#maothecat

The creature is sitting on the white chair again. 

I watch from my sleek silver-and-white spaceship. It settles heavily onto the chair; what must be its hind-legs kick against the chair, and it rests its head against its fore-legs. 

What is this thing? I ask myself again. What is this strange, giant simpleton I have found myself living with these past few cycles? The fool that it is, it never seems to leave me alone when we are together. It must touch me, pick me up, make incoherent noises and raise me high. I think it wishes to see raised above it, to guide it, and it babbles its strange childish mewls before setting me to the ground.

The giant thinks it is responsible for me. It tries to make me a meal at least once a day, and to appease it and assuage its sweet, innocent worry, I oblige it and work to finish the meal by the next day. 

My fumbling giant shifts on its seat. It turns its over-large, bedraggled head to me, its unshorn hair swinging about. 

Its mouth opens. 

“Mao, get out of the washing machine, I’m trying to take a shit in peace.” 

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153/365

written for chengdu bookworm prompt, “second language, second perspective.”