The Cat

When I opened the door to my house to take out the trash the cat burst in, darting across the house. My three year old sons cheering and running towards it. Stay back, I tell him. The cat may hurt us. We don’t know. And he stops running towards it, but steps back. I run to open the back door. But the cat doesn’t seem to notice and runs past to the back room.

It runs all the way to the back most room in the house where it jumps on the desk, jumping on a pile of papers, which flies in many directions and scatters on the floor. Several stacks of small boxes fall to the floor with thuds, and the keyboard slips off the desk also, which hangs in midair by its cord. And it finds the window and leaps up on the sill. The cat is covered by the curtain. I can see its silhouette of his wide head and its thick orange body and its tail flicking back and forth against the curtain agitated.

I slowly edge toward the curtain. And pull it back. The cat releases a low moan. It looks at me, it’s eyes look dilated and huge. I step back. I step into the garage and look at the beebee gun that propped against the door. Thinking.. thinking.. I come back into the room and pull back the curtain and put my hand on top of the cat, picking it up with my arm circling around it. As I do, the cats low moan comes back, and then a loud hiss. I almost drop it but grip it more firmly this time as the cats claws sink into my arm like knives through cheese. With the cat secured in my arm I power walk through the house, long scrapes where its claws are firmly entrenched, and blood lining down my arm and dripping onto the light gray carpet.

I open the front door and the cat jumps out of my arms and runs wildly across my lawn and down the block. I close the door shut. My son standing behind me, looking with large eyes at the sight of red all across my arm. I try to give him a smile as I walk to the bathroom’s medicine cabinet.


Cats, cats, cats

Cats, cats, cats. When I walk down the street, what do you expect when everywhere you turn there are cats looking up at you?

It is kind of creepy to tell you the truth. The cats are not like the way I thought of cats when I was growing up and my mother got me a cat. Such a delightful little thing. It’s fur was so soft looking and a myriad of colors too. And I was so excited when I’d see it, I couldn’t help running toward it. Then I discovered it had claws and really good jumping powers.

It shrieked its loud howl, scratched my face and leaped away from me. I waddle to my mother crying for her to comfort me and make me feel better. My mother told me I had to be nicer and then the cat would like me. Sadly I tried but the cat never did like me. Loved my mother. I only got to watch it from afar. But eventually we got another cat, and I was a lot older then, and the cat loved me. It slept with me and I never ever grew tired of that cat.

But that was a long time ago. That cat is long gone. Cats and dogs remind you of mortality that way, because you eventually are going to have to watch them die and it’s going to rip the heck out of your heart. But there is nothing for that pain.

You just have to sit and bear it, and it kind of reminds you how no matter what, in the end you’ll probably be alone again. And it doesn’t matter how good the holidays may feel, when there are loved ones around. It’s all temporary. Like that song, we’re just a bit of dust in the wind.

Oh well. Time really is the only answer. I have had many other cats after that one. And the other ones, well I got used to having a pet. And it got easier after a while. Oh man what the heck am I thinking? I am boring you with my useless cat stories. You don’t want to hear any of that.

But I can’t really tell you how I got here either. My head is pounding though. The cats are all staring at me as I walk by. I am really wondering what they eat. And I hope it isn’t me! I am starving by the way.

Fortunately I am about to get some answers. Up ahead is what looks like the city center.

When I arrive in a large building, which must be city hall. It is white and extravagent, I see a man, or is it a cat? I look at his face, the finest traces of long thin hairs. His eyes are blue, but there is something off about his eyes, his pupils very slightly oblong, instead of round. He drums his hand on his desk, one pointed nail clinking at a time. He is definitely taller then me, and he uses that to his advantage as he stares down at me.

“I have known that you were here.” he says to me.


“We don’t get a lot of guests. Would you care to tell me how you got here.”

“No I actually can’t do that.”