The Cat In The Crook

The midnight cat scaled the blankets and napped in the crook of her dozing master's legs. There she slept without stirring until her master did. At two-thirteen he woke with a start and rolled over with a sigh. The cat moved with him and rested a paw on his thigh. The room was cold and he watched her breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly the rise and fall of her breathing began to draw in the light, pulling it from the air. The moonlight from the window and the light from the hall sucked in mistrals into the cat's fur. Her purrs grew into long, low cello notes and her body started to glow. And lift. She soaked up the ribbons of light until she was a brilliant bright ball floating above the bed. Her master shouted out but the cello purr pushed  his voice back.

Then the cat sneezed. She sneezed and the glow burst from her. Diamonds of light sent scattering to the darkest corners of the room where they exploded like raindrops, and dripped like thick paint down every surface. Soon the room ached with a burnt golden hue. The cat licked her paw and circled in the air and sat down on the bed. The golden paint kept drip, dripping onto the floor where it pooled before draining into the carpet until the room was dark again. The cat in the crook sneezed again, and her master’s heart started to mend.