Pet
My wife elbows me awake. Clawing and chawing up in the ceiling has stirred us out of slumber again. In the quiet dark the critter sounds more immense than a mouse— maybe it’s a fisher cat, or a raccoon. The gnawing and clawing and chawing panics us, flat, prone, staring into the universe of darkness— frozen in fear over aware of the thin fabric of our PJs, (we whisper because we are afraid it will hear us), we imagine the animal will bust through the ceiling in a shower of sheet rock and splintered wood, land confused and angry right on top of us attacking with shredding claws and...
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