Surreptitiously, a cat lingers on the periphery of darkness, staring, with rapt attention into the black oil of obscurity, chasing the flashes of silverfish with eyes like two cunning moons. She is hungry.
The slow eddy of incomprehensible shapes, mere suggestions in a nebulous millpond. In the inertia of time taking it’s time, whispers of form begin to incubate. The black paw of impatience swipes at the volatile shapes, and their phantoms float away in ripples of mercury.
She withdraws her to her sapient haunches, contented with enlightened understanding. When her musings become lucid in the fresh light of morning, she shall have her meal.