Creature Comfort

He’s crazy, but he’s mine. 

He lives in my house. He’s kind of cute in his own dysfunctional kind of way. He moves frequently in the hallways and is always sitting on my furniture. He is captivated by screens. 

He is quite hairy for a person. I’ve decided to keep him. 

After all, he fills my food dish and comes to cater to me when I call, perhaps he’s a bit slow on the take, but he is generous with my treats, so I can forgive his lethargy in the mornings. He drinks an abundance of black liquid with a bitter stench. He occasionally shares his food with me, though not nearly often enough. 

He serves as an adequate pillow and when I feel like it, and only when I feel like it, his legs provide enough support for a short two to three hour nap. 

He can get quite confused and I secretly think he forgets my name. He calls me buddy and bugs and champ and kitty and stinky. The last one he thinks is a joke though I’ve followed him to the bathroom and he has no right to complain. I’ve told him so many times through the door. 

He doesn’t appreciate my need to protect him in his weakened state. He is lucky for the walls that surround us. I do not think he’d survive for long on the streets. He does not even know how to call to the flying creatures outside. 

Lately, things have changed. 

It all happened after she left. 

He no longer dances in the hallway like a fool, his arms and legs shaking with a profound lack of grace. He no longer laughs.

My house is quieter than it used to be. I do my best to fill the air with my own singing. He does not seem to understand this gift. I’d bring him many gifts if he’d let me out into the great wilderness, small, tasty gifts of all sizes for I am a great hunter. 

To his credit, he recognizes this skill as I track and destroy the bed monsters that plague his sheets. Those too have appeared less frequently, which I believe is a testament to my abilities. They must be afraid of my terrible claws. 

It has been many nights since she left. 

I wake him to fill my dish as only one side remains full and I require fresh sustenance. The large bright ball in the sky has been up for ages and ages before he finally rises from the room I have allowed him to use. I managed to walk from the tower I use to keep watch of the outside world to the door to his room several times before I finally heard movement on the other side of the door. I do not know what he would do if I wasn’t here to alert him to the start of the day. Most likely, he would not leave his chamber. He spends even more time there now. 

He looks disheveled, so I do my best to reassure him, though we both know his cleaning ritual needs a lot of work. He does not bathe himself the appropriate six times each day and is hardly grateful when I remind him of it. 

There are large half circles under his eyes. I do not know how he can spend so much time in his room and still not get enough sleep. I will have to remind him to nap with me after my first meal and perhaps twice after that. 

He bends down to pick me up and I allow him to hold me for a time. He strokes my chin and cheeks and I am appeased for a moment. Alas, I wriggle in his arms to remind him of who is in charge. He struggles for a moment, but I land on the ground with a perfect leap. 

He follows me to the food room appropriately filling my dish before he moves on to his own. 

The food is adequate. I lick the gravy first, savoring the sweetness it provides and leaving the meat for last. I look up to make sure he does not think of leaving before I am done. I rub my back against each of his legs and hurry out of his reach as he bends over to feel the sleek softness of my fur. 

I finish my meal as he pours water from the hot machine that I despise. He does not like when I rub against it even though it rests on my countertop. I give audible praise for the meal.

He says “I know” repeatedly, but I am not certain that he really does. 

It is time to stretch my legs, so I sit at his feet and stare at him until he gets the right string. At first, he waves it around with little force. The feathers at the end provide no challenge as I am simply too fast. 

Then he moves with it. He knows how much I love the chase. I allow him the appropriate head start. I crouch in wait, hidden perfectly behind the pile of shoes littered across the floor. I blend in with the surroundings so well that he cannot see me, then I launch myself forward. The strength of my paws propell me across the slick, tiled surface over the side of one couch and swiftly under the table where I pause to catch my breath. The hunt has just begun, no use ending it too early even if I absolutely can. The feathered creature shifts nervously on the footrest as is expected. My tail flickers in anticipation and then I strike. I’m on top of it in moments. My jaw clenches around its length. I run my razor-sharp teeth down its spine careful not to destroy it completely. 

He becomes restless, so I release the creature and restart the chase. It is good that he can watch me hunt. Maybe he will gain more confidence knowing that he belongs to me. 

He gives up too soon even though I could do this for hours. He takes his place on the couch and the large screen comes alive. 

I know that he will be staring at it until I require him to serve me again, so I sit near him on the couch avoiding the bunched fabric he sets down, not too close to be touched, but close enough to remind him I’m here. 

I spin in a circle and find the most comfortable spot to begin my nap. I catch him staring at his small screen. His fingers tap against it and her image appears. 

His mouth trembles. Perhaps he did not get enough to eat. 

I kindly request that he stop moving so much as it disrupts my sleep, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

One medium nap later and he is still staring at the screen; his eyes are wet. He must have licked from the water machine in the food room. It can be tricky to use and has often covered my fur and required an extensive cleaning. 

I scan the room for any other looming threats, but I have done my job and it is safe from invaders. I nap again. 

Blinking my eyes open with a giant yet still intimidating yawn, I sense something is wrong. My human is not in the room. 

I call his name.

There is no response. I grow worried, so I shout louder. I check the food room. He is often in the food room though he doesn’t make the food anymore, just pulls it out of boxes and bags. I try to show him other uses for these toys, but he usually just shoves me away. 

But, he is not there. 

My heart starts to beat faster. The hallway is clear and so is the potty room for visitors. I push open the door just to be sure and dart out before it can close on me. 

He is not tending to my sand hill, which he continues to do despite my incessant pleas for him to stop. I even pounced on his back one time to strengthen my point. He did indeed stop, but he bucked in terror and when I attempted to hang on with the agile use of my claws, he got quite irritated even though I was the aggrieved party to begin with. 

I find him in bed though the ball of light remains in the distance. The covers have been pulled up to his shoulder. My nose twitches and every fabric of my being says to attack. 

The slight movement under the blanket is mesmerizing bliss. I silently stalk forward, a perfect killing machine. I reach the edge of the bed and I coil myself like a cobra. 

But I stop myself, as my keen hearing picks up a muffled sob. I reach my paws out to get a closer look. There’s a vibration at his shoulders and chest and another deep sob. I pull myself the rest of the way onto the bed and slowly circle him. 

He breathes heavily, but the sobbing stops.I step around his head and rub my side against his fur. 

I can see he is in pain, like the time I had a hairball caught in my throat. 

I tell him it is going to be okay. This time I think he understands because he says “I know”. 

I curl up next to him and let him wrap his arms around me. 

He says he loves me and I whisper it back.

Soon enough, he is asleep. 

I have done my job, but that is to be expected. 

After all, he is mine.