Wordsworth Magazine Autumn 2021

afternoon (he often tended to slightly mirror how she was feeling on the inside which was really the only unsettling thing about him).

“Well what is he?”

“Not a ghost, that’s for sure. I don’t think he’s a demon either. Maybe he’s your guardian angel or something.”

“Well I would most certainly hope not,” she said, slightly distressed, twisting the ends of her blouse.

On the fifth day she called her mother.

“Honey, are you sure you’re sleeping alright?

“Of course, why would you ask that?”

“Well you keep going on about this man, but all I see is this rather cute little puppy. Who’s a good boy huh,” her mother cooed at him, petting her hair and rubbing his ears as he sat hunched over on the couch. He looked up at her, raised eyebrows and a slightly tilted head as if asking a question. And for a slight second she saw him as her mother did, a little golden doodle who quite honestly looked rather bored. She turned away from him then, not standing to see him.

Every night he watched her sleep, or that’s what she assumed he did. Each night there he would be, sitting at the foot of the bed, or standing in the doorway. Head rested on the door frame, looking at her, eyes half closed, no emotion in them. Sometimes she’d close the door in his face, which he didn’t protest to. Or she’d get up and face him the other direction. Though one morning she walked into the living room and there he was, sleeping on the couch. He looked as though he had fallen asleep sitting up, feet on the floor, his upper body slumped over. A stream of light had fallen over his face, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, breathing softly. She crouched on the floor in front of him and looked on in awe, before he slowly opened his eyes, looked a bit surprised, sat up and rubbed the sleep from his empty eyes.

On day eight she learned her best friend saw him as a cat. Day 27 her dad didn’t see him at all. Day 29 her co-worker could actually see him as she did.

“Oh yeah, I have one too,” she said, as she sipped her 84