The Cat and the Night

The Cat watches the city as veins of smoke rise from chimneys. The moon has drowned the city in that dark ocean known as Night. The street lamps but small stepping stones which lead travellers down forgotten streets. 

The Cat lazily unfolds his body limb by limb until he is standing on the roof, watching people pass by occasionally, shooting stars amongst sombre waters. The Cat weaves his way down to a banister. His gaze brushes against two women seated on the over side of the window, a candle painting their eyes, ears and teeth. A moment as brief as light as the Cat's interminable watch continued to were buildings met road, his body following shortly after. The sound of his paws braking the silence was like that of a shushes tales of witches and fairy's.

As the Cat travelled through the city he passed restaurants who housed dreary conversation and children buried in dust of sleep. Still the Cat walked onwards as the sighs of the river drew near. 

By now the moon was high over head, and the rain had began to bleed through the tapestry of stars and sky. It drifted down entangled with spirits of melancholy and joined the Cat on the road. Yet still he followed the river and he did so for a long time, occasionally crossing a bridge only to drift in the same direction.

While the Cat's eyes still took in every breath of fox and snore of man but his strides slowed and his eyes began to relent to the gravity of night. Presently he came across a bench. It was wet from the continues drizzle the Cat crept up and curled around himself, watching the river carry the silence that drifted through windows and slid under doors.