Cecil

Cats never sleep. They observe at a more leisurely pace. A short story.

I was dreaming. In the dream, I was a panther. Sleek, silent, shadow-black, but with strange and wonderful white markings, like a tailored shirt. I moved through dense jungle, every leaf curling out of my way like it feared me. I was on the hunt.

My prey was near. I could smell it—cold, artificial, and slightly plastic. My muscles tensed. I knew this sce…