Yesterday, when it was cold and wet and the storm was dying down, I saw my cat sitting on the kitchen mat. Her golden eyes were fixed on the glass of the kitchen door and she sniffed nervously at her custom-built kitty door. I could read the distress in the flick of her tail as she weighed the discomfort of needing to relieve herself in the flowerbed against the fear of getting wet in the rain and wind.
“mew, squeak”, she said to me as I asked her what was wrong. Her tailed flicked once more and with an upturned nose, about-faced into the living room. I followed her, morning coffee in hand to the edge of the sofa, where she had positioned herself for what I suspected would be a morning of daytime television.
I changed the channel to the news and weather and saw that the storm would blow itself out by lunchtime.
As I collected my keys, handbag and rail pass, I quickly kissed my pampered pet on the head. “Goodbye critter. ” I said and wrapping my scarf around my neck (a recent birthday present), headed out the door.
I wandered across the wet pavement and began to wonder. How does my cat occupy her days? Just how uncomfortable is it for her to get wet? Does she find it hard to do her business in the flowerbed when the ground is damp? Does she ever get visits from other neighbourhood cats? Does she scratch the sofa when I’m gone or only as a means of getting attention? How does she perceive the world and does she actually miss me or just my function as a head and back massage therapist?
Just for fun. Write a narrative from the point of view of a pet left at home for a couple of days.