Arthur senses he is being watched. He stands very still, tensing his muscles, ready for flight.

He stares straight ahead, waiting, watching.

She walks round the table, noticing all the clutter. What a mess. She remembers the tidy, spotless kitchen of her childhood, no mess or spills allowed. She remembers the cupboard under the stairs.

Dark, cold, silent.

Arthur tries a high-pitched meow but it gets no response.

She stares at the cat. She has always disliked cats. Now it doesn’t matter.

Now she can see him, but he can’t see her.

Thanks to Rochelle for continuing Friday Fictioneers and to Scott Vannatter for the photo this week