Nighttime

Four brown paws stole across the cool of a tiled floor, closely followed by the lithe shadow of a little tabby cat. Whiskers etched delicately in refracted moonlight, she crept toward the bedroom window with an attitude of calm purpose, halting a few feet away from the window's sill. She sat, decisively, tail flicked up, and turned her round face to the bed, her owlishly dilated eyes taking in the form of her sleeping owner hunched fitfully in tangled cotton sheets.

She turned her head away.

The curtains were still now, their gauzy fabric hanging limp and dead against the wall. The corner of the rightmost curtain was draped over the bedpost, around which it had entwined itself while still living in the breeze. Now it assumed the attitude of a dead vine in the winter, clinging wraithlike in the position in which it had died at the first frost. It left a convenient gap, revealing a pane of window and a square of moonlight shining through it. The cat leapt up without hesitation.

The window was closed. She was expecting that.

She looked out into the night, green eyes contracting in the stronger moonlight. The yard, such as it was, stretched out before her. A poor, thin lawn, mostly made up of short stocky weed sprouts, sputtered out and died shortly before colliding with a ratty old coyote fence. A few trees, most of them dead, clawed up at a dark sky shot through with milky nimbus clouds. Some stars were visible here, though most were drowned out by the ambient light; a short drive from in any direction would reveal to the viewer the full wealth of the night sky, a treasurehouse of stars.

There were weeds by the fence, tall thick ones which laughed at the best efforts of herbicides and WeedWhackers. They gave off a rank green smell, stronger when it rained, and still strong now, after the afternoon's monsoon. Small and tasty little creatures were probably moving beneath their boughs.

Feeling restless, the tabby cat leapt down from the sill, muscles flowing like a self-contained waterfall. Without checking her stride, she continued on to her food bowl, giving it a cursory inspection. Empty, still. She was expecting that. A few particles of kibble stuck themselves to her whiskers, as she sniffed at the bowl, and she licked them off carefully before moving on.

Back to the bathroom, now, where more moonlight was pouring in through the little uncurtained window high up on the wall. Chrome fixtures, cheaply finished and collecting mineral scale from the hard water that gushed from them, glinted dully in the white glow, their reflected light picking out the shapes of bottles and half-squeezed tubes of various cruelty-free specially-formulated homeopathic stress-relieving beauty enhancement products. The shower curtain gave off the warm, sharp-but-subtle scent of PVC and of the mildew-killing cleaning products with which it was periodically sprayed. A few stray dustbunnies clung to the slightly sticky floor mouldings, and the cat thought idly of pouncing on one before the memory of the window pressed her on, renewed her focus. She leapt lightly onto the sink, making no sound as she deftly navigated combs and brushes and containers of dental floss. From there, she stepped to the back of the toilet, its cold thin sweat of condensation dewing her paws. And from there, she arched her back, leapt, and (with a bit of undignified scrabbling) made it to the narrow pine sill of the tiny bathroom window.

This one was open.

A screen stood in the way, of course. Through it, the night breeze hinted at the world outside: wet juniper, pavement, unsecured trash cans, acrid car exhaust, the fading scent of roses. Against the moon and sky arched the branch of a honey locust tree, its glossy leaves stirring langourously in the undecided breeze.

She could pop this screen. She'd done it before. And there were rabbits out there, or deer mice, at the very least. Sand to roll in, and crawlspaces to explore. Maybe something to eat. Two front paws crept up the window screen, testing its tension. Pearly claws extended, hooked sharp from a lack of regular trimming and ready to see a bit of action.

But then there was a noise. A sudden noise. With a thump, the tabby leapt down, back onto the cold and unkind tile of the bathroom floor, and lost itself in the shadows.