets I eat. It's solid, but I sink into it when I sit on top. It feels like the more I knead it, the harder it gets. It bunches in places and it's hollow in others. It's not the greatest situation, but they tried. They put a blanket on top of it to keep me from sliding off, but my claws always get caught in the fibres. It's also in the laundry room downstairs. Sure, it always smells of fabric softener, and it's warm when they have the dryer running on the weekends, but there is absolutely no sunlight. Hell, I can't even tell what time of day it is half the time. They put long panels of dark fabric over the one small window the room has, blocking out any hints of sun I can possibly soak up.

When no one's paying attention to me, which is more often than I'd like, I sneak upstairs to the living room, attempt to soften the stiff carpet near the window and lay in the one lone sunbeam that manages to find its way into the house. I catch a nap, feeling the sun soak into my coat, warming every part of my body. I usually fall asleep so soundly, tucking my face into my body, rolling belly up to the rays beat down my patchy coat.

I know I'm not supposed to be there. I often leave patches of pulled fur matted into the carpet, which is when they bring out the loud machine that rattles as it moves. And I should be grateful that I have a place of my own, but I figure if no one's getting hurt, then I might as well chance it. I stretch my paws out, feeling my claws dip into the pile of the carpet as my eyes begin to close. I know I'm going to fall asleep deeply after fighting the wind all morning, and I know I'm going to get yelled at when I'm caught, but right now, I regret nothing.