The Psycho

You wake up. Miniscule flocks of strange birds are pecking your insides out. You go ‘Yah!’
Then you wake up.
And you feel detached. At peace. Part of another, more fluid, supernatural world. This can’t last, you tell yourself. This can’t last. Your nose starts to run. You blow it into some kitchen roll. It runs again. ‘See?’ you shake your head sadly.
The cat stands at the window, barely acknowledging the hundreds of small birds feeding on the seeds scattered across the frozen mud.
‘Puss…puss!’ You go.
And the cat propels itself into a bounce. You brush it with the hard, wire brush that it loves. You don’t understand how it can enjoy the little needles across its back but it does. Its purr resonates through its body, up into the brush handle and tickles your palm.
You look at the clock and it says something shit.
Then you drink your fifth cup of tea and slice the top of an itchy insect bite.
The cat sits at your feet, staring up at you. You notice how its eyes are not centered normally, with one seeming to want to look away from the other.
‘Stop giving me the psycho.’ you say.
‘Meeeeeoow!’ it booms back.


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