The night air is chilled. Through the trees, the sky twinkles with stars. I feel energy surge within me. The night is where I belong. I feel alive.
The humans say the night is dark, but not to a cat. I don’t see darkness. The world is always bright, just a little less so at night.
I move along from branch to fence to roof, every step made softly and surely. My tail shifts angles to keep me balanced. The breeze whiffles my fur. What a fine thing it is to be a cat in the nighttime!
“Hissy!” a feline voice calls. “Hissy Fitz! Who are you running from?”
It’s Igloo, sitting on the slanted roof of his house. His white coat seems to glow in the starlight.
“No one. I’m just running. How’d you get out this time?”
“They forgot to lock my cat door. Did you finally get a nap?”
I give him a look.
He laughs. “You do have a noisy family.”
“You don’t know how lucky you are, having only Tillie to deal with.”
“At least you have your freedom,” Igloo says.
True. I can escape.
“Why don’t you come and have a nap with me?” Igloo asks.
“Later. I need to prowl a while first.”
“Can I come along?”
I prefer to prowl alone, but tonight I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to. To complain to. Maybe if I talk about my problems, I’ll be able to relax.
“Sure,” I say. “But you have to keep up.”
Igloo’s a longhair. The fur on his belly grazes the ground when he walks. It’s often snarled and littered with debris. It slows him down. I’m glad I’m a shorthair. A British shorthair, to be exact.
I move on. Igloo runs after me.
“How was your day after you left my house?” he asks.
“Frustrating,” I say, and tell him about my afternoon: about the shoelace, Zeb trying to grab my tail, Georgie’s bug, Medium Sad Guy, Zeb scaring Abe and me to death.
“That does sound frustrating,” Igloo says. “But it’s over now. There’s no point in —”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” I interrupt. “You get to sleep all day. Missing a day of sleep makes me crazy. And then they all go to bed, and I’m supposed to drop off. It isn’t easy. I mean, it’s night. And I’m all wound up.”
“You need to let it go, Hiss. You’ll never get to sleep.”
If he doesn’t stop talking about how I need to relax, I’m going to swat him. I know I need to relax. I know I need to let it go. But I’ve got a fire in my belly, and in my brain. That’s why I’m prowling. Sometimes exercise cools the flames.
“Keep up!” I say with a hiss. He’s lagging behind.
“I’m trying,” Igloo says, “but you’re moving pretty fast.”
“Then don’t keep up! Go back to your roof and sleep!”
“Hissy, try to calm —”
Hssssssssss! I say, whirling around on him. I lash out. He recoils in fear.
“Take it easy —”
I swat at him again and scream, RrrOWRRRR!
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” he says with a light laugh. He turns away. “But you really do need to chill —”
RrrOWRRRR!
He chuckles. “Come by when you’re ready to nap. I’ll be on my roof.”
We part ways. I leave the family and my friend behind. I’m too dangerous to be around anyone. Too wild. Too savage. I’m a savage predator, gliding through the town’s canopy, like a panther.
RrrOWRRRR!
I feel alive.