There's nothing like a wintry night with a hot cup of cocoa and a cuddly citteny in your arms, unless you're home alone and happen to hear a little girl giggling.

When I say home alone, I literally don't mean it. 'Cause there's also my mom, but she's virtually non existent. Then there's Poppy cat, need I say she runs my house?

"This one night!" I say clenching my jittering teeth and take a swig of piping hot chocolate, "my lord, let me through this one wintry night."

Then we'll be off to Ravenshire, a place where it's warm all through the year. A place that reminds me of merry-go rounds and the old tyre hanging by the picking tree. A name which fills my nose with the scent of popcorn and my mouth with the sweetness of fluffy cotton candy.

"Life would be great... Or normal to say the least." Poppy tilts her head as I mutter that, her whiskers pointy and curious. "Isn't it Poppy cat? Isn't it my cuddle bunny?"

She suddenly hisses baring her fangs and swats my face while I try to hold and smooch her. Good that I nipped her claws off yesterday.

As if that was comical, the little girl's giggle echoes inside my head. My heart races up, so much so, I feel it thumping in my ears and temples.

"Are you sure you don't hear that little girl giggling in this room, Poppy?" I chuckle deliberately. It's a trick my psychiatrist had once taught me during those long hours of therapy sessions. This is how I always fool myself that it's all in my head and that it's absolutely, utterly a silly thing to happen to anyone.

"No. I don't!"

I almost jump off my bed, throwing Poppy across the room. She flies to land on all her fours and stops, like any other cat would.

What was that? Did Poppy just speak to me? Or is it a brand new voice that's struggling to crawl into me?

"Linda, pull yourself together woman!" I mutter, wiping the sweat away.

All these years...all these sixteen years I have heard voices. But never have I, for once, experienced anything quite like this.

Poppy's eyes shine like twin headlights as she stares through me from the dim lit corner, her demeanor seemingly angry and fur bristling up.

"Aww, sorry Poppy. It's...it's my voices again." I say, gesturing a hand to my head, fingers ruffling and tugging my unkempt, greasy hair.

I watch her as she leaves the room, slithering through the space of slightly ajar door, her grey white furry stripes slowly blending in with the darkness beyond. I would rather go with her than stay in here, but that'd mean three scratches on my face and three fang marks on my flesh.

Priorities do matter, you know.

"Good night, Poppy." I mumble and dim the lights further down and slide underneath my blanket, the warmth of it carresssing and easing away the goosebumps.

Tomorrow morning, it will be a new life... a new beginning. After spending years of psychotherapy sessions, I've come to a decision of quitting my job and kiss a goodbye to the sleepless city nights once and for all.

Dr. Blackwell says I need a change of environment and the mundane work place, to relax myself and my mind. After all, it's all because of the overwhelming stress and my borderline personality, the doc says.

Maybe he is right. Yes, he has to be.