Lost Cat by Sydney Hartle
Three days after I cease mewling at the back door I discover ferality agrees with me. My whiskers filter vibrations I’ve never detected before. Danger is imminent, but this time the dangers make sense. I’m liquid in the laneways, black lightning on nimble paw pads. I’m more capable than you ever imagined, clamping down on throats and silencing lovesick birdsong. I’m a sophisticate. I develop a taste for binned banh mi. When you want me back I’m ready: let you embrace me, then sink my teeth in, skin thin as oily sandwich paper, two deep puncture wounds in soft meat.
Sydney Hartle is a recent graduate of the Master of Creative Writing, Publishing and Editing program at Melbourne Uni. She enjoys cheap drinks and overpriced artisanal bagel sandwiches. Find her online at sydneyhartle.com