addy mahaffey

CAT V. NEUROSES

I’ve never owned a set of window blinds my cat didn’t destroy, 
along with any chance of a returned security deposit. 

 Fuck it, my cat once said, and chewed the blind cord clean
through like a string of licorice, trapping me in darkness

 for a week until I (my partner) installed a new set,
fresh from Home Depot and intact but most importantly
cordless, perfect for children and cats alike.

 My cat likes to sit in the windowsill between my
mother-of-thousands and my spider plant, watching the world.

 I keep the blinds rolled up half-a-foot at the bottom at all times
just for this very purpose. It’s her second favorite spot.

I once forgot and she clambered between the slats like a bear,
unbothered, bending the faux wood beyond repair.

I live on the third floor and I hate the half-foot of darkness at night,
and always imagine men with drones spying on me through the gaps,
laser-cutting through the glass and then my throat.

I do have curtains, but they are a sheer white gauze
and about as effective as a wedding veil in keeping out the dark.

 I have them because I like the light when it comes in the morning
because it means I made it, unmurdered.

 And I know if I had dark curtains I would simply never open them.

So, every night I nobly choose to risk my fear for the glory
of the morning, to wake up already feeling brave and alive.

 But it’s mostly for my cat who has no concept
of security deposits, real or otherwise. 

 Addy Mahaffey is a writer and grants consultant based in Fayetteville, Arkansas. She holds a degree in English from the University of Arkansas. Her creative work has been shortlisted for Wigleaf's 2021 Top 50 Very Short Fictions, longlisted for Fractured Lit's 2022 Reprint Prize, and has been published in Watershed Review, Crab Fat Magazine, and Glass Mountain Magazine.