byIt’s well dark, but for some reason I awake. I rise up on one elbow, causing my heirloom bedframe to squeak. The clock indicates 3:03 AM. Half open to let in the cool night air, the bedroom window is illuminated by the streetlamp, the sheer curtains on either side rustling in the light breeze like a pair of shivering ghosts. A hollow, metallic thunk comes up from the porch downstairs. There’s not enough wind to have blown it over, but I’ve dropped the watering can on the porch floor often enough to recognize the sound. The neighbor’s cat is probably down there again. A creature with no respect for personal boundaries, it often crosses the six-foot fence between my home and its in order to snoop and prowl around.
thunkPulling myself from bed, causing the ancient bedframe to creak again,
