The Man

He was late. His irresolution had got the better of him. When one usually has the opportunity to set sail to sober-land, being wholly satisfied with their third and, what should be, final drink on a Friday night at the fine establishment twenty yards from one's place of work - this man missed this boat, utterly and completely. A colleague defiantly sat a fourth in front of him. This fourth, being the gateway that led him to this very moment now. Pointlessly trying to grasp onto blank moments which, more than likely, would have been full to the brim of inappropriateness and his undulating dance with the door and house keys, that at any moment, could cause him to abruptly exonerate, the essentially consumed kebab - a gift for the front door mat.

He finally reunited door with keys, thankfully with no evidence of lamb betraying him. He painstakingly crept in, in attempt to make as little noise as possible, however the paralysis of his motor cortex, left his movements with the immaturity of a toddler learning to walk and he managed to hit every item in range of his two meter journey into the house.

There she was, poised silhouette - a dark shadow in a doorway. She gave him a look of dry disdain, subtle and forced, as if it in-dignified her to have to give any reaction at all. The expression one gives when they smack their faces into a glass door having mistaken it for an opening and are forced to acknowledge that the stupidity, indeed, had happened at all.

She added a slow drawn out blink, why was he wasting her time? He opened his mouth, one imagines to begin some sort of an explanation, however what came out resembled more like the agonising sound of a heifer in labour and before he had even had the chance to finish off that foul and disgusting noise, she had already turned swiftly, aloofly walking off, her shadow becoming a mere blend of the surrounding darkness.

Bitch.

Tonight he would probably have to sleep on the couch. He silently mocked himself. The hatred pinned to that thought was really intended for no one but himself. He knew in a couple of moments he would be begging for forgiveness. He mused with a fond curiosity of how she always managed to invoke such self hating thoughts, to immediately paint him with the colour of guilt. How could she drive him into such desperation, night after night, his ultimate aim to please her knowing she would always be so disappointed at any efforts. She was, after all, just his cat.