Linger

I have always been suspicious of the little cat who approaches me, each day, at noon sharp, expecting its daily fill of fermenting cat food and kitchen scraps. He lingers, mockingly, and despite my efforts to shoo him away, I always submit to pampering him in hope that one day, he may content, and leave me, perhaps to another who will bribe him much more luxurious than I lay down, weary with my efforts to appease him. The clock strikes midday. Closing my eyes for the last time, I see him hungrily approach, exalted with the thrill of prey.