He comes strolling in every night at the same time – usually just after 8pm, as I'm settling down to dinner. He knows how to get in.

He wanders through the house, brushing past the furniture, casually. Sometimes I give him a drink. He normally sits on the cream coloured easy chair, watching me eat my dinner. I never give him any food, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Sometimes he'll amble over to the bay window so that he can watch the world go by as I eat. On occasion, he even sits in the front garden to get a better view. I pretend not to be bothered, but can't help peering through the slats of the blind to check up on him from time to time. I catch him with his eyes shut, seeming to smile to himself. I wonder what goes through his head. I wonder if he’s happy when he’s here. He never tells me what he wants from me, he just turns up every night. I’m weak. I don’t ask questions, I just let him do it, night after night.

When, and only when, he's ready, he'll join me on the sofa. He'll show a lot of affection and "butter me up” for a while and then fall asleep.

There have been times where I've shown him the door, but normally he leaves of his own accord, sneaking out without my noticing his departure.

He went through a phase of calling up to my bedroom window at night – usually between midnight and 6am. To begin with, I would always let him in, but I resolved to be strong and, though his calling infiltrated my dreams and disturbed my sleep, I would not give in.

Some mornings, I see him at his little window, staring. He catches sight of me and his eyes look up, expectantly. I turn and walk away.

I know he's just using me.

Look at him:




Bloody cat
I wouldn't mind, but he's not even *mine*!