Bea Cat

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Small things prowl the night

Buzzing of things not quite right

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I was not very good at many things. I wasn't good at remembering names, or numbers. I wasn't good at physical activities. Made all the more apparent by the tests. I was good at being quiet though. So quiet even the adults forgot I was there. I also knew every inch of this place. It was my home. I knew every nook. Every place to hide. From the Port-a-lounges to the vents. I was in the vents now, waiting. I had gotten good at that too. My ears perked. Someone was coming. I peaked though the ajar door. It was not the heavy footsteps of the big ones I avoided, or the strong footsteps a human. It had been a long time since I laid eyes on I living human. I licked my lips; that felt strange still to my squishy tongue. It was the soft, quick footsteps of a small toy. My tail swished back and forth in anticipation. I got ready to pounce. A small Huggy Wuggy came into view. When it got close enough I was swift. Wings fluttering, I dragged it back to the safety of my vent. The only thing I left behind was the splatter of blood, and the small, bloody cat paw prints.