I WATCHED THE ERA of human domination end from a sun-dappled window seat.

In hindsight, I should have taken it more seriously, but as a predator I was more curious than afraid. Also, I’m an indoor cat who watches way too much TV. My tolerance for dramatic violence might be a little messed up.

“Wally, wake up,” I said, poking the fat, gray mass at my side with my paw.

“Huh?” Wally mumbled, hauling himself to attention. Wally was from a family of military cats; his prized possession was the bronze general’s star on his collar he’d inherited from his father. Wally’s mother was none other than the spy Von Paws. Yes, THAT Von Paws. Sadly, Wally was also an indoor cat, so he had never actually gone to war, something that bugged him to no end.

At this point, you’re probably wondering what resplendent family tree I descended from. Well, sorry to disappoint, but like 75% of the housecat population, I have no clue who my parents are. My first memory is of rolling around in a glass cage with five other calico kittens who looked identical to me, down to the black freckles on our noses. I drank my first drop of milk from a latex nipple attached to the cage, and when I left on my current assignment, I didn’t even have a name for the other cats to call out to say goodbye.

My pet and I were born the same week, and I was assigned to this home when we were both eight weeks old. I was Connor’s second word after “mama” and he was my first love and only family. Unless you counted Generalissimo Wally.

“Those three humans are eating an old human,” I reported, my own eyes fixed on the bloody scene below.

Wally yawned, stretched, and finally turned his face to the street. “So?” he snapped. “Weaker gets eaten by stronger. Circle of life, Pickles. How many times do I have to explain it to you?”

“This is different,” I said, pressing myself against the glass. “There’s something wrong with the predator humans. They’re not talking. And they’re moving around super weirdly.”

Wally snorted. “Humans are terrible predators. What you’re seeing there is pack mentality. Obviously those three humans have dogs as owners. Poor monkeys.”

The three predator humans were shuffling away from their prey now, leaving behind a mess of people parts and a walker.

“They’re so slow, it’s a wonder they could catch anything to eat.”

“The prey was very old,” I said.

“Mmm,” Wally said, lowering himself back to his sleeping position. “Wake me up when the pets get home. I need to remind the male to clean the litter.”

I nodded, my eyes still on the newly quiet suburban street, watching as the leaves in the trees blew softly in the wind. I could hear no birdsong, and even the squirrels seemed to be taking a break from their incessant travels. It was the end of the human workday, but other than the attack we had just witnessed, I had seen no other humans in hours.

My pet was due home from the daycare soon, so I curled into a ball to rest. Connor was two and always needed my help to settle down when he got home. It was the busiest time of day for me, and I took my assignment seriously.