Tag Archives: fiction

Just Weird

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Me. The human can’t get me to show my fangs.

Every morning and night the human brushes her fangs and bubbles come out of her mouth. I think she’s about to turn feral, but it doesn’t happen. She laps up water and the bubbles disappear. That’s weird! Only fur balls come out of my mouth and sometimes drool, when I’m snoozing. The human wrinkles her face if I breathe on her, especially after I’ve eaten something fishy. She always gives me crunchy things to finish my breakfast and dinner.

The small water bowl where the human brushes her fangs.

The small water bowl where the human brushes her fangs.

Each day I wait for her to come out of the giant water bowel where water falls from the wall, so I can have a drink. The human steps onto a mat and shuffles over to the small water bowl where she brushes her fangs, but if I’m sitting on the mat, she can’t move it. I’m no lightweight!

My toes are small, but the ones on her mitts are ginormous. It’s easy for her to pick-up and carry things, but I can only carry a toy mouse or a wriggling bird in my mouth. (The bird thing doesn’t happen much now).

I’m curious as to why humans are mostly furless, maybe that’s why they cover their bodies and hind paws with cloth and things to keep warm and toasty. If I pounce and nip her soft, chewy toes or chunky legs, the human always make a loud noise. It is so much fun, but she doesn’t think so.

Humans do strange things and are funny looking, but are always entertaining.

Miaow

 

 

 

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My luxurious coat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grooming is important to me, but bringing up a furball is not fun and immediately I gulp it back down, so when the human wants to brush me, I am very happy. It is purrfect when she gets to that hard to reach place at the base of my tail. I drop to my side purring and reckon she has removed a furball or two, but if I try to groom her, she pushes me away.

The human throws me a ball and I swipe it back. Lying there waiting for her to find it—while she scrambles under furniture and crawls across the floor—is hilarious. Also too, when I hang around the front door she’ll come running. I saunter outside then quick as a mouse, I’m back banging on the mesh. The human groans and lets me in. I turn around again and whack the door.

Back of the couch.

Back of the couch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Most of the time she obeys my commands, but sometimes she ignore me and doesn’t like me doing things, like scratching behind the couch. I love scraping my claws down and the sound it makes. The human wants me to use the post covered in rug pieces instead, and crouches on all fours to show me how to scratch it, but it’s more fun trying to swipe and pounce on her big mitts. She yells out when I get her, scaring me.

 

My shredders.

My shredders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The human keeps me entertained and fits into my routine. I do miss her when she is away.

 

Miaow.

Sleep

Smudge the next day sitting on my story drafts.

Smudge, the next day sitting on my work.

Numerous drafts of my story lie on the floor. Smudge is sitting on the last one, which I attempt to retrieve as I need to check something. He’s unimpressed and doesn’t move, as I have been keeping him awake with my noise and the light. Eventually, he relents and curls up in the tub chair.

It’s after 2.30 am, so I complete my bathroom routine and fall into bed. However, sleep is absent as I can’t get comfortable and thoughts continue to roll around in my head.

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Smudge snoozing.

At 6.00 am the mantle clock chimes and I gasp and raise my head, disturbed by a weight on my body. Smudge has plopped himself horizontally across my chest. It’s hard to breathe when a 4.5 kg furball has pinned you down. I manage to turn slightly hoping that he’ll slide off, but he clings on with extended claws. ‘Owhh!’ I’m now fully awake and push him off.

In an attempt to ignore my tormenter, I wrap the doona around my body and bury my face into the pillow, but Smudge hasn’t given up and whacks me in the head. I turn around and his face is 30 cm away from mine, his pupils dilated. After a few seconds of eyeballing each other, he looks away and jumps off the bed. Finally, I’m left in peace… but later I’m woken by a loud, rumbling sound. There are workmen outside operating an excavating machine and Smudge is back on the bed again.

The Human.

Always Young

Pick the real moggie.

Pick the real moggie.

Smudge looks like a venerable, oriental gentleman, but don’t be fooled. Now 13 in human years, he continues to be exacerbating and his exuberant playfulness never wanes. The elderly fluffball sleeps a lot more now and has mellowed just a little.

Chubby Smudge with some toys.

Chubby Smudge with some toys.

As I get older, I don’t worry so much about how others see me, but Smudge still loves to impress the kitties by keeping up his fastidious grooming routine, and shimmying his tail.

These days, he subtly wakes me up in the morning with a gentle paw to the face. However, if I don’t get up, he’ll thrust his backside in my face, or block my nostrils with the end of his tail. It’s effective, but not nice.

