From the Cat's Point of View

The story I've written today has a cat as its main character. It's a style I've been eager to try since reading Suite Français by Irene Nèmirovski. This excerpt from her novel shows how, in the middle of her story, she switches focus to the pet cat, creating an eerie atmosphere, building tension, and exploring the scene in a way  that none of the human characters could have provided.

He eyed the distance from the drainpipe to the ground. It was an easy jump, but he appeared to want to flatter himself by exaggerating the difficulty of the leap. He balanced his hindquarters, looking fierce and confident, swept his long black tail across the drainpipe and, ears pulled back, leapt forward, landing on the freshly tilled earth. he hesitated for a moment, then buried his muzzle in the ground. Now he was in the very black of night, at the heart of it, and the darkest point. He needed to sniff the earth: here, between the roots and pebbles, were smells untainted by the scent of humans, smells that had yet to waft into the air and vanish.

It's a barely concealed truth that people who shut themselves away for long periods of time love the mostly unintrusive companionship a cat can provide - barring the furniture [leg] scratching, manic half hours and 'mews' of 'feed me'. But to write about one in such an elegant manner, is a triumph of artistic merit.