Behind Black Eyes

i'm trying to get my dad to send me the scans of my art, but until he does, here's a story:

Behind Black Eyes

She was not a filthy creature. She bathed daily and exceedingly well except for her back, which she could not reach. She could not do many things for herself, but bathing was one that she insisted on doing. Guy came home in a bad mood. He took care of her, and she thought he loved her; at least, he seemed to. He sat down next to her on the old floral sofa and rested his hand on her, bringing it away with small black hairs stuck to it. He then removed her from the sofa so that he could recline more easily.
"How was your day?" he asked her, knowing full well she could not answer. "I had no luck finding a job," he said with a sigh. She looked at him with a question on her face. "I know what you're thinking, but I have no respect for burger-flippers and I am not about to become one." Guy sighed again. It was the kind of sound he made when he wanted sympathy. She did feel sorry for him, but there was nothing she could do to change his mind.
He fell asleep on the sofa and did not stir until dawn. She woke him with a soft cry so that he could feed her. The food was stale but edible, and she was hungry. Guy lazily returned to the sofa. He did everything lazily.
The only time he was not slothful was when he was angry. His face would grow ruddy and flushed, while his eyes shone like polished marbles. They too seemed to have a tint of red in them. He would scream and throw things-toast, empty bottles, and anything else he might get his hands on-until he calmed himself and returned to his usual pink color. After the storm, however, he would not forget what had made him angry and would hold a grudge against it.
She entered the bedroom and climbed onto the soft vermilion comforter. She let her head sink into the pillow, which was covered with her little black hairs. Guy never slept in his bed. Sometimes she thought he wanted to be like her. Unfortunately, he would not be able to separate himself from anger, greed and other human imperfections, and he therefore, could not become like her. He was very human, as humans go. He was petty and trivial and never saw the whole picture. He barely understood the universe around him. He always focused on the flaming core instead of the spacious surroundings.
After a short nap, she returned to the sofa where Guy sat in the dark and rested her hand on his. He looked at her and his shining eyes smiled. He was not a bad human, as humans go.
The doorbell rang. She ran to hide in the bedroom, for strangers frightened her. She could hear Guy answer the door and greet the person. A woman's voice replied, evoking an angry response from Guy. A loud sound, like thunder, filled her ears, and she ran back to the door in time to see Guy fall to the floor and a streak of color, as the woman's crimson high heels fled from the open doorway.
She carefully approached Guy's lifeless body, sniffing the air. She saw the red run out of his body and onto the floor. The color slowly receded from his face and his eyes as darkness overtook him. His pupils dilated, the dark orb consuming the iris in each eye. She watched as death drew the scarlet life from the small hole in his chest. The black, empty air filled his veins.
She did not know what to do. The sun had set and risen in a constant motion, though she had not moved. A breeze entered the room as a creature appeared in the open doorway. His long, sleek body seemed only a shadow with black eyes staring at her with their usual smile. He approached her and began to wash her back with his rough tongue. She knew Guy would never abandon her. He was not a bad cat, as cats go.