That dreaded tail.

That dreaded tail.

I enjoy my comforts—a supportive bed and great food are bliss. Smudge has always made sure he is comfy, resting his head on cushions or pillows, even using my belly as a headrest when he is curled up or sprawled across my lap. Although he is fed nutritious cat food, Smudge manages to score a small piece of meat from my own dinner when I’m sitting on the couch watching T.V. After waiting a minute, he’ll saunter by and flick his tail near my food. If ignored, Smudge will jump up next to me and drool over my plate. Of course, I relent and he wins. An excellent human manipulator, Smudge won’t change, and I continue to be wrapped around his paw.

The human.

Big Mitts and Business Spots

Me waiting to go outside.

Me waiting to go outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before the human goes out, she always tells me to ‘be good’. That means:  don’t scratch the rugs, doona or furniture. I don’t want her to go, and will try and distract her with a game of chasey, or I’ll scratch the food cupboard door. After a treat or a sprint around the hallway and dining room, she leaves. I’ll then sharpen my claws on the rug.

Lately, I’m trying to ‘be good’, because the human has been in a fight or hurt herself somehow. She had one of her big mitts wrapped up in cloth and then later, the other one too. She had trouble leaning over to pat me and snoozes a lot. It’s hard to wake her in the mornings. The other day because she wouldn’t get up and open the back door, I had to do my business in the giant water bowl, where water falls from the wall. The human was surprised when she found ‘my gift’, and picked it up with a scooper, plopping it where she does her own business. That night, she left out a small tray with some litter—I’d rather go outside. In the morning I stepped into the tray and started kicking. Heaps of litter landed on the floor. The human wasn’t impressed.

Lots of space to do my business.

Lots of space to do my business.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday, a male human dug up a tree in the backyard, leaving heaps of freshly turned soil. ‘Purrfect!’ It’s a great spot to do my business. I’ve been back there a few times.

Miaow

Tolerant

Still waiting for the human to wake up.

Still waiting for the human to wake up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lately before bed, the human straps long things onto her big mitts. She is not as sparky as usual, and if you’ve noticed, hasn’t been writing my blog. Every morning, I expect breakfast and wake her up. Usually, I jab her with a paw, flick the end of my tail or stick my backside in her face, but now I get no response, so I just wait for her to get up. When my belly rumbles, I stand on her chest and finally, she gets up.

When I’m not well, the human grabs me, stuffs me into that cage and takes me to see Dr Hindmarsh—not my favourite human. Maybe, she needs to see him.

I’ve tried cheering her up. The other night I was sitting outside on the window sill. I miaowed and she came running and opened the front door. Reaching out, I swiped her arm, then took off. Instead of chasing me, she yelled.

The human snoozes a lot more watching the noisy box at night. Noodle, the moggie down the road told me that like us, humans get old too. The human doesn’t race around like a kitten anymore, but I guess she has a few more years in her. She is still loud and annoying. I could be less demanding, but that’s not going to happen as I’m ‘top’ cat. She thinks I being affectionate when I sprawl out on her lap and purr, but really, her belly is squishy and comfy.

Miaow

Left Again and a New Bed

Me looking at the new human and 'that chair'.

Somewhere where the new human can’t find me and observing a new sleeping spot.

It’s that time again when the human disappears, leaving me with a stranger. The new human calls my name, while holding out her hand. Wrinkling my nose, I look up eyeballing her and retreat to the cupboard. When I wake-up, she is still around. The newbie isn’t up to scratch, but I tolerate her. I get fed and let out, but she’s not ‘my human’, so I snooze a lot in a favourite chair.

After many moons, the human returns and shrieks, ‘Smudge, you’re so chunky,’ whatever that means? I nip her ankle and strut outside, and don’t come back till morning. I do not bat balls the human throws to me, or am interested in playing hide and seek chasey. The human is disappointed.

'That armchair'.

‘That armchair’.

She has a new armchair that smells funny. Lounging in it, she breathes in the scent and pats the sides. I approach but she snaps, ‘Mine.’ Later, when she is not around I jump up. It’s a bit slippery, but bouncy and comfy. The human returns, ‘Hey, get off.’ I jump down as she throws a rug over the chair.

A few days later, she removes the rug. When she is not looking, I leap into the chair and plop myself down. Chilled, I dig in my claws and purr, but soon I’m sprung and the human yells. I open one eye, then cover my face with a paw. As I stretch out, my tail dangles over the seat.

Miaow