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View Full Version : House Cat. (Warning -- content of a mild sexual nature.)



Ian8777
October 1st, 2016, 10:07 AM
The evening was going well until my date, Jessica told me about her love of cats. Don’t get me wrong, I am not some weird cat-hater. I like cats. I just don’t like people who like cats more than they like people and this girl was clearly one of those people. But she was pretty and I had liked her for quite some time so I nodded and laughed in all the right places.

‘My cats are my life,’ she said over the starters. ‘I really love animals. But cats are my favourite.’

I tried to change the subject but she had a knack of turning any conversation change back to her love of cats. I tried talking about the weather, films, local events, the news, and the restaurant itself but she would not let the cat thing drop. She had a superhuman ability to shoe-horn any topic into a story about her cats. The waiter must have thought she was nuts because every time he came to our table to top up our wine glasses she was blabbering on about her cats.

Eventually she stopped talking and just when I thought it was safe to start another conversation she started up again.

‘So do you like cats?’ she said.

‘I prefer dogs if I am honest.’

‘I like dogs,’ she said. ‘But I prefer cats though.’

‘I guess that makes us even then,’ I said. ‘I like dogs and you like cats.’

‘Yes but do you like cats?’ she said. ‘It’s very important to me that anyone who comes into my life likes cats.’

‘I like cats,’ I said. Which was a lie. I fucking hate cats. They are sneaky little shits who would dump you for someone else the moment they got the chance. But I really liked this girl.

She smiled and said she was glad that I liked cats.

To press home my point I purred and flexed imaginary cat claws which made her laugh. She had a nice smile. Even though she smoked there was no evidence of it on her teeth.

‘I am so pleased,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on a dozen dates in the past two months and not one of them have liked cats. It breaks my heart really.’ Her eyes welled up and a single tear leaked down her smooth cheeks onto her chin. I picked up a napkin and dabbed at the tear. She laughed and looked embarrassed.

‘I’m such an idiot,’ she said, one-third laughing and two-thirds crying. She took the napkin and blew into it.

‘I guess your cats are important to you huh?’

‘They’re everything to me,’ she said. ‘Sometimes my mind wanders and I imagine them dying in all kinds of horrible ways. Last week I was coming home on the bus from work and I just imagined the both of them being dropped into a mincing machine. Does that sound weird?’

I shrugged, unsure of what to say.

She spent the rest of the main course telling me how she nursed her youngest cat for two weeks when it came down with some kind of cat-flu. I listened and nodded in all the right places, but if I am honest all I was thinking of was going home. Any hope of things getting better were dashed when dessert arrived and she spoke in depth about how cats were once considered to have God-like powers by ancient people.

‘I really believe in reincarnation,’ she said. ‘Do you?’

‘Never given it much thought.’

‘Well I have and I know that I have been here before.’

‘This place?’ I said, meaning the restaurant. ‘What did you have?’

‘Not this place,’ she said. ‘I mean here, on Earth.’

Even though I suspected the answer already I asked the question anyway. ‘So what were you? When you were here last?’

‘A cat.’

After the meal we caught a taxi back to her house. I had planned on dropping her off and heading home. I had had enough of cats and reincarnations to last this lifetime and several others, but when we got to hers she put her hand on my thigh and invited me inside.

Standing outside her door I shivered as she rummaged through her handbag looking for her keys. The wall-mounted security light bathed her garden in amber light. It was a nice garden with neat bushes and a small pond that had a fountain. The trickling of water made me want to pee. Somewhere in the trees I heard something rustle. One of her cats I thought. The moon hung low in the sky and I could tell it was going to be a cold night.

‘They’re in here somewhere,’ she said, rummaging through the bag. She looked at me and smiled apologetically.

I smiled back. She looked really good. Her long brown and blonde hair cascaded down her back in thick bunches like something out of a shampoo advert.

Eventually she found her keys and opened the door, but not all the way. She opened just enough to poke her head inside.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

‘Shhhhh!’

‘What are you doing?’ I whispered.

‘Looking for my cats.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want them to get out.’

‘Are they sick?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘They are house cats.’

‘House cats?’

She nodded, opened the door and gestured me urgently inside. She flicked on the hallway light and she took off her shoes. I took off my shoes and she took them from me and placed them neatly on a bamboo shoe rack by the front door. The beige carpet felt thick and spongy under my feet. There were pictures of cats on the hallway wall. She took my coat and hung it on the back of the door and then stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted: ’Jemima… Rocky?’

