A Bad Day For Miles

A Bad Day for Miles

         It wasn’t a very good start to the day, to be honest with you. I was merrily sat on Mr Willow’s fence, meowing at the rising sun in order to serenade my new ginger friend, Patty, when Mr Willow took offence and hurled his slipper at me. Good shot, but he missed by a mile. Patty, unfortunately, scurried off and I lost track of her. I am getting a bit too old to be chasing young felines at the crack of dawn in any case, and I was hungry too, so I decided to head home.
         Mistress ignores my calls by the patio door for what seemed an eternity; she has been in a bit of a world of her own recently. When she eventually makes it, huffing and puffing, she doesn’t even appear impressed by the token of my affection that I have brought along: a half-dead mouse. I don’t actually like mice; I just enjoy playing with them. The pouncing is the most interesting bit, of course and it helps me to keep fit too. I lie down low in my favourite spot beneath the rhododendron and keep really still. As the mouse gets closer, I hold my breath for a second, stare intently as I follow its every move, swish my tail in anticipation and then pounce! And it is mine. I grab it by my front paws; gently you understand, roll onto my back and attack the now defenceless thing with my hind legs. I don’t do this to kill it; incapacitating them is much more fun as it prolongs the pleasure. Then starts a game of, well, cat and mouse. I will release the mouse for brief moments of time, making it believe that it got away scot-free but no, I am still watching and following its every move. The tail gliding along the ground is enticing and eventually it gets too much for me, so I pounce once more and the whole procedure is repeated. Until finally, the mouse is lifeless with exhaustion and minor injuries at which point I carry it in my mouth and place it at the foot of the door, hoping to impress Mistress and perhaps get an extra special treat for my hard work. Instead I get right telling-off; she seems particularly annoyed with me today.
         ‘Miles!’ she shouts, ‘do you have to? It’s disgusting, I don’t want your bloody mice!’ Ok, so she is not impressed but at least she puts out some food for me. Ewe, beef! I hate beef! I sit by my bowl for a few minutes, sulking and hoping for Mistress to get me something else. She however, is clutching her stomach as if in pain and rushes off to the bathroom. I sigh heavily and mooch off to the comfortable chair in Mistress’ bedroom where I curl up to catch some sleep after a long night on the prowl.
         Mistress comes back from the bathroom and I look up only briefly to register that she has had a shower and is wrapped in her lilac dressing gown. She hauls a large black bag from under the bed and… hang on a minute? Is she packing? I sigh again, lick my paws and try to go back to sleep. Mistress also has the cordless phone jammed between her right ear and shoulder.
         ‘Jack’ I hear her saying into the telephone ‘you need to come home now. It’s time. Yes I am sure. OK see you later’. For some reason, she is in a state of great agitation. I watch detachedly as she is getting dressed and wonder if she has noticed that I haven’t eaten my food. I hope so. Maybe she will feel guilty and give me something else before she goes. The size of that bag worries me, though; it doesn’t look as though she is going to work. She doesn’t usually pack her dressing gown and slippers when going into the office. Very odd indeed. Perhaps she is going to see the doctor to find out why she is behaving in such a strange manner.
         Soon, the front door crashes open and Jack rushes in. ‘Everything all right, darling?’ he asks Mistress. I jump from the chair onto the bed, approach my Mistress for a stroke, looking to be fussed over, but she pushes me out of the way and says ‘Not now, Miles. Mummy has to go’. And with that, they leave me behind. Don’t even change the food either. Well, I am determined not to eat it. Maybe that’ll teach them for serving me something I detest so much.
         After a while I go to sit in the sunshine by the patio door. Patty strolls by, sits on the other side of the glass for a while and wanders off. I turn my back and sit there, letting the sun warm me up. A long time seems to go by and Mistress doesn’t return. I am hungry now. I leave by the cat flap and go for a wander, hoping to find a kindly neighbour to serve me some titbits to keep me going. Mistress will never know, will she?
