I always purred when I came home. Carla looked forward to our hug in the kitchen, as I threw my keys down and sighed after a long day at work. Milk factory. Hard ignoring all that cream throughout the day and not being able to taste it. Anyway, we purred together, Carla and I, and I sat at the table for dinner. Fish, like always. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I licked my paws and groomed my head while I waited.

After dinner I said goodnight. She wanted to crochet; I wanted to read. I collapsed into bed and felt something under my pillow. Huh. I turned and swatted at it with my paw, seeing bloody feathers from a black bird. My favorite meal.

Carla was too good to me. With a meow, I curled after my dessert, belly full.

It was good to be a cat.