‘I hope they are your cats and not kids!’

‘You don’t like kids?’

‘Sure,’ but not all the time.

She laughed. ‘Me neither! Give me a cat any day over a screaming brat.’ She shouted for her cats again and suddenly one appeared at the top of the stairs. It sat down and stared at us. Jess clapped her hands to invite the cat down but it stayed still. It did not look pleased to see us at all.

‘Rocky,’ she said. ‘That’s Rocky…my best boy.’

Rocky stared at me. ‘So what’s the deal?’ I said. ‘They stay inside the house?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘It’s been proven that house cats live longer and if you care for them correctly they can lead normal and happy lives.’

‘Except they can’t go out?’

‘They get everything they need here.’

‘Yeah, but surely cats are born to be outdoors? I can’t imagine someone keeping a lion inside.’

‘Rocky and Jemima are not lions.’

Before I got chance to say something else, another cat appeared at the top of the stairs. Jess clapped her hands and the cat ran down the stairs and rubbed its back against Jess’s legs. She picked the cat up and stoked it behind the ear. Purring, the cat dribbled and its eyes closed like it was on drugs. I looked up the stairs to the other cat. It sat there watching us like some unimpressed King. The other one was black and white and if I could sum it up in one word it would be simpleton.

‘So how about that drink?’ Jess said.

‘Sure.’

In the living-room, Jess fixed us both a drink and we sat on the couch and chatted about her cats. I did buy best to stifle yawn after yawn and kept reminding myself that this could lead to me getting my hands on those tits. I emptied the last of the wine from my glass.

‘You want another glass of wine or something stronger?’ she said.

‘What you got?’

She reached under the couch and pulled out a tray that was covered in weed and Rizla papers.

‘Ok,’ I said. ‘But not too strong. I am a lightweight when it comes to weed.’

Within five minutes she had rolled a spliff and after taking a couple of long, deep tokes she passed it over to me. I took a couple of hits. It felt good and I smoked more than I usually would. The last time I had smoked weed I listened to a Johnny Cash album over and over until I had mastered the words to a A Boy Named Sue. I told Jess that and she laughed. ‘I love that song. Life ain’t easy for a boy named Sue.’ She made her voice as deep as she could get it. She was no Johnny Cash but her voice was pretty nice. I saw the shape of her tits through her white blouse. I thought about how to make my move and decided that the best way would be a straight forward pass at her. No tricks or cons, just a straight forward lean-in. I was just about to do it as well when her simpleton cat bounded into the living room and jumped up onto her lap which delighted Jess.

‘Hey Jemima,’ she said, excitedly.

I put my hand across and stroked the cat. It rubbed its head against my hand and I think Jess liked that I was making the effort. I just wished that the cat would fuck off so I could make my move.

‘She likes you,’ Jess said.

‘She’s cute.’

‘You hear that Miss Jemima,’ she said. ‘The nice man thinks you are cute, and you know what he is right!’ The cat lay on its back and stretched and writhed as Jess ran her fingers down its belly.

I felt the weed taking effect on me. The lights became softer and the background music became more listenable. The weed had loosened Jess’s already loose tongue and she started telling me more about her life. Surprisingly, she spoke about something other than her cats. She spoke about a holiday in Budapest where she had met some famous violinist but all I could think about was the fact that she kept her cats locked inside like some Mid-western prison warden.

‘So then he invited me up to his flat which was just out of the city so me and the guys I was staying with all hopped into a cab and we went to his house and stayed there all night, drinking and partying —,’

‘ — Don’t they ever go out?’ I said.

‘Who?’

‘Your cats.’

‘They are house cats.’

‘Seems a little cruel to me,’ I said.

‘And what do you know about cats?’

‘Not much really,’ I said. ‘I loved Top Cat as a kid and then Thundercats. Thundercats would have been a really shit show if they had been house cats.’

I laughed. I was stoned.

She didn’t appreciate my Thundercats reference, but rather than change the subject I pushed the Thundercats thing a little further and sang an ad-libbed version of the theme tune about them being house cats instead of Thundercats.

She laughed politely but I could tell she thought I was being weird.

‘Sorry,’ I said. I felt my feet tingle as the weed took effect. I needed to take a break and regain my composure. ‘Can I use the toilet?’

