At first, I thought he just needed to go outside.
Murphy usually nudges me or paws the edge of the mattress when he wants something. But that morning, he wasn’t moving—just standing there, frozen, ears slightly back, eyes locked on my face like he was trying to tell me something.
I groaned and rolled over, still half-asleep, muttering something about “five more minutes.”
But then I realized something weird.
He wasn’t looking at me. Not exactly. His head was tilted just slightly… downward. Toward the space under my bed.
I sat up fast, heart already picking up. Murphy didn’t move.
I whispered his name. He glanced at me, briefly, then looked back down.
I don’t know what made me do it, but I swung my legs off the side, lowered my head, and slowly leaned down until my cheek was almost touching the mattress.
