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Whiskers and the Midnight Snack

Every night at exactly 2:47 a.m., Whiskers the tabby woke with a single, burning purpose: the fridge.

He had studied it for months. He knew the hum it made, the light that spilled out when the humans opened it, and the glorious smell of cheese that escaped in that brief moment.

Tonight, he decided, would be different. He pressed his paw against the door, pushed with all of his eleven pounds, and… nothing. He tried again. Still nothing.

Defeated, he curled up on the kitchen mat. In the morning, his human found him there and laughed, then gave him a tiny piece of cheddar. Whiskers accepted it with great dignity, as if it had been his plan all along.