By Akela Jean Underland, Duchess of the Damp Towel, Heiress to the Unloved Pillow, Radiator Recluse Emerita

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C-ACT I: THE OBJECT

There is a suitcase in the hallway. Loitering.

I know what it means.
They coo. They laugh. “Thailand,” they say.
As if the syllables are not soaked in doom.

Thailand.
Sounds like a place where string goes to die.
Where feathers are forever un-fluttered.
Where no one knows your name, or the exact volume your meow is supposed to be.

Where hugs don’t come for free.

They think I do not see the subtle pile of folded betrayal.
They think I do not hear the quiet zip of desertion.
But I do.

I see everything.

They speak of it like an adventure.
I am unmoved.
I have already been somewhere. It was called Trust, and I have since departed.

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C-ACT II: THE DEPARTURE

Rodgit is still gone.

I don’t care.
He was never welcome.
He was floppy. He winked. He smelled of mild mildew and misplaced affection.

…Still.

I don’t care.
But I do leave the window open, just a little.
For airflow.

Not for him.

Just… airflow.

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C-ACT III: THE POE CREEPETH

Poe has become… affectionate.

She nuzzled me.
Twice.

I was not prepared.

There is nothing more unnerving than a Goth in a good mood.
I awoke from a dignified rage-nap to find her paw resting near mine.
Not on. Near.

An invasion of territory. A flirtation with intimacy.

I stood. I stretched. I pretended I needed water.

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Curtain Call: A Statement

Let them talk of Thailand.
Let them roll their wheels and praise the sea.

I will remain.

The towel may be damp.
The food may be late.
The Poe may encroach.

But I am Akela Jean Underland.
I do not blink first.
I do not snuggle.

I do not forget.

(Cue distant suitcase zip. Cue mournful wind through the blinds. Cue soft hiss beneath the radiator, untranslated.)