Sunday, 8 November 2015

Short Story: Black Kitten [52S52W]

Nano is good in a lot of ways, not least because you find yourself sitting in front of a blank page far more often than normal. Today, instead of the novel, this was produced.

Some of you know, espcially from facebook, that there is a new little kitten in our household. Luckily, she is called Cocoa and not Buster.

Here is a Nano inspired Free Short Story:

Black Kitten

Getting used to an amazing new smell is the first test. That umami marmite spread around the living room air. Only a mother could love.
Visitors wrinkle their noses – polite ones. Everyone else just asks: Is that your kitten farting?
Yes, I volunteer, shoulders permanently shrugging.
My atmosphere is generously lubricated with a mixture of milk and cat food, liberally
fermented for a few hours in kitten intestine.
I open a french window, just a crack. A little black nose sits there for an hour, breathing the outside. She looks at me with her quick darting graze of a gaze, as if I am the source of the smell.
It's not me buster.
OK, Buster the little black girl kitten, it is.

The kittenette.
The black streak of a mad half hour every day, toppling my carefully balanced stacks of books as if she is a living computer-game kitten. A hundred points for a stack of five. Five hundred to scatter today's post around the house.
The black hole of gravity which pins me down for the rest of the time, finding me to be the most comfortable spot in the world to sleep away some vital hours of regeneration. A little kitten time lord.
The children make a dangly, jingly thing which focuses the mad half hour, even when there is no-one to dangle or jingle it.
I take up 12 megabytes, trying to get a picture of her without blur, or furry monster close-up peering right down the lens, or brightly-lit shining devil eyes.
She stares intently as I type. Finding the laptop forever the place de rigeur. Too many emails of gibberish whisk around the world before I get a chance to close the lid.
She looks at me, afronted, pinning me down, holding my face in her paws. 'You can't do that. I was busy.' I hear. 'How do you think Grumpy Cat got started?'
I open the lid for her and she is once again pouncing on something.
I make a YouTube channel for her: Pouncy kitten.
We spend our days in symbiosis, sharing our on-line existence. She suffers me to type my work, forever guarding my lap or my face, or my head. When it is her turn, she comes and sits across my typing fingers, her yellow saucer smile enough to say, 'Me now'.
I am a cat now. Frenzied activity is all I'm allowed during the morning. The rest of the day I am an accessory. A plaything for a kitten. She loves to cling.
She digs her claws in at any sign of resistance, gazing deeply into my eyes, her eyes narrowed in a smile.
It is definitely a smile. I look it up on Buzzfeed: 10 ways your cat is trying to kill you.
'Not that one,' I hear. She jumps around the keyboard.
25 signs your cat really loves you.
Aw! Thanks Buster.
She sits on me, smiling, hypnotising me.
I can't sit here forever. I want a cup of tea.
'OK, get your tea,' she thinks.
A hot cup of tea is in my hand, steam swirling lazily.
“Well, thanks!”
“Anything else?”
“No – Yes – Why can I hear you?”
She looks away, blinking. I must have fallen asleep. I thought...haha, never mind what I thought.
I watch her for a few days. Any remarks of hers flying my way? I try to capture fuzzy stray wisps of kitten thought. Nothing.
She catches me, staring intently at the back of her head and stands up suddenly to show me a puckered little bottom. OK, OK, I get the message.
But why did you speak to me and why have you stopped? How can I magic more tea?
I get two minutes of work done before she pins me down, sitting on my chest. Little, perfectly formed, cuddly toy paws resting on my chin. Her eyes are deep. They are green now? No, it's her pupils, expanded beyond all reason. She is drawing me in. The laptop whirs. Its keys are humming and soft, springy. Just right for a pouncy kitten.
'Can you hear me?' I think, gazing deeply into those cavern eyes.
“You're changing.”
“What? I'm not changing.”
“No, it's a good thing.”
That smile.
Eyes narrowed, pointy little furry face both dreaming and intense.
10 ways your cat is trying to kill you?
“No! Not at all!”
“What then?”
She shifts her weight slightly on my laptop keyboard.
One more calculating stare. One tiny smile. She stands up, stretches luxuriously and jumps.
I gasp.
I'm staring at the screen.
One word is large and typed in Times New Roman at the top of my new blank page.
I look for Buster, but her tail is already disappearing round the door.
The word is accusing me, or praising, or appraising me.
As soon as I see it, I feel it is right. There is a surge. A rush of overwhelming.
I look at the letters and take them in:
A cup of tea appears in my right hand. The steam swirling lazily.

Edit: I'm very sorry to say that little Coco, the kitten who inspired this story, sadly passed away at just over a year old.
She was such a lovely little character and a sweet personality, even the neighbours came to ask what happened to her.
She is very sadly missed by all of us.

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