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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1704780-Gringo
Rated: E · Fiction · Pets · #1704780
Writing about a cat.
    “You’re a bad ugly fat cat, Gringo. No dinner for you tonight!” Nicholas, my next door neighbor’s seven year old spoiled brat son, kicked his cat from behind. Then he went inside the house and slammed the door, leaving the cat on the porch alone. This was not the first time I witnessed his cruelty and someone had to teach that boy a lesson.

    I waited for a few minutes. Then I ran toward my neighbor’s porch and scooped Gringo with my bare hands. He shivered between my chest and my arms as I crossed the bed of snow resting on my lawn. I knew nothing about cats and the thought of keeping one gave me a string of guilt. I went inside my house, placed him on the love seat so I could find something warm to cover his body.

    Meeeeowwwww. He stepped forward following my move.

    “No Gringo.” I pointed my index finger toward his direction, “stay there.”

    Meow. Meow. His ocean-blue Cuboro marble eyes gazed up and his black tail curved backwards. He seemed as though he was begging for my arms around him. Meow. He sat with both feet tucked inward and his eyes continued to gaze at me.

    “Stay there. I will be right back.” I ran toward the kitchen and darted a pile of fresh towels I washed in between bites of fresh apple and chapter seven of the novel I was reading at lunch time. I grabbed the mint-green towel on top of the pile and hurried back to the living room where I left Gringo. I wrapped the towel around his body. His dark eyelids rose up and down as he rubbed his head against my arm.

    “Poor Gringo, I can’t believe Nick punished you again. What did you do this time?” I stared closer to his face, which gave him the opening. His wet tongue licked my nose, my lips, down to my chin. He rubbed his muzzle against my cheek and the salt taste from his saliva oozed through my nose thrills. His white whiskers tickled my face. He seemed to know what he was doing because the next thing I knew, I was giggling while cuddling with him on the couch. I stroked his fur that enveloped most of his back like the cape of Mr. Evil the dark king. But Gringo was not evil at all. He was just a baby waiting for a mother to embrace him, to provide him with love and tender care.

    Stealing Gringo was wrong. I knew I needed to return him to his rightful owner, soon before they search for him. I also knew his life was miserable with Nicholas.

    I thought of a better life for Gringo with me. Gringo is mine now. Then I thought of foods. Litter box. Bath. Toys. Resting bed and all kinds of things he would need. Tomorrow we are shopping at the pet store Gringo. I murmured and closed my eyes as plans for Gringo, Vet appointments, and winter cat clothes swirled through my head. Tomorrow…
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1704780-Gringo