The Ordinary Times

the beast.

The beast turns its back to her now empty plate, letting her gaze settle on the blue porcelain bird figurine that hasn’t moved from the porch for days. She cannot understand why it ignores her, even when she blatantly dares it to taunt her. I will ravage you, she silently vows, upon nightfall.

But for now, her thoughts return to the small salad plate near the screen door that brimmed with tuna juice just moments earlier. She scans the area for any remnants, wishing her Assistant would rise from the large soft rectangle and refill the dish.

Her tail twitches in delight to the rhythm of her heartbeat and the gentle gurgle of her full belly. She slowly licks her black lips, pausing to savor the last bits of fish stuck to her fur.

The flavor takes her back, unexpectedly, to a time of great satisfaction. She must squint to recall, that moment….what was it? Ah, yes. Salmon. The Assistant had helped Itself to her salmon supply in the white chamber, and she chose to take matters into her own paws, nomming the feast while It stared at the image box.

The beast understands the importance of morning and night, grooming and plentiful rest, rigor and self-discipline. She does not apologize for her actions, nor is she grateful. When dusk arrives, she will retire to the shadows with her diary, painstakingly detailing the day’s events in mice blood, for future generations.