I was stripping off my clothes this evening when I spotted a peeping tom at the bedroom’s sliding glass door. Eyes big, they watched everything that I was doing.
Then I saw that it wasn’t a tom — it was Vee, the cat who likes visiting us. She’s not a tom. She’s a queen!
I went over and let her in. Giving a friendly chirp, she popped in and wound herself around my legs.
Knowing the ritual, I headed for the treat bag. Vee trotted alongside, veering right to rub up against my wife’s leg for a moment.
“Who is this?” my wife teased.
“Peeping tom,” I replied. Picking up the treat bag, I gave it a shake and jogged to the back door.
The peeping tom beat me to there. Back outside, I gave her treats, scratched her ears, and admonished, “Now stop peeping on me, girl.”
Busy eating, Vee gave no answer.
Michael Seidel, writer 
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