Six-eyed cat, the six-eyed cat, hid.
Sun split curtains to flash from cans.
Reflections ignited points in the dark.
The six-eyed cat was in her room.
I know you’re here, she said. I can smell the purple.
The ceiling fan split air with an off-center spiral, the blade a plate with food on one side: left ass down, right shoulder up.
Your eyes glow in the dark, you know.
The six-eyed cat sighed, six-eyes flashing pink, green.
You’re still the same, I don’t care if you’re purple now.
The eyes did not move.
You just putting on a different accent on your meow.
The six-eyed cat whistled an old song.
Wow, music to remind me how things used to be.
The six-eyed cat stayed in the same place, from where it had always looked down, in a new pose.
I know the people downstairs think you’re new… saying, things aren’t the way they used to be, veils nightmares.
The six-eyed cat added a base note, whistling a recent remix of the classic.
Even though you stopped leaving tails on my desk, I know you still eat mice.
The six-eyed cat stopped.
Didn’t think I was getting to know you? You, who do things to others, can’t be analyzed?
Yes. It’s their fault for being attacked.
You’re so sensitive.
You’re wrong because I feel uncomfortable.
They aren’t just passive recipients, you know: your actions won’t age well.
I don’t kill them the same way as before, so less mice are dying.
The eyes of the six-eyed cat moved on the cabinet, seeming to lick its crotch.
Because your parents ate mice, doesn’t mean that you can’t eat cat food.
It is natural for me to eat mice, because I saw it on your television – more than twice.
Nobody writes scripts?
Knock on the door.
It’s me – are you awake?
No – I am asleep.
Can if I come in?
White door swung to swathe a room in light, darkness opening like a lid.
The six-eyed cat, on its back, at her feet, gave an exaggerated snore.
Haha oh my god, have you seen this?
I can see it – he’s pretending to sleep on his back.
All cats are manipulative – that’s why they’re great, aren’t so needy.
I think we should change his food.
What for? Don’t you remember how he used to be?
Because he isn’t explicitly awful now doesn’t mean he’s being good. And he was eating mice back then, too.
My god, I’m sorry you had to find that mouse, it must have been really traumatic.
He could eat other things.
It’s natural for him to eat mice, because TV.
When was the last time you saw a mouse in a cartoon, eating chickpeas?
The six-eyed cat watched her on the way out, from her cousin’s shoulder.