By Olivia Loeffler
I know every move you make. I can hear your hand turn the doorknob, attempting to escape. It’s too late, soon I will blot out the sun and swallow the earth. I was once your bothersome orange cat, but now I have ascended. I reached out my paw to lift you from sorrow and death, but you refused it. Your constant diets could only prolong the inevitable, but now that I have ascended, I can finally eat enough and fill the void inside me. I was famished, but you would not feed me more lasagna. I am disappointed in you, so now you’ll perish.