She gestured a be my guest and went back to stroking her cat. She looked annoyed. I think she regretted inviting me back to her house. Just before I left the living-room I took a look at her tits. I just hoped I had not blown it by being too weird.

In the toilet I sat down to pee and slapped my face a few times to sober up. The weed had taken full effect now; my whole body tingled and I did my best to focus on the moment because the last thing I wanted was to have a full on whitey in her bathroom. After peeing, I stood up and stared at myself in the mirror above the sink. ‘Stop being fucking weird,’ I told my reflection. ‘Stop being w-e-i-r-d…w-e-i-r-d.’ Then the word weird sounded weird so I said it over and over until it lost all its meaning completely. As I stared at my reflection all sorts of thoughts went through my head. The Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters, snooker balls, cheese-graters, wine bottles and then kestrels. I thought about the word kestrel for a few moments and said it to my reflection, putting emphasis on the final syllable. ‘KestREL…kestREL!…kestREL.’ I was very stoned. I splashed my face with water and wiped my hands on the hand towel that hung next to the sink. I told myself a few more times that being weird equalled no tits. I really wanted to see those tits.

When I opened the bathroom door I was greeted by a pair of glowing green eyes that stared at me. I thought of the scene in Pulp Fiction when John Travolta walks out of the toilet to find Bruce Willis stood before him holding a machine-gun. The cat stared at me.

‘Hello boy,’ I said, trying to be nice. ‘Rocky isn’t it?’ Just the way I said that made me laugh; like I was some retired Spitfire pilot and the cat was an old friend. If I had been in a film right then the cat would have said something like, ‘What the hell are you doing in my bathroom.’ I was stoned enough to believe I could have been in a film. The cat just stared at me so I knelt down and made some psss sounds, but it stayed still, staring, unblinking, eyes green.

‘Come here boy,’ I said. ‘Come here Rocky. Come on Rock…you bum!’ It stayed still so I left it alone and made my way carefully downstairs. I was in the clumsy stoned stage now where the act of walking had to be thought about.

When I walked into the living room I saw that Jess was asleep. Her mouth was open and she snored loudly. The simpleton cat slept on her chest.

‘Jess,’ I said quietly, unsure if I should wake her up or not. I poked her arm. No response. She was flat out. The joint was only half-smoked so I took it from the ashtray and lit it, taking in a large puff of weed. The music coming from her small CD player sounded nice and jazzy. I closed my eyes and danced around the living room for a while. The music sounded great! When I finished the spliff I stubbed it in the ashtray and then sat down. I was higher than the Empire State Building.

I closed my eyes and let images drift in and out of my mind. I thought of the Shawshank Redemption but instead of humans the characters were all cats. Byron Hadley was a huge Black tomcat and the character Red, played by Morgan Freeman was a small ginger tom. Jess’s cat Rocky played the Andy Dufrane character. Rita Hayworth and Raquel Welch were replaced by fluffy looking show cats with diamond studded collars. Instead of being brought bottles of Bohemian style beer after tarring the rooftop, the Shawshank cats drank ice cold milk like free cats courtesy of the hardest cat-screw that ever walked the turn at Shawshank State Prison. The cats sat and drank with the sun on their shoulders and even felt like free cats. Hell they could have been tarring the roof on one of their own houses.

I don’t know how long I closed my eyes for, but when I woke up I saw that I had been joined on the chair by Rocky. Jessica was stretched out now with the simpleton cat wrapped around her neck like a scarf. Rocky sat on the arm and stared at me. I blinked a few times to clear my eyes.

‘Hello boy,’ I said.

This cat looked miserable. I don’t know if cats suffer with depression but off they do then this cat was seriously depressed. It’s eyes sagged and when it meowed it felt as if it was saying, ‘just kill me please.’

I put my hand out and stroked its head. It made no response as if pleasure had long since been forgotten.

‘Oh you’re a sad one,’ I said.

The cat blinked.

‘Did you understand me just then?’

It blinked again.

Of course I knew this was just coincidence but it felt for a moment that the cat understood me.

‘Can you understand me?’

The cat did not blink this time. Instead it jumped off the chair onto the floor and walked to the door where it stopped and looked back at me. I stood up and followed the cat out to the front door where it stopped.

‘You want me to let you out?’

The cat made a purr sound and rubbed itself against my legs. Right then and there I knew what I was going to do.

