The apartment on the twentieth floor was not merely a home, it was a watchtower. And Barnaby was not merely a pet, he was the Captain, and I was simply the crew member who operated the can opener.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, a day of gray skies and low clouds. The armchair was occupied, but Barnaby had other plans. He climbed onto the denim clad legs, his paws heavy with purpose. He didn’t settle down to sleep. Instead, he assumed the position of The Watchman.
He turned his profile to the glass. His ears swiveled forward, twitching like radar dishes. Somewhere out there perhaps on a distant balcony or flying past the window washer’s scaffold was a disturbance. A pigeon? A rogue cloud? The ghost of a fly? The answer remained a mystery. Barnaby stayed stoic, his gaze fixed on the horizon, protecting our fortress from invisible threats. He was noble, distant, and utterly professional.
What do you see, Barnaby? I whispered, not wanting to break his concentration.
He didn’t answer. A Captain does not explain his strategy to the deckhands. He simply watched, his spiky fur bristling slightly against the draft from the window.
Then, the threat assessment concluded. The outside world was deemed safe for now. The focus shifted inward.
Slowly, terrifyingly, he turned his head.
This was the moment of The Interrogation.
He leaned in close, invading personal space until his face filled the field of view. The noble distance was gone, replaced by a piercing, sea green stare that seemed to look right through the soul. He looked grumpy. He looked intense. He looked like a boss who just realized his employee had missed a deadline.
I have secured the perimeter, his eyes seemed to say. Now, I must ask you a very serious question.
He leaned closer, his whiskers practically brushing against the lens.
Why, his expression demanded, is the bottom of my food bowl visible?
The servant froze under the weight of his glare. The majestic guardian of the skyline had vanished, replaced by a hungry, grumpy tyrant.
Okay, okay, I said, surrendering to the pressure. I’ll get the treats.
Barnaby held the gaze for one second longer just to make sure the hierarchy was understood before finally hopping down. The High Rise Cat had won again.
Shannon Willis can usually be found in the company of furry friends. A passionate animal enthusiast, her work is often inspired by her deep love for cats, dogs, and the animal kingdom as a whole.
