By the darkness hollowed out by orange light sat an old ginger cat, his perch holding him far above the quiet of the street.
You’ll be amazed by what goes on in those eyes beyond the topsy-turvy glass mirror to the street you might catch if you every got close enough. The moon is several days past full and for no reason other than its own his eyes take a snails pace. Now and then go the afterlife of fireflies flirting by before they are lost and then found.
There’s no real wind… still what is it with that one leaf above him?
A shuffle somewhere, after some quiet he glances but knows not to care. He only stares at emptiness, his pupils slinking into shape as he moves through nightlight. A chill passes and he shifts. By the now the cloud that never moved disappeared. His eyes gleam then go. Has he left or has he slept?