By Kevin’s Path
“Maaaarooouuuh?”
“Maaahwwrroooaaauuuuooow!”
“Hhhhhssssssss!”
Fluffypuff was supremely irritated. I could distinctly hear her little cat paws scratching at the bottom of the closet door. I could hear her pushing her front paws under the door and trying to stretch them out into the hallway, as if she entertained a desperate hope to somehow squeeze the rest of her fat fluffy body out through the crack. I could hear her pause, completely silent, pressing her face and her sensitive ears into the crack under the door to hear some sign. Fluffypuff desperately wanted to be free of the closet, where she had been locked away. I was powerless to help or comfort her, but I completely understood how she must feel being locked here in the closet all day with me. Cats don’t cope well with captivity.
Another stream-of-consciousness monologue begins inside my head. This helps me to keep my mind active. And, it is saying, “Fluffypuff was supremely irritated…”
Me? I’ve been locked in this closet for – I don’t know exactly – but the air had turned cold for a while, then damp and humid, then muggy, now just dry. The last specific day that I can identify was in February 2014 when I lost a Superbowl bet. I have ever since been confined here, and I know that was a long time ago. I am locked in a box with my head sticking out of a hole in the top of it. There is a thick padded collar around my neck where it comes out of the hole. The padded collar supports my head and neck all around and keeps my chin up.
