My aunt’s cat just gave birth to seven kittens yesterday night. The family jokes that they were royal kittens because they were born on the same day as the new (possible) ruler of England. I imagine those kittens are too young to meow.
millie is a bit of a piece of shit sometimes, but at the very least she’s cute, you know because nothing is worse than an ugly cat. it’s true. on my honor. she likes to be the center of attention at all times especially when other animals are around, like when maya came to visit and she hissed until we took her out.
there was a dog an then there were two, and when my handle was miau, it sounded like everything i said was preluded by that miau, and then there was wooftroix, woofvier and woofcinque and finally woofsechs because it is truly original
“Alright,” I began, “I am fine with the idea of me being a mouse. Even at the start of all this, it wasn’t too strange a concept to understand. But what about you?” I gave Kitty a pointed look. “I’ve been here for the better part of a year, and aside from a few minor things, I’ve yet to see you act particularly cat-like.” I grimaced, steeling myself for what I was about to admit. “Everyone knows I’m easily startled, and I squeak when I’m surprised. Even I know how frequently I do that. But I’ve yet to here a single meow from you.”
Kitty gave me a haughty sort of look. “Me? Oh, I don’t meow. I’d never allow myself to allow myself to make such an undignified sound.” He looked even more smug than usual – if that was even possible – and only prior experience prevented me from going up to him and slapping that condescending smirk from his lips.
“He does purr, though,” Blaine added thoughtfully as he continued cleaning the tea set. Then he chuckled, and his tanned face turned faintly pink. “And you should hear him roar.”
To his credit, Kitty barely flinched at Blaine’s words – though it did seem, to me, that his usually impeccable posture wilted almost imperceptibly.
I was nowhere near as graceful in my response, however. “Ew.” I closed my eyes and shook my head furiously in an attempt to get a certain mental image out of my head. “Too much information.”
cat baying, squabbling ,praying, waiting for a mouse pounce, feeling whiskery by the ounce. The cats pajamas are frayed and the knots leave no-one bound. But the plaintive, weak, mewling is the only cat like sound.
the timid sound of a cat, trying to peer around the corner, tiptoeing on its paws, unsure it if will be welcomed around this unknown corner. meow. now a little stronger, confident, founding it footing, and confirming its territory.
“Honey” he yelled down the hall into the kitchen. “Honey it’s… it’s here again.” He stared into the eyes of his nemesis and it stared back, licking it’s lips.
The cat jumped from the roof onto the cab of my truck. “Here kitty kitty.” I called and yet still the furry little best ran from me. As it ran and I chased, we dodged moving vehicles, children on bikes moving almost at the speed of light,
Meow in the box of the kitty litter, too many people watching. Can’t go. I’m not a cat, Oh God why am I here. Meow. Meow. Why do they all look at me, looking at me so intently. Am I that freakish, here in the box, the kitty litter box? I understand nothing, but I am pulled, so pulled by the scent. MEOW.
I cuddle the cat to my chest, stroking its ginger head. My hair is almost the same colour, but the eyes – the eyes are different.
Mewling softly in my arm, it squirms and I can’t help but cry. It sounds just like a child and I hate it.
Putting a free hand down onto my empty stomach, feeling the hollow womb in my abdomen, I sob.
Her meow surprised him, the soft sound like a question coming from under the cart. He kneeled at the side of the street. The wee cat looked up at him. He picked her up and set the thin cat on his shoulders.
“Most people travel with a dog, you know,” he said.
Every time she saw that cat all she could think of was that guy she used to date when she was ten. It was every time it mewed or miawoed that she grew most sad. Whatever happened to that guy? Last thing she heard he was working on some stall over at Coney Island. Or was that the guy she dated in first year at Rutgers?
i don’t like cats, except the hairless variety. at least, i thought i did. turns out i’m allergic to them as well. i imagine they’re pretty swell if they don’t make your eyes swell every time you get close, but most things would be better if not for little incongruities.
I heard the dark and hard meow of your cat last night, I listened too the Ninth Symphony while you were washing the blood of her in your hands and I could perceived from my window your footsteps in the wet ground of your garden when you were digging a big hole for her cadaver. I could’t believe it I could’t believe that one day I loved you.
