Volume 45🐾 The Pookie Chronicles: Midnight Watch & the Quiet Room

It was deep in the night. The hour where toddlers sleep like little gremlins who finally gave up, and the house hums with the sound of refrigerators and forgotten toys.

I, Pookie, Calico sovereign of the household, crept from my perch atop the laundry pile with the quiet precision of a velvet ghost. The moon cast a silver glow through the hallway window. A sock fluttered near the baseboard like a flag of tiny surrender.

I paused at James’s door—closed. Appropriate. He sleeps like a drum circle on espresso. No further investigation required.

But Jack’s room… open.

This was unusual.

The door creaked as I pushed it wider with a calculated head-nudge. Inside, Jack lay tangled in blankets like he’d wrestled a dream creature and barely survived. One arm drooped over the side. The Nintendo Switch rested beside him, screen off, still gripped like a knight’s sword in slumber.

I approached.

One paw at a time.

He didn’t stir. Just murmured something about “level seven” and “why do the mushrooms explode?” I inspected the bedside. The nightlight cast shadows in the shape of dragons. The carpet held crumbs of mystery origin. I approved.

I jumped lightly to the bed—no jostle, no sound—because I am grace embodied. I settled near his feet, tucked neatly into the crook of blanket folds.

For twelve whole minutes, I watched. His breath slowed. His brow unknotted. I blinked once in regal satisfaction.

Then—movement.

Jack twitched. Rolled. Kicked.

His foot collided with my tail. A grave offense.

I stood. Turned. Flicked a single, judgy whisker. And leapt from the bed like a bathed goddess refusing further contact.

But I lingered in the doorway another moment, watching.

Because I am nosy. And concerned. And deeply dramatic.

Then I padded away, leaving the door exactly three inches ajar.
Just in case the monsters returned.

Pookie out.
Nightwatch complete.
Report filed.
Snack owed.