Tag: cats

Pet

636175

So, you want to pet the kittycat?
I can’t blame you for wanting to.
Follow the rules:
The kittycat decides who may pet the kittycat.
The kittycat decides when you must pet the kittycat.
Not may. Must.
The kittycat will decide where on the kittycat you may pet and where you must.
The kittycat is not obligated to tell you where.
And the kittycat can decide to change its mind about anything it has decided.
Sure you still want to pet the kittycat?
Fine.
But don’t bitch when your other hand ends up in a bandage like the first one.

Breathing

636181

My bathrobe looks like it’s breathing.
Maybe it’s a trick of the light.
I woke up in the middle of the night, put on my bathrobe, puttered around a bit, pet the cat, and drank some milk.
Might as well go the the bathroom while I’m up, right?
I put my robe on the floor, take a seat, and after a few minutes, I’m looking at the robe… and… it’s breathing.
It even sounds like it’s breathing.
Or maybe I’m hearing myself breathe. It’s late, and the mind plays tricks on itself.
Maybe it’s the fan blowing.
The cat, perhaps?

Closing Windows

423519

Y’all may have been wondering why there wasn’t a story from Elisson this past Weekly challenge.
You know, looking back, the first person I called when Edloe died was Steve.
I wanted to let him know that the cat he’d gone on pilgrimage for to visit was…
It was amusing to watch Edloe’s reaction to a reverent stranger.
Food helped.
Never did get a chance to get to Atlanta to visit Matata.
Time’s about windows. They only look wide open for what feels like forever.
When they close, it”s too damn fast. That slamming shut jars me to the soul.

Oscar

636177

When I hear the phrase “Busier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs” I remember Oscar.
Used to stand up on his back feet and lean against the rocking chair until he tipped it over.
Then, he’d climb up on the chair, sitting there with the pride of a hunter posing with his trophy.
I ain’t seen Oscar for years. One night, he musta decided he had something better, never come back.
Sometimes, I go out on the porch, my rocking chair’s on it’s side, I wonder.
And as I put my chair back up, I smile.

The Little Muse

636187

I know a girl who buys notebooks with a watercolor kitten in the corner of each page. She calls the kitten her little muse.
Sometimes, the kitten will take an interest in what she’s writing, romping among the words, chewing on commas, batting the letters around like wadded-up newspaper.
Other times, the kitten curls up on a warm, light sentence for a peaceful nap.
Once, she tore out a page and taped it to another to see if the kittens would play.
They didn’t.
And that’s how I found her body seven hours later, the blood-soaked notebook in her lap.

A Night On The Beach

909692

I wake up and shake the sand from my shoes. This happens every morning.
But I haven’t been to the beach in years.
Only in my dreams.
Sometimes, there’s driftwood in my hand, seaweed wrapped around my ankle.
Salt in my hair from the ocean spray.
On a shelf over my mirror, I’ve put my seashell collection.
All these things, I dream of. And bring back with me.
When I dream of you, take my hand, and let me bring you back.
I will leave my sadness on the sands of my dreams.
To be washed away with the tide.

Adoption

636180

Once upon a time, there was a fluffy orange kitty that nobody wanted, so the people at the shelter brought him with them to a television station.
He was so pretty and fluffy, the producer of that newscast begged to take him home with her.
He loved being in a new home, and he played with a dog named Aspen, riding on his back.
When the producer was moving to Los Angeles, he ran out the door and hid under the house.
It took two weeks to get him out from under there, and the producer’s best friend adopted him.

The Monster Under The Bed

636193

Every kid has a monster under the bed, but I’m grown up now.
And yet, right under our bed, there’s a monster.
No, not the orange fluffy cat down here. His grabbing at ankles and biting hands trying to pet him are behind him now.
He’s sleeping, or…
The monster under the bed is not knowing what I’ll find when I look under there again.
The monster is my fear.
The monster is his suffering, and not being able to do anything about it.
The monster takes away every good memory, and replaces it with the sadness that is now.

Up A Tree

636194

I was walking home one evening when I saw a kid sitting by a tree and crying.
I stopped and knelt by the kid.
“Why are you crying?” I asked him.
“My cat is caught up the tree,” he whined.
I started to climb the tree, but he yelled for me to come back down.
So I did.
“What is it, kid?” I asked.
He handed me a pair of very sharp tin snips.
“What are these for?” I said.
“To cut the cat loose from the bailing wire I used to tie him to the tree branch,” he said.

Haunts Me

458720

My little girl was shrieking. Confused.
Her back legs were limp. She fell off the bed, dragging herself.
Scared beyond description.
I called my wife, called a cab, got dressed. Got her into a carrier and out the door.
The emergency clinic said it was a blood clot. They’d try to thin it with drugs.
When they took her in back, I heard her meowing her “WHERE’S DADDY?” cry.
Go home, they said. Sleep. Come back to check her into the day clinic.
Two hours later, they called.
I should have been there for her.
And that’s what haunts me.