Every witch needs her black cat, but I’m allergic.
Still, I see her sometimes stalking me like prey, sometimes watching, sometimes just in passing for she has her own agenda of naps and batting at loose corners of blankets..
Sometimes, I think she wants to be close.
But I never quite catch her. It’s been years of her darting in and out of my periphery, the kind of movement you tell yourself is a trick of weary eyes, a remnant of a dream.
But there are those nights I drift off and she’s there, kneading her paws into my back. A purr. An answer to a prayer, for if I die before I wake, she will eat my carcass before anyone finds my secrets.
Michael Chin was born and raised in Utica, New York and his hybrid chapbook, The Leo Burke Finish, is available now from Gimmick Press. He won Bayou Magazine’s Jim Knudsen Editor’s Prize for fiction and has work published or forthcoming in journals including The Normal School, Passages North, and Hobart. He works as a contributing editor for Moss. Find him online at miketchin.com or follow him on Twitter @miketchin.