It lurks. It lurks in the true sense of the word. Its grey fur doesn’t glisten but its eyes gleam. Watching, strategizing.
It arrived at my home without invitation, four years ago, announced only by the sound of cat food falling into a steel bowl. It refuses attention, no matter what sincere attempt anyone pursues. It gives a false sense of compassion by brushing against your leg, only to deceive those who dare to pet it.
One night, no different from any other, it brushed against my unexpecting leg. That’s when it happened. The warm sensation running down my jeans. It finally made its move. The cat ruined my shoes.
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