A Voice in the Morning

Your greeting echoed in my mind from last night. I stayed frozen beneath the blanket until dawn, listening for footfalls, or the click of a lighter. Nothing. Only the cool morning air slipping under the door. I slipped down from the sofa cushion by cushion, keeping my belly low against the carpet. In the corner near the hallway, something caught the morning sun—a heavy glass water bowl. Clear, cold, and entirely unburnt. I edged beside it, resting one front paw against the chilled surface. It acts as a safety shield, just in case. From here, I can monitor the hallway and the television at the same time.