She wiles away the weekend, landing her jagged tongue on patches of fur around her body, wetting it into sleek subordination. God, how I envy her. Her doe-eyed laze, her purring smile, her jewels eyes. The little ears that twitch with purpose, taking in the world whilst she’s curled upon warm pillows. All she need wear is a collar, and she makes that look as if she were born to do it. What energy summons her up, summons her out? What ancient demons drag a nail through her quiet, fireplace contentment and make her taste the will of the hunt? Certainly not her hunger, for she eats well from this household and at least one other. No, there is something lingering in there. Just as the bloody war-cries of men are muffled in polyester suits, her venomous hiss is just a lion’s roar requiring amplification. I watch her as she sleeks off, uncaring, without a second glance. How empowering! What a goddess I keep. A night-treader, a hunter, a veritable Diana! Her prey not zebra but blue tits and blind mice. And me, in my slippers, with my drooping paunch and sagging loneliness. I take comfort in knowing that when the bloodshed ends, it is me to who she returns. If I am nothing more I am her provider, then at least I am that. I will press a stubby pink finger into the core of her padded paw and feel as the claws curl round. She will vibrate happily on my midriff and I will not envy her more. For at those moments, we are one and the same.