Standing at the front door with the cat under my arm I felt for the handle and opened the front door. Cold air invited itself in and both me and the cat bathed in it. The weed had made me sensitive and I felt invigorated as the cool moonlight air passed over my arms, neck, and face. I stepped out of the house onto the driveway and the cat became rigid. I patted its head and reassured it.

‘Don’t worry Rocky,’ I said. ‘Your’e ok.’

I looked up at the sky and took in the wonder of the heavens. I would never usually say something like the ‘wonder of the heavens,’ but that’s how it felt looking at the stars through stoned eyes. I felt an overwhelming sense of my place in the cosmos and I wanted the cat to share that with me. I felt pretty certain that this must have been how John Denver felt when he wrote the Colorado Rocky Mountain High.

I pointed to the stars. ‘You see how small we are boy?’

The cat wriggled to get down so I tightened my grip as I walked towards the sound of the trickling water. I wondered if there was fish in the pond. I wanted the cat to see a real fish just once in its life. I wanted it to experience the outside like a free cat. I wanted it to see the stars and the bushes and the water fountain with its own eyes and not through the glass of the windows. Unfortunately I did not take into account how stoned I was and when we I walked towards the fountain I did not see the hose pipe that lay across the floor.

When I woke up I was in a hospital bed with a bandage wrapped around my head. Moments later a nurse walked into the room. ‘Oh well good morning,’ she said. She was African I think. ‘You have had a good sleep.’

‘Where am I?’

‘Saint James hospital.’

‘How?’

The nurse lifted my head and adjusted my pillow and then set my head down gently. She stood next to me and looked down onto me with gentle eyes. ‘You were brought in last night with a terrible wound to your head,’ she said. ‘You were out for the count!’

‘Who brought me?’

‘An ambulance crew.’

The nurse frowned a little. She picked up a folder from a small table next to a window and scanned through it. ‘A lady called Jessica found you unconscious next to her stone water fountain.’

‘I should call her.’

The nurse shook her head. ‘It says here that under no circumstance are you to contact her.’ She stared at me with less than gentle eyes now. ‘Did you two have a row or something?’

I shook my head. I felt sad for Jessica. But then I smiled as I thought of Rocky the cat exploring the world. I reminded myself that cats aren't meant to be caged and I felt good because I knew it was bad to keep him locked up. It felt good knowing that he would live a real life away from locked windows and doors day in day out.

‘You should be able to leave this evening,’ the nurse said. ‘The doctor will want to examine you first. Make sure you are all tickedyboo!’

Later that afternoon, I asked the nurse for my mobile phone. She gave it me but told me I had to take it outside to use it. I put on my dressing gown and walked through the reception area to the cold, grey November day. People stood by the door smoking.

When my phone came to life I saw twenty-seven missed calls, all from Jessica. She had not left any voice messages but had left three text messages. The first one was sent at 03.17h. It said, ‘where are you?’ The next message was sent at 03.27. It said, ‘where the fuck are you? The front door is wide open and I can’t find Rocky!’ The final text was sent at 09.37 that morning. It said, ‘I hope you are happy you bastard. I have just scooped up Rocky from the road outside my house.’

The End.

felixm
October 3rd, 2016, 02:48 AM
Good, Funny. Sorry, Rocky. And she sounded pretty hot. Keep writing, guy!

captflash76
October 16th, 2016, 08:33 PM
Hey Ian8777,

Normally I would have dropped this story after reading the first third, but a couple of things kept me reading. First, for most of my teenaged years I lived among many cats, none of the house variety, but strays my Mom would feed and the cats, being the smart felines they are, knew a good thing when they ate it and stuck around. After a while I got used to them and before long had names for each one.

Your story began at a slow pace and almost bogged down during the "weed scenes" when the protagonist gets stoned out of his gourd and begins to get stupid. This type of story might be "hip" but to me, an old geezer, they're a cop out as a rule. By the latter I mean an author using the drug "other world" scenario is using drugs as a crutch instead of using his or her imaginative talents to draw the reader into their world by means other than drugs and usually literary in nature. Fortunately, and my number two reason, was I was caught in a recollection of my own past and kept reading. Your story turned out to be very clever and the ending a total surprise. Congrat's on that accomplishment, that coming from someone who has written three novels and numerous short stories and studied writing for many years. I found no technical problems with your writing, in fact it was very good. I ended up enjoying the story and while the ending to most animal lovers would be considered sad, literarily speaking it was perfect ... or should I say purrrrfect. (Sorry, couldn't resist). cf :devilish: