On the opposite side of the road sits the cat. Again. Every morning I see her, dwelling next to that twisted senile tree. An ugly sinister animal concealed in too much of dirty brownish fur. I swear she is watching my every move. As if she’s trying to tell me something – as if she is waiting for me to…I don’t know – to wake up from some sort of dream that I don’t even know I’m dreaming. As if she wants me to open my eyes and see the world her way. There is this wild yellow light in her big round eyes that follow me like a CCTV camera. And the tree – what’s with the tree anyway? During bare winter or parching summer, the tree is always dressed in rough leaves – rough like a cat’s tongue. Anchored to the old derelict building that used to be a community centre back in the day. More holes than shingles, rotting metal staircase, walls showing their brick teeth. The building gives me the creeps. You can hear noise coming from there at night – screeching and cracking like old bones as if the remaining structure was sighing in pain.

I should just lock the door and ignore the cat. Turn the corner and forget her burning yellow eyes on my back.  Or maybe I should just walk over and scare her away. It’s just a cat after all. Yes, I will do that. I will make her go away.