I am the underground cat.
I slink along the tube. My eyes, flashing in Stygian dark, startle drivers.
I seek comfort from travellers’ ankles. In rush-hour, they barely notice; but at night they perceive flashes of topaz in the tunnel black, then feel sleekness spiral their legs and shiver.
I am not really here. I am as insubstantial as the suck and rush of air, the squeal and moan along the tracks.
Munching on ghostly rats, I’ve been lost down here a hundred years, looking for the way above the ground, where my spirit can finally dissolve into starlight.
Words and photograph copyright 2016 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission