Fiction
The Carriage
Houseby Gregory Herren
It was a little after three when my cat woke me up by sitting on my chest and howling.
I wanted to ignore him—I could tell without opening my eyes it was still dark out—but when he started kneading my chest with his claws out, I gave up. “Seriously, Skittle?” I asked, reaching for my glasses, noticing my alarm’s glowing red numbers read 3:12.
He yowled again. There were four different sounds, each with its own meaning, in his repertoire. This was the water noise. Cursing myself for not making sure his water bowl was full before going to bed, I slipped on my slippers and pulled on my robe on as I walked out of the bedroom. Skittle galloped down the stairs ahead of me. I was reaching for the kitchen light-switch when I saw movement outside the
