Reportage, Week 2

She lies in my computer chair, chin resting on both her crossed front and her back paws, making a perfect circle with the outline of her body. Her stomach distends with each quick breath she takes, the dark lines on her tabbied coat momentarily spreading apart and coming back together. Her right ear, the one pricking the air, twitches once, twice and is still. Chip's phone vibrates and she stretches, her limbs straight and taut like some strange state of rigor mortis, but she still doesn't spook and jump from the chair. I need her to jump from the chair; I need my computer and she seems too peaceful to pick up and toss to the floor, even if she would land on all feet. She's laying on the top of her head now, her legs relaxed but still straight in front of her. From my angle above her, all I can see is the white of her chin and throat. I reach down, scratch it, and she rolls further onto the top of her head, giving my fingers greater purchase. "Alright Zumba, mama needs her chair." She opens one eye and looks at me with all the interest of the fence post I argued down last week, daintily crosses her paws, and lays her head back down.