This is Chester. He has suddenly become delusional.
I’m not sure if a cat can become so, but since I gave him a role in one of my stories, he’s started acting weirdly.
I’m sure if he could wear sunglasses indoors he would. As it is, it’s head in the air, looking straight ahead, ignoring everything and everyone around him.
I think about opening the concertina doors that lead into the dining room just to see if he crashes into them.
He thinks, no doubt, that I think he’s just sniffing the air to see if there are any mice to be caught, but I’m on to him.
As he strolls past I say, “Perhaps I might turn that role into a walk on.”
He stops in mid step, and turns his head.
“You can’t. I’ve read the latest chapter. I’m integral to the plot.”
I smile. “You do realise often the best roles end up on the cutting room floor, or in this case, perhaps I’ll start editing early. There’s such a thing as the delete key.”
Smug, or is that haughty, look gone.
“Just go back to being your usual self,” I say, “and I’ll reconsider your role.”
“Does that mean no fresh fish for lunch today?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
I’m sure cats can’t shrug, but he gives it his best shot, and continues on his way minus the attitude.
For now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring