The cat was in heat. She sent her lamentations to the sky, hungry for moonlight and a cat dick. I imagined her on her back, rolling in the damp earth outside my window, her belly rising like a loaf of bread.
We are similar, the cat and I. Some nights I lie awake in bed, aching with an appetite that I can't feed. I've learned my lesson though. I don't trust my nightly habits.
On my lips is a wail, wild yet tamed. I suppress it and toss in my sheets as dirty paws and whiskers coalesce in the dark.
When Breath Becomes Air