I get up, make sure Riley is still alive. He is, so I walked down stairs, trying and failing to not trip on one of the other cats. They are lucky they are cute! I feed the brothers their food, and head up stairs with Riley’s special food. I make sure he eats it all, and then I inject him with insulin.

“Everyday for a year I’ve been doing this,” I tell my lil pain in the butt cat. “And you have never said thank you.” He just looks at me with his one yellow eye. Not even a mew or a purr. Little ingrate. I stand up, and start to leave.

“Okay, you want me to say thank you. Thank you for locking me in a room and stabbing me in the neck. You know that hurts, right?”

I turn, trying to figure out where the voice came from. I look down...no, it cannot be. “Yes, I can talk. I just didn’t want to before.”

“Riley? I have had you for 15 years, and now you start talking? And sorry, but you need the insulin.”

“Still, it hurts.” Was i actually having this conversation with my cat? Was I actually having a conversation with a cat?

“Well, I am sorry to hurts. There is no other way to help you. Unless you an get your pancreas to start working again.”

He looks at me, closes his eye, and seems to be in deep throat. His face scrunches up (adorable!) and he seems to be in slight duress.

“Riley?” I asked, starting to get a tad worried.

“Nothing. It still doesn’t work.” He sighs, and hops on the bed. A few moments later, he is fast asleep. I stare for a moment, not quite believe in what I saw and heard. I head our the room, and down the stairs.

“My cat can talk. After 15 years.” I said to myself as I got ready to head to work.

“Please be quiet,” Woz snapped at me. “I am trying to sleep.” I look at the tuxedo cat, grab my key, and leave.

At least my days will be different now.