I sat down the mug and the plate on the little table by the chair.
The near bell clanged. The visitor had walked through the front flower garden and was starting up the long steps to the front door. I sighed and stood.
The doorbell rang, like a gong being struck.
I extended my claws and combed and raked my fur. I straightened my kilt and cape. I walked to the front door and waited for the invisible ones to open it. I braced myself for that look on the man’s face.
The door swung open. I held my breath. The man didn’t breathe, either. We were suspended in the moment. I could have stayed in that moment forever so I could see him not running, not hear him screaming, to see him see me, to see his eyes.
The man exhaled and spoke.
I had no idea what he said, or what language he was speaking
