a day in the life of spots

8:27am

uncurl now.

my human is not dead under the sheets

it rises and caves, unremarkably subtly

his breaths (detached)

(with a hint of last night’s mojito on his tongue)

i wait by his bed

it is a joy

8:30am

unfold now.

my human stirs

‘GOOD MORNING’ i greet him

(this roughly translates to a coarse myriad of incoherent noise from the back of my throat)

he nuzzles my face

it is basically my sole reason to live

12: 34pm

understand now.

my fascination with 4-wheeled moving houses

my human calls it a ‘car’

they surge on roads and obey coloured signs

i often scoff at their daftness

4: 52pm

unallied now.

most of my days are spent in solitude

i ponder on the route the paperboy takes to avoid me