A Face At The Window

Sitting in a warm bath of bubbles and essences of wild forest flowers, I notice a face at the window.

The face turns and it's eyes burn through the frosted glass spying right at me.

I call for my husband who'll know what to do. A sad little noise flutters from my late night visitors mouth realising they've been caught.

My husband spies the dark shadow visible through the glass. He opens the window and in a flash, my cheeky little cat jumps in.

Oh, Evie Knievel, I do love you; all dressed in black, except for fluffy white socks and a bib. You are such a rascal but you are perfect just the way you are, mischief and all.