Bonus Story: Whiskers

whiskers

I find people very confusing.  Some are nicer than others.  Some smell better than others.  Some seem much smarter than others.  But strangest of all, they do not seem to speak the same language.

“Whiskers,” the burly human will call in his booming voice.

“Whispers,” the skinny human will coo in her sweet voice.

“Whippers!” the littlest human will cry before he smacks me with a book or toy.

The day the littlest human came into my life has to be the worst I can remember.  From the beginning, he would grab my ears, my tail, my paws, whatever he could get his grub hands on.  I do my best to avoid him, but he always seems to find me.  It’s like he has a sixth sense.  Or maybe he can smell my fear.

Lately I’ve taken to scratching at the backdoor in the morning until the bigger humans set me free.  I go to the bamboo forest behind the wall where I can sleep undisturbed all day in the shade, and chase down an occasion butterfly if I’m feeling hungry.  But if I want real food, I have to saunter back to the house.

Sometimes I use to wonder what would happen if I walked beyond the bamboo forest.  What would I see on the other side?  Would there be other cats?  Would they be friendly?  Would we hunt together and sleep together and clean each others’ fur?  Or would they be mean and hiss and try to scratch my eyes out?

That’s when I would think about all the good things like the taste of wet meat on my tongue, my vast collection of rubber balls, the clump of fur I have hidden under the couch for a special occasion, my favorite sleeping spot near the heater, and the way the lady human has of stroking my fur that makes me purr like I was a kitten again.

Anyway things have recent changed around here.  A few days ago, the lady human fell asleep at her TV box while the littlest human was playing with some blocks on the floor.  Inevitably he got bored and wandered off to cause trouble.  Unfortunately the lady human had left the backdoor ajar when she had brought me in for lunch, and of course the littlest human went straight for it.  His screaming woke me up from my afternoon nap.  The lady human was still sound asleep, so I ran out to see what was the matter.  Somehow the littlest human had gotten himself wedged in a small opening between the wall and the fence, the one I use to get to my bamboo forest.  He was crying up a storm, and a trickle of blood was coming down his face.  I bolted into the house and bounced on the lady human’s head.  She leapt up into the air and nearly landed on her face.  I ran to the door looking back at her and giving her my most obnoxious yowl.  “What’s a matter with you??” she frowned, and then she heard the little one’s cries.  I don’t think I have ever seen her move so fast.  She quickly took him inside and bandaged him up, and guess who got his own personal can of tuna fish.

That’s irony for you.  Turns out there’s a reason I’m here, and it’s the littlest human.  After all, someone around here has to keep him safe right?

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