The Watcher at the Window

Caught her watching. The familiar waits at the window, patient and all-knowing — as if to ask, ‘Did you forget my offering again?’

I felt it before I saw it…that prickling sense that I wasn’t alone. I turned, half expecting a ghost, and found something far more unsettling: Soup, staring through the window like an omen in fur. Her eyes said everything. You forgot my snack, didn’t you?

She doesn’t meow. She waits. She watches. Somewhere between a familiar and a phantom, she’s always exactly where she wants to be, on the other side of the glass, reminding me who really runs this haunt.

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