Lying In Wait

by Jeff Baker

He could just see over the top if he stuck his head up a little. He was blended perfectly with the background.

His tail twitched. He was patient, his tail wasn’t.

He kept looking up the flight of stairs he was hidden on. Behind him, in darkness were boxes, furniture, a bed, sheets, stacks of paper, all sorts of sounds and smells.

Above was more light, smells of food, soft places to sit, places to run and hide.

The prey would come.

He wondered how long before the darkness came. It was already dark outside, soon all the lights would go off inside and it would be quiet.

From outside, he could hear the sounds of nightbirds and the bark of a dog, the roar of an engine. And still silently he waited.

He heard footsteps. He sank down below the step. Angled so he could see over it but his ears were not so prominent. But he knew he blended in.

The half-door opened. He could hop over it, but he preferred lying in wait.

There were footsteps. The tall figure in the flowing robes bent over him.

“There you are, Sweetie!” the figure said, stretching her arms out to pick him up.

“I knew I’d find you here! You like nabbing people’s feet on the stairway, don’t you? You adorable little thing you!”

The figure rubbed his nose with hers. He purred. The figure set him down.

“It’s late now and I’m coming to bed,” the figure said heading up the stairs and switching off the light. “C’mon.”

The last word was almost cooed. He jumped up the stairs and proceeded her into the bedroom, hopping onto the bed.

The figure walked into the room and glanced around at everything. Furnishings, draperies, pictures on the walls. So much the same and now so different these past four years.

She tossed her robe onto the chair and got into the bed, pulling the covers over her pajamas.

He waited until she settled, as always.

“Good night my dearest,” she said, blowing a kiss to the framed photograph on the dresser of her standing next to a tall blonde woman, the two of them looking blissfully happy.

She reached over and stroked his fur.

“You would have liked my Elsie,” she said.

She awitched off the bedside lamp and lay down. In another moment, he padded over to her and leamed up against her, kneading a spot in the blankets with his paws.

In another few minutes they were fast asleep.

—end—