A Catty Confession
S
o you think life must be a
dream for us cats? You humans
should try it. You toss us a ball or
a stick with a feather on the end
and say “Nice kitty.” If playing with
a tennis ball was all it took for me
to be happy, I’d agree. But I’ll go
on the record right now and tell
you that my life is a daily search
for a comfortable refuge, an
impenetrable fortress.
I live in the same house as a dog.
Not to mention another cat. Not to
mention a couple of birds.
It’s not enough that I am not
allowed to even look at those
birds. Or that I am encouraged to
play with the other cat, although
companion at best. But that dog!
She makes me nervous. I am sure I
will wind up on the couch of some
animal shrink.
If I venture out of the safe place
cat bed is) That Dog gives chase.
Part of me knows, deep down
inside, that she is playing—but
part of me doesn’t trust her and I
always make a run for the cat door
into the bedroom. My human tells
me I hyperventilate. I know my fur
on my back stands up. I must look
a fright. It’s because I feel a fright.
I could spend my life entirely in
“my” room. I could have all my
meals served there and see no
one except my favorite human,
their life in a bunker. That dog is
not a Nazi. I don’t have to fear
If I could just get over the fear…
I am sneaking out now. I look
around furtively, then I pick myself
up, tail high, and stroll casually
into the kitchen.
Mmm! Someone left a dish of
cookies for me. I’m going to enjoy
myself, no matter what may come.
That’s the issue—life must be
savored for the moment. Although
I have this nameless fear of a larger
other carnivores) I have to put that
fear on the back burner if I want to
experience any joy.
I hear the rattle of a dog collar.
She’s shaking herself in that
insouciant way that dogs do.
I can believe myself to be just as
carefree. Humans talk of animal
rights. Well, I think I must write
the statement on feline rights. It
begins with our right to just stretch
out and yawn…
Uh oh…here she comes.
I am going to hold my ground.
BRRRK!
Survival instinct wins again. I make
a run for the cat door.
I am safe in my shelter.
But I think I have won a victory of
sorts.
This time it took me one whole
minute before I ran.
18
Shortlisted Story
Lynne Bronstein
[email protected]
Lynne Bronstein has written four
books of poetry, Astray from
Normalcy, Roughage, Thirsty in
the Ocean, and Border Crossings.
She works as a newspaper reporter
for the Culver City Observer,
has written for numerous music
magazines and web sites, has
in
numerous
magazines
and
Poetic Diversity’s Fiction Contest in
of appreciation from two nonadults and children in writing and
was nominated for a Pushcart
Prize for poetry in 2014.