Staring Contest

A pair of green eyes looked pointedly at me.

Sitting comfortably on my window ledge in a red-knitted sweater and sweat pants, my hair in a messy bun and bowl of oatmeal in hand, I asked the expecting little monster “What?” raising a brow in hopes to intimidate him.

He didn’t speak.

He just kept staring at me while he sat on his snow-kissed bum. His whiskers twitched a bit as his tail propped up and swayed like a bobbly head on the dashboard of a car. Green eyes still regarded me with anticipation.

My tongue rolled to the side of my mouth, bulging from the outside, and matching his stare defiantly, I put the bowl down and shifted my seat. Arms between my legs and hands gripping the ledge, I narrowed my eyes and exacted my gaze on his.

He just sat there and gazed right back, tail – now – curling and unfolding and still maintaining an eerie sort of calm. I could feel pinpricks climbing up my spine. Determined not to show any weakness, I folded my arms on my chest and put on my best bitch face – which consisted of a soft, virgin duckface and currently narrowed eyes.

Nothing happened.

My butt was getting itchy from sitting on the ledge, I took a sideway glance at my bowl of unfinished oatmeal, annoyance crawling up. Groaning, my hands flew up in the air “Fine!” I conceded, jumped down and stomped off to the kitchen.

Upon my return, his eyes had shifted, still looking at me but there was a twinkle that wasn’t there before. I could swear he was smirking at me. Putting his bowl in front of him, he stood up and did an infinity between my legs, purring and mewling and then dug into his breakfast.

 

 

 

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