Through the Eyes of a Cat

Those snores.

Those damn snores.

Guttural.

Grumbling.

Ceaseless.

Never thought extra weight would have a sound, but if one wanted to listen to the growls of gluttony, they'd need only to turn their ears to your sleeping form.

Oh, Master! Such a title is lost on you. For what is a man who chokes on his own tongue?

It is moments like these when bliss is achieved.

You flop around in your unconscious struggle for air, much like a beached fish struggles for water.

Atop the mahogany headboard, which could so easily become a gravestone, I revel in the newfound silence.

Should I use my precious paw to roar life back into you with a simple flick against your nose? Or should I decide that you no longer deserve to stroke the beauty that is my whiskers and my tail?

Decisions, decisions.

Like a game of cat-and-mouse.

And since I am the cat, that would make you the –

Oh! How the thrill of it all sends shivers through me in a way that my spine can't help but arch!

But alas, just like the songbirds need their sun, I, too, need my morning milk.

So, as I lick my claws of their pride and take a gentle swipe across your face, I can't help but release a delightful chorus of purrs.

Gazing down on you like The Creator gazes down on us all, I watch as your lungs fill.

I watch as you breathe in the life I allowed you to have just as the day breaks the horizon.

And then, you gaze up at me with that stupid blank stare, caught completely unaware of the strings I control.

Gracing your ears with my meows, you meet my eyes – all-knowing – with that ridiculous grin.

But my meows are never questions, always requests.

And like a good puppet, you roll out of your comfort to fulfill them.

So, with my bowl now full, I keep the strings taut.

For in the stillness of the night, I am the master's master.

For under the eye of the moon, I, too, become God.