A Day in the Life of a Psychotic Cat

Every morning, at precisely 9:42, Rhudolf is awoken by an angry clash of aggressive rapping, mingled with the heavy odour of cigarette smoke wafting over his pillow. This morning his right eye popped open first, as usual. Rhudolf paused, looked straight up at the circling blades above him, and pounced. The shrill war cry he emitted sent his owner storming in and without hesitation he turned his focus on her. Dark, greasy hair lay limp on her brow, and satanic tatoos were imprinted, forever clawing their way up her pock-marked arms. Rhudolf narrowed his eyes; crust crackled along the creases of his eyes as he narrowed in on his target. Blood-shoot eyes met blood shot eyes and a flash of fear seamed to flicker in the human pair. And then it was gone, and only contempt remained. Cracked lips drew back over fuzzy, yellowing teeth. "Stupid cat" the woman spat, leering at Rhudolf. But Rhudolf already had his nose pressed up hard against the cold glass of the window, his eyes manically darting back and forth-scanning the empty concrete lot for any sign of the infamous dog.