Non-fiction by Natalie Gramer

She is a neat freak. Bathing herself a handful of times a day, her hair is softer than velvet, so much so that it barely registers any notion of feeling as the strands run between my fingertips. Each one is a shimmering black that bounces between the shade of oblivion and asphalt in the overhead light. There are patches of white peppered in giving way to her blushed skin beneath.

She has staked a claim on every sort of property you can think of, removing remnants of others at her whim.

“Squatter’s rights,” she says.

“But that’s my favorite gel pen.”

“Mine.” She blinks.

“Those are my receipts!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I need these for my tax write-offs,” she yawns.

“Okay, but that’s my laptop and I need it for class this morning.”

“Forget about it.”

Her green eyes mock me when I ask her questions no one is able to answer and she talks at me in a language I do not know yet seem to understand. Sometimes, she talks just to hear herself make noise. She does not have any eyebrows, but she often raises them at me in her quizzical expressions.

Most of her days are spent in luxury, her oversized body lounging on the most abhorrent of surfaces or inconvenient of places. She’s not entirely removed from society or social etiquette; she enjoys watching my favorite TV shows with me and complains when we don’t sit outside in the morning with coffee. Most importantly, she never fails to wish me a good night or good morning. But don’t tell her she’s a cat, she won’t believe you. And after a while, you won’t believe that either.

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Natalie Gramer is a pilot and ground instructor holding a Bachelor of Arts in English Writing with a minor in Anthropology and a Bachelor of Science in Aviation & Aerospace Science from MSU Denver. Natalie has been published in the Shot Glass Journal and enjoys mythology and history.