Sorry, My Cat Fell off the Cupboard – Dead Deer

Sorry, My Cat Fell off the Cupboard

“I have no idea, there must be something wrong with him, it’s not like him. Are you alright, puss? Shall I take you to the vet?”

“Give it a couple of days, see how he is then.”

“It’s odd, he’s off his food, keeps stumbling, it must be something, I’ll take him Tuesday if he’s no better.”

Dan was screaming inside. I could not face the awful food they gave him, and his balance was not up to this four-legged thing. He simply could not get the hang of a tail, and how to use it. He hurt all over from the falling, and he was beginning to go slowly insane. How, how, could he get them to understand? He was Dan.

It hurt especially, to notice the excitement they had from the youtube hits rising. They had happened to film him as he tried to jump across to the window sill, and of course, being his first day as a cat, he messed it up. They found it hilarious.

He found it painful and frustrating.

Trying to write them a note, he found it impossible to hold a pen, obviously. He had a great idea, he knocked a box of pencils over and tried to form letters with them. They laughed and cleared them up.

He needed to get back to that bloke’s house. But he had no idea where it was. He got out of the cat flap, and everything looked different from down here. He was fairly sure it was on the other side of town. He tried jumping on a bus. Unfortunately it was not possible to see the number, and he rode for a while before jumping off. Now he could not recognise anything of where he was. Come on Dan, what the hell can you do now?

His nose twitched. What is that? Oh, mouse. Before he knew what he had done, he had leapt on it and sunk his teeth into its neck, bringing instant death. Ah shit, thought Dan, this is me.

Today I wrote between 20:46  and 20:56. I was prompted by an idea here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, my tweets here, and my book here.

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Mar 1st – A new fallen snow

March 1st – A new fallen snow

17.11-17.21

Winter was late in coming. Autumn had dragged on, Christmas was warm, and mild, and wet, and it was not until well into the new year that he got the news he was waiting for. Snow was coming.

The temperature had plummeted rapidly over the past week, and plusses had turned to minuses and stayed there, the red line of his thermometer falling into the blue and lingering.

When it snowed, it stayed.

That was always the way.

It had come earlier when he was a boy: white Christmases were the norm, not unusual, and he thought that all Christmas cards just showed the truth: what he saw out of the window reproduced on paper, with more robins than he was used to, but otherwise pretty much the same.

It would snow tonight, and the snow would stay until April.

That was long enough.

It didn’t take him long to do what he needed to. Face wrapped against the cold, gloved hands. Moving the bulky object took some time, but he had to do it now, before the snow came. By then it would be too late.

The adrenaline rush was exhilarating.

He had chosen his spot with care. Nobody would come tonight, not with snow in the air, and the first flakes were falling when he finished his final task. Now all he had to do was wait.

He waited until the snow was heavy, huge flakes like cotton wool balls falling in sacks, whitening the landscape. As he drove home, carefully, the sky was the same colour as the ground, the road disappearing, his windscreen wipers pushing the snow into sharp-edged Vs at each side of the windscreen. He shook the snow from his coat as he walked the few steps from the car to his porch, banging his feet against the brickwork to clear the soles of his boots.

He poured himself a drink, sat by the window, and watched, and waited.

He watched all night.

The forecasters were not wrong. The snow continued all night, and by the next morning showed no signs of letting up. 30 centimetres, almost 12 inches, had already fallen, and this first snowfall was going to last for days.

In the forest, on the edge of a small clearing, there was an almost imperceptible ridge, a bump in a new fallen snow. By tomorrow, that too would be gone, and everything would be smooth, and pure, and white.

They would discover the body in the Spring.

By spring, he would be somewhere else, somewhere out of their reach.

 

Inspired by a prompt from here