1,000 Words worth: A cat tale

Each Friday, [tweetthis]I post a photo and a bit of flash fiction. I keep the words brief because, you know, “a picture is worth a 1,000….” [/tweetthis] To find out more click here.   Regular readers might remember my stories about Ray and Marla from other photo I took along my commute to the south side of Chicago. Today I am inspired, instead, by my cat.  Not to worry, I’m confident that Ray and Marla will return and we’ll both discover what’s happening in their world.  But for now, a bit of cat-fancy levity. For more flash-fiction, click on the noun category “Photo Friday” found on the side panel. (If you’re viewing on a smart-phone or tablet, depending on your device, this may be in a different location.) I know, I know, Photo Friday is not really a noun category like people, places, and things.

A Russian Blue has responsibilities. Even when that means responding to the ridiculous name, Fluffy.  My name is actually Zasha, “Defender of Mankind.” I’m the father of six kits, all of whom are rambunctious, untrained little fluff balls, some still waiting for their name to become apparent. Drat!  Did I just call my children fluff balls?  No matter.

Today’s lesson: transporting a kill and placing it at Man’s feet.  Man must eat and he has no claws or sharp teeth, and is utterly incapable of following flight patterns of birds or fish.  I’ve seen mine try. Pointing out the window at a bird or a fish in the water garden, waving and giving himself away.  Don’t get me started on Man’s reaction to rodents. Really. So helpless.

“Over here, kits. Let’s practice with this slipper.  Grab a hold here at the heel.  You’re still pretty little, so you’ll need to straddle the slipper and let it drag under your belly between your paws.  Petr, pay attention.” Looks like one kit’s name has claimed him. “No, not that boxelder bug, Kaarina.”  Another name. Well I’ll be.  If we keep up like this, we may have the whole litter named before dinner. “Man will never eat that.” The smell is atrocious. “Drop it. Now.”

I wonder where their mother is.  “Kaija, Kaija.” Oh there she is. Napping again. As if her only job is to eat, sleep, and lay on her side while the kits nurse. Oh, there they go. At this rate,  I’ll never get them trained.