Writer's Cramp 8/27 details below, word count: 600
|There are only a pawful of things I want in my many lives. At the top of the list would be to communicate effectively with my pet, Robert, as sometimes I don't think he gets what I'm saying.
Last night, I was dying for some of those Temptations treats so I asked Robert for a snack. I tried my best to explain but to no avail. He stroked my fur and patted me on the head.
Since we're getting things out in the open here, I really hate to be patted on the head. Save that for the dogs.
Back to the treats. I wanted some so bad, but I did not get one of those crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy in the inside, amazing things. Not a one. I think that's why last night I dreamt he bought some, sat the grocery bags on the floor and I saw them. Just an edge of the blue bag. Calling me. I stuck my head in the bag, grabbed them and ran under the bed.
I worked on those treats all night, but I couldn't get it open. I could smell them. Almost taste them. I was so aggravated, it woke me up. It was early, I know. But if he would have listened to me last night, he wouldn't have had to listen to me this morning!
"Robert, please wake up. We need to talk," I whispered. When that didn't work, I cleared my throat and repeated it much louder. "Ah, you're awake. Sorry, I know it's early but you've got to listen to me. No, no, no, don't close your eyes. Robert? Robert?"
I waited a moment. What would convince him I meant business? Suddenly, I knew exactly what to say.
"Robert, please wake up. I need some of those Temptation treats. They are like cocaine to me. And before you say anything, it's not the catnip. I mean, I love the catnip ones, but it's the salmon ones. Maybe I'm deficient in omega-3. You should ask the evil one that sticks that thing up my butt. My paws are getting sweaty just thinking about that horrible place of torture and humiliation. Sorry, I digressed.
"Please get up and get me some Temptation treats. Are we out? Is that it? Then please just get up and go to the store. If you don't, I will puke on your bed as quietly as I can. Then I'll follow it up with the fur ball hacking sound you hate, to roust you from your slumber, but the deed will have already soaked into the sheets. I'll chalk it up to withdrawals. It won't be pretty. You know I can hold it until you're sound asleep. Is that what you want, Robert?" I asked.
I couldn't believe it. He got up. I said my peace and he got up. I was stunned. I followed him into the kitchen. He stopped at my bowls and then proceeded to the front door. I was so excited. If I were a dog, I would have been bouncing all around, but I'm not a dog.
He opened the door and just stood there. He looked down at me and never moved. I was so devastated, I had to sit down.
"Robert, please. It's not funny anymore," I said.
He closed the door and went back to bed.
I pulled my tail around my feet and closed my eyes. Zoe will not be treated like this. That was... was... was tantamount to abuse. It was worse than the red dot.
It's war now, buddy. War.
Writer's Cramp 8/27 NEW PROMPT: This morning, I woke up (reluctantly) to persistent meowing from my calico cat, Zoe. She acted like she wanted to be let outside; she had plenty of food and water in her bowls, and going outside was the only other option I could think of for her acting that way. But when I opened the door, she just sat down, looked at me, and meowed some more. Write this story (or poem) from the cat's point of view.
Word count: 600