         Mr Willow yells something at me as I walk through his garden to get to Miss Marilyn’s. Miss Marilyn is my favourite human, apart from Mistress. Usually, as soon as I enter her garden, she opens the back door and calls me into the kitchen. She serves me a nice bowl of fresh water and some leftover chicken or tuna. She makes a real fuss and chatters to me about inane things that I don’t understand. I let her, because the food is so nice. Today, however, she doesn’t open the door. I sit for a long time and nothing happens. This is unusual, I think, and wander off, sulking once more. As I leave Miss Marilyn’s garden I bump into Boris who is my least favourite thing in the whole world. A vicious dog with a foul temper and even fouler breath, he loves chasing cats. Today he’s obviously got his eye on me. I let out a loud cry as he runs towards me, jump onto the fence and from there onto the roof of the garden shed. Vicious he may be, but smart he ain’t. I sit there on the roof, watching Boris jumping up and down as he barks and snarls at me; I enjoy the tease. I catch my breath, and then leave by the front garden. Unbeknown to me, however, the gate has not been closed and Boris gives chase yet again. He snaps at my tail and I run into the road.
         The next thing I know is I am lying on a table and I am in terrible pain. Two humans are looking down at me and they look worried. Should I be? I pass out. When I wake up again, I have some kind of stiff bandage on my leg and I am at home, on my Mistress’ bed. I can’t move so I stay where I am. Gosh, it’s uncomfortable. I try to lick my leg but the bandage is getting in the way. I meow to attract some attention. I was not expecting to see the Mother, though. She of the flowery dresses and backcombed hair. She is almost as horrid as Boris. Except today, she is exceedingly nice to me. She comes up and sits next to me on the bed.
         ‘Miles, what are we going to do with you?’ she asks, stroking me. ‘You are not supposed to play with cars, don’t you know that? You were very lucky, you know, that Mr Willow found you and took you to the vets. But your Mummy is not best pleased. She will be home soon, with the baby. Did you hear that? The baby, isn’t that wonderful?’
         I wonder for a while what a baby might be; is it something to play with, a new toy? Or some food perhaps? I realise then that I haven’t eaten in a long while and hunger seems to be gnawing at my intestines. I meow once more and luckily, the Mother is more perceptive than usual.
         ‘You must be hungry, darling Miles. Shall I get you some food, hmm? You stay there, I will see what I can find.’
         Luckily it’s chicken, and very tasty it is, too. The Mother feeds me by the hand since I cannot stand up to eat my food. I contemplate how long this bandage might have to stay on. Not for too long, I hope, as I won’t be able to chase mice with it on. Besides, I can’t clean myself properly and I am also not convinced that Patty would like it very much.
         I drift off to sleep and wake up to a load of commotion from the living room. I yawn, stretch as best as I can and then meow for attention. This time it’s Mistress who walks in.
         ‘Oh my lovely Miles, how are you? Did you miss Mummy?’
         Of course I did, I think, rubbing my head against the palm of her hand.
         ‘Look at your poor leg, darling. The doctor says you will have to keep it on for a few weeks until your leg heals so no running around, all right? But come on, I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.’ She picks me up gently and carries me to the living room. When did all these people arrive? I wonder. Is it Christmas?
         ‘Miles, meet Jemma’, Mistress says and holds a small human in front of my face. It’s pink and quite ugly. It has no hair at all on its head and its face looks a bit crumpled. What’s the big deal? I want to ask. I am not impressed. Mistress puts me down on top of the blanket on the settee. One of the visitors has brought along a pooch, curly white fur and all. I hiss to mark that this is my home then realise that I am immobilised. Bummer. At least the dog is on a lead, but gosh the smell! What is it about dogs and bad breath?
         After a long, long time the visitors finally leave and I am alone with my Mistress. And Jack. Oh and that Baby person. I still can’t see the big attraction; it has been asleep for most of the time. Mistress seems pleased, though, and not quite so much on edge. She also appears to have lost a bit of weight. A good start but she’s got some way to go yet.
         Nighttime falls and I look forward to a good night’s sleep, knowing Mistress can’t let me out for the night on account of my poorly leg. She puts me down on the chair in her bedroom and I eventually manage to get myself into a comfortable position with my leg hopelessly stretched out in front of me. What a nuisance. Mistress places the Baby in a small bed that I have not previously seen in this room. Perhaps they have been rearranging the furniture? The baby has not been in the bed for long before it starts crying though. And what a racket it makes! I’ve never known noise like it and it is driving me insane. Usually, I would have made a quick escape, crept off somewhere well away from earshot but I am stuck here on this chair. I sigh. My leg is itching and I can’t scratch myself.
         It’s a dog’s life, they say. Actually, I reckon it’s more like a cat’s life. And I’ve still got eight of them left.

(1936 words)