Sleek thieves bequeathed black masks, the smell of rain clings to their bodies. As bristled as a broom, their fur kicks up dust as they trot through the attic above me. One after the other. Like nails clattering onto a desk. Again and again and again. High-pitched chattering, purrs of excitement, more bumps against the walls.
I lay still in my bed, wanting the madness to stop. Yet I make no sound. I hear their guttural, pitiful chirps. I hear their hisses, their lonely conversations.
I face my alarm clock.
I’ve had enough.