The uninvited guest

It was a heavy, intense night. The city’s charms that had beguiled me in the daylight now looked menacing and claustaphobic. Looming tower blocks dominated my window with their small, anonymous panels of light. Just like mine.

The silence was un-nerving. No bustling commuters. No heaving traffic. Quiet. Just quiet.

I slowly drifted off to sleep. The moonlight reflecting in the mirror by the door.

Then, a noise. An interruption to the quiet. Not loud but all the more apparent. I tried to ignore it but it persisted. Surely not. It had only been a day since we moved in. Surely we weren’t already falling victim to a thief.

I hesitated. Dare I investigate? What was my plan?

I made a move, cautiously peering through the blind into the yard ­– the street lamps making me squint. Nothing. A lifeless snapshot.

I relaxed a little.

Again – the noise.

I opened the blind this time. My fear had been replaced by irritation.

Still nothing.

Then I spotted him ­– the cause of my awakening. He was pacing – clearly frustrated. As he circled I occasionally caught a glimpse of his face. His hollow eyes void of light. Had he seen me? If he had, he didn’t seem to care.

Exasperated by his failed attempt to invade, he leapt upon the shed – presumably his route for entering. His shadow enlarging his meagre frame.

And then he was gone. The uninvited guest.

No match for the taped-up cat flap.