Look around you and choose an object in the room. Now write something from the point of view of that object.
I have never aged, frozen forever in a moment as I dangle precariously from a rope. Am I climbing it? Was I pretending to be a fearless tight-rope walker when I slipped, catching myself with one paw? How far below is the ground? Why don’t I fall? Big bold black letters taunt me, HANG IN THERE! they shout. I’ve been hanging for a decade. Perhaps longer. I’m not sure.
I have seen several different rooms, though they may very well be hundreds of miles apart. I do not know. It seems odd that all these rooms would be in the same home. I am always positioned high, to observe and to be seen, to grant motivation to the viewer.
The current arrangement of the room means the woman must look over her shoulder to see me when she is at her desk. The desk used to be below me. There is still a desk below me, but it is not the one she uses. It is a gathering place. Things to be stored for later wind up on it or around it. Totes full of useless items hoard the space.
There is a closet on the wall opposite, but it is also too full of things not yet ready to be eliminated. The bookcase is full to bursting, and so, I suspect, is the litter box in the far corner. The humans have not been in there with their scoops in several days. The bed below the window on the same wall from where I make my observations is never slept in, only on. The free cats like to nap there in the sun. The gray one, whenever the woman is in the room working on the computer.
She is there now. I do not know what she does when she sits there all night, fingers flying across the keyboard, but she does it every night. She looks up at me and smiles. I am still dangling. I will hang here forever. Until the next room.
Notes: Yeah I’m a day late with this one and it’s not very long. I don’t have any excuse, I just didn’t want to yesterday and I spent the day today relaxing. Yes, I have one of those “hang in there” kitty posters. I think it was a gift when I graduated high school? I don’t know, but I feel like I’ve had it at least that long. I usually put it up over my computer, or someplace I spend a lot of time doing work. The corner it’s in has become kind of a nightmare. So many wedding gifts. Christmas decorations. Man, I need a bigger place.
Friday’s prompt: Write about a memory you have related to a campfire.
I’ll get that one out tomorrow at some point. I know it’s technically Saturday but I like sticking to my M-F format. And neat, I reached the end of my playlist with this. Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow!
Closet Full of Notebooks 