Asthma, that malign feline crouches on my thorax, its heavy pressure poised to steal my breath.
Its lethargic purr is the sticky phlegm inside my constricted bronchia.
Albuterol, like water in a spray bottle; I give two squirts to shoo the cat away.
Two puffs, a minute apart, and then I wait, but can't relax.
Hope that the air will flow freely to fill my gasping lungs, leaving me jittery and exhausted.
But this time two puffs are insufficient.
The imperturbable wicked queen sits ready to snatch her prey.
I pray the cat will go away, let me breathe easy.
Four puffs later, my throat itches deep into my chest, unfriendly scratches from the asthma cat's claws.
My slow suffocation is the grimalkin's catnip.