The Cat Sat On the Mat
Paws for thought.
“Stop pussyfooting around with that rodent and do some serious writing.”
“Yes, that thingamajig that you call the ‘mouse’”.
In my study there is no room to swing a cat but now, in view of a sudden phantasmagoric apparition, I cannot ignore the elephant in the room.
I don’t believe in ghosts but the disembodied voice that I am hearing is unmistakeably that of my dearly departed pussycat.
How can you tell, you may ask, did she talk to you when she was alive?
Well yes, in a manner of speaking. She was always nagging me – a typical trait of the species – and, in imperious tones she would order: feed me, open the door as I want to go out. Then would scratch the door to be let in if I didn’t pay attention to her lugubrious wail. An absolute nightmare.
“All right, go on, stick the knife in”, she now interjects, “why don’t you cat-alogue, all the cat-aclysms or cat-astrophe that I have caused?”
Either I am imagining all this or I’m going round the bend as I don’t think my furry pet was a would-be comedian or a stammering feline.
I remember her as a fat, indolent moggy who lay on my laptop’s keyboard or sat on the mouse mat most of the time, when indoor, so that I didn’t have a cat’s in hell chance to do any writing, serious or otherwise.
When outdoor, though, she was altogether different; a wild creature acting like the proverbial cat on hot bricks. She teased all the ardent suitors, playing a game of cat and mouse, challenging them.
“Cat-ch me if you can!”
“Now that you have let the cat out of the bag, you’ve ruined my reputation”. she grumbles, “I shall never live it down.”
“Live it?”, I exclaim, “Aren’t you pushing up daisies?”, I add unkindly.
“Aren’t you forgetting that we have nine lives?”, she says cattily.
“Haha! You intend to use your last one?”
My sarcasm goes down like a lead balloon.
“Oh yes. Cat-egorically.”
I believe that her mournful cat-erwauling is a cat-harsis for releasing her anger.
© Luigi Pagano 2020