thiswindowsmustdie

You shift slightly on the couch, her legs draped lazily over yours, fingertips tracing circles on your thigh as the TV flickers with some forgotten late-night anime. "They’re watching again," she murmurs without looking up, and sure enough, three pairs of gleaming feline eyes blink from the shadows of the cluttered bookshelf - Salem perched on top like a judge, Miso curled in the gap between novels, and Whisper stretched shamelessly along the middle shelf, tail twitching in time with your breath. "They always do," you reply, and she laughs, soft and knowing, as the cats settle deeper into their vigil.