Monday, January 18, 2016

52 Prompts: The Cats Who Walk On Two Legs

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I wasn't entirely sure how I got there. I'd overheard the one with yellow hair say I'd been asleep in a box and that my fur had been covered in icicles, my eyelids practically frozen shut. I just remember that the box was warmer than the ground had been and drier.  That sleep had been good after all of that walking. I'd curled up in the corner of the box, warmed by a small stream of light pouring from a window high above my head.  The light smelled like cinnamon and warmed the air around it.  It reminded me of home. Though I knew it wasn't. I had been lost for awhile then. Too far away to find my way back.

I must have forgotten to awaken because I woke up in a cage, bright and warm.  A soft bed, a full bowl and a sandy box to do my business in when I had to go.  I had a neighbor but he didn't acknowledge me  much.  He had patches of fur missing all over his body and I could tell from his scent he had been places I'd never been.  He'd lick his bare skin and fall in and out of sleep, a habit that made most visitors stand a little farther away and visit me instead.

I didn't mind it much.  I liked the cats that walked on two legs.  They'd crouch down say things to me. Warm air pouring out of their mouths, teasing me with their fingers.  Some would even scratch my head until I closed my eyes. Purring to show my gratitude.  They'd come and go until the sun went down.  Nights were lonely and quiet. It was then that I'd miss the sun and moving air.  A good stretch or a long walk.

When she came in for the first time, I had a feeling it wouldn't be her last time.  She stayed for longer than most people and left right after we played.  Like I was who she had come for and no one else.  She had the little one with her and he was scared at first.  He'd smile but he wouldn't get too close. He'd bring me squeaky objects that the dogs like and wave them in front of my cage to get my attention. Then he'd run away.  Too afraid that I'd get too close but wanting me to at the same time. I'd stick my paw out so he could touch it and mash my face against the bars so he would nozzle my nose.  When he was brave enough to touch me, he would giggle.  His hand smelled like clay and wax. It was usually stained in marker.  When I knew him better, I'd try to clean it off.  When he'd laugh, she would too.  I would stick my paw out of the cage and place it on her palm.  She stroke it tenderly and say calming things in words that sounded like songs.

The day she brought the other two with her I knew they were mine.  The big one brought me out of the cage and held be high of above the ground.  Held me tighter when a big dog walked by and scratched in my favorite spot beneath my chin as he said hello.  The other little one did the same, holding my eyes for the longest and smiling with missing teeth.  I went home with them that day. In a box like the one I'd found under that window.  But this one was filled with warmth. In this one, I wasn't alone.

In our house, they give me my space. They open the window to let me feel the air and pull me close sometimes so I can feel their hearts beat. My bowl is full and I don't have to search to find water.  They say things that they believe I can't understand. I do. Most of it.  But I go when I want so they know its always my choice. To stay. I know enough about the places around to go when I don't want to be seen or hear any sounds.  I can tell they like me. I can tell they won't hurt me.  I can tell they would be sad if I went away.  I would too. I guess.

I think I'll stay awhile.



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Prompt: Write from the point of view of an animal.

Each Sunday, I will be sharing my response to a short writing prompt from the many (many) writing books I've invested in over the years.  Enjoy, join me or leave a comment! Prompts are an awesome way to get the muse to come out and play.


Love and Light,
Faye

1 comment:

  1. I find your writing to be beautiful and poetic. Thank you for sharing.

    ReplyDelete

 
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