A Prince In the House (Short Story)

She rose up in the morning to find he had already left. No surprise really, he was always skulking away here or there, always looking for a companion to satisfy his wanton desires.

She slipped into jeans and shirt, forgoing socks so as to feel the cool floor beneath her feet. She took her time but did not dawdle, it was one thing to make one wait, it was another to think there would never be retribution.

Coming into the kitchen she found him, as he so often was, waiting with seemingly endless patience until one noticed the look in his eye as he sat there all prim and proper. The air of bruised dignity hanging heavy about his shoulders.

There were no words exchanged as she readied his plate, taking care so nothing was wasted. She could feel his eyes upon her as she sat it before him along with his morning drink.

She shook her head and smiled as with a wink he set upon his meal as though he had not eaten in a week.

“To see you, one would think I never take care of you,” she said laughingly and reached out to stroke the fur between his ears.

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