This is an element of a drawing from earlier this year, where I attempted to tell the same story as the one I've put down in words below. It's something that impacted me, and will stay with me forever, so happy to share with you. Full drawing below.
A Black Panther in the House
It’s a lazy Sunday, somewhere half October. The soft rays of the sun, falling in sideways through the skylights of the slanted roof, highlight tiny dust particles swimming through the air. I’m on the couch, in sweatpants, haven’t done my hair. There is no need to – it’s just me, reading my book and drinking some turmeric orange tea.
I look up when our big, black cat, Nero, comes pushing through the crack in the loft roof window, drops himself on the glass and red painted wood table below, then jumps to the floor. He didn’t bring a mouse this time, or a bird – good.
He’s a cat to be proud of. Large, soft, sweet. Sometimes, when I turn up the volume of my favourite music, I pick him up, hold him like a baby and dance around the room with him. He allows it. It’s what I selected him for, the morning when we visited the family with a nest of kittens. When I scooped up Nero, unnamed at the time, tiny and extremely fluffy, I rolled him on his back and scratched his little chin, and he went into an instant purr.
He’s big now. Larger than any other house cat I know. Our home is in the very top part of an old inner city building, with a living area below a pointed roof. On either side below the roof we have a sky parlor, and a wooden bridge in between connecting the two, that we built ourselves. Visitors are sometimes hesitant to cross the bridge, which has no railing, but does have a three meter drop to the living room floor. I’ve gotten so used to it, I cross it even in the dark of the night, when I can’t see my own hands in front of my eyes. But the best part about the bridge is that Nero likes to sleep there. He’ll be on the edge of it, his head resting on his paws, and then his long, black tail swooping down. And when he’s dreaming, or when he’s awake and just watching us from above, he’ll subtly flick the end of his tail. Just a tiny movement, reminding us he’s there. It’s like having a black panther in the house. Not a house cat, but a house panther, I tell people who haven’t seen him yet.
Nero is pacing back and forth through the room now. The book is engaging, but Nero is excited about something, he’s acting rather wild. I follow him with my eyes, looking to see what it is that he’s after, trying to understand. And then he makes a funny leap, a jump. And in the second he does, I feel that we’re switching places.
All of a sudden, I’m looking at the world from his eyes. Instead of being on the couch, I’m next to the table, and the perspective is from around 50 centimetres off the floor. But that’s not the most surprising part. In that flash of experience, the world has a different taste, a different quality. It’s like the air is thick, alive. It’s not empty, like I usually understand air – nothingness, with items spread around in it, like a table and a lamp and a drying rack. In that second, the air is a being in itself. Supporting me, interacting with me, flowing in and out. Like I’m swimming in water, but then in air. And just as water can be cold and warm, with a strong current or with bubbles, it’s like I’m experiencing all these qualities of air that I’ve never realised were there before. Colours, density, and this particular golden sensation. There’s an overall experience of life in everything, and I’m not an item in it, not a separate individual being. I’m a continuation, in alignment, a harmonious element in a much larger picture.
It’s a second, then the perspectives turn back to normal. Nero continues his pacing, like nothing happened, and I’m on the couch, glowing with surprise. Overwhelmed with the feeling that he gave me a glimpse into his universe.
Hive Creative Contest
This is my entry for the Writer's Contest, put out by 
The prompt I followed up on was:
You have always believed magic exists. You just didn’t know how close it really was.