She told them how in her younger years she had only one friend, a cat, and like herself it was not allowed outside without her father keeping an eye on them. He would even get angry if he heard it meow, as if it was talking back to him. She was not allowed to talk back to him either, but he punished her more severely than the cat.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing. Katniss looked at the world’s ugliest cat. Her tears were depleted to cry at anyhing that reminded her of Prim.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing again. That time its upright ear caught something cannot be heard by Katniss. “What?” thought Katniss.
“Meow.” Katniss imitated Buttercup. Buttercup eyes turned sharply. Very alerted.
“This is a waste!” Katniss woke up from his seat. Started walking for Greasy Sae in the kitchen. She needed something to eat Buttercup and herself, who had been so emaciated by the last war. By the last bomb, actually.
“Meow.” “What?” She turned to Buttercup.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing-not this time-it’s not meowing. Other cat maybe?
“Meow.” The voice from the opened door. There stood with blonde hair, fair skin, a pair of blue eyes and a smile. As fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named.
Prim. Prim came back. “Meow-hello, Katniss.”
The cat was hiding behind the door when I waked in, startling me as she slipped out with a small ‘meow.’ She’s always been a master at hiding. I think she must sit at home all day and daydream about new and exciting ways to startle me out of my wits. I mean, to be fair, what else is she going to do all day? Sitting in the window can only be entertaining for so many hours at a stretch, even for a cat. I bent over and scratched her ears lovingly, immediately starting her off purring, and tossed my purse on a chair as I headed inside to unwind from the day.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing. Katniss looked at the world’s ugliest cat. Her tears were depleted to cry at anything that reminded her of Prim.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing again. That time its upright ear caught something cannot be heard by Katniss. “What?” thought Katniss.
“Meow.” Katniss imitated Buttercup. Buttercup eyes turned sharply. Very alerted.
“This is a waste!” Katniss woke up from his seat. Started walking for Greasy Sae in the kitchen. She needed something to eat Buttercup and herself, who had been so emaciated by the last war. By the last bomb, actually.
“Meow.” “What?” She turned to Buttercup.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing-not this time-it’s not meowing. Other cat maybe?
“Meow.” The voice from the opened door.
There appeared as a pretty primrose princess, stood with blonde hair and a smile.
Prim. Prim came back. “Meow-hello, Katniss.”
It was forced, the way she said it all the time, as though it were a catch phrase: “Meow!” She thought it was cute, and some of the dimmer future-sperm-donors in their class thought so too, but Mary saw through it. It was a farce, a ploy at playing precious, an attempt to mimic some character the girl had caught on T.V. late one night while crying. It was sad; did she really think that animal noises could keep the emptiness at bay?
My cat purrs. His fur feels soft against my skin after he wobbles towards me on his little paws and curls around the crane of my neck. I can feel him kneading my head. A thin smile appears on my face as I think of how a creature of such bantam intelligence has the ability to love. Love, it unites all forms of life.
“Meow,” he says, the little thing with bright, bright blue eyes.
I was set. I was ready.
“You ready, Kat?” The teacher eyed me firmly.
I rubbed my hands confidently, “Ready.” I nodded.
I checked my cat costume tip-to-toe for the hundredth time.
Ears, face, paws, tail… Oh, that face! I couldn’t help but feel the furriness with my bulgy paws.
“…my dear, I must depart now. When you remember me in deep sorrow, look at the bright side of the world and do not worry about me…”
“Worry about you? Why you’re not the thing to bloody worry about! I’M the poor, wretched one here…”
“Yes, I know, my dear. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
“I mean I’ll be the poor soul left alone to worry about whether her husband will buy striped pyjamas instead of SPOTTED pyjamas. Do you know how much I hate stripes? I want spots, spots, SPOTS!”
As the screeching words and the laughter echoed, I practiced my ‘meow’ part.
It must be like imitating a real cat, I recalled my teacher’s words.
Suddenly, I felt a hard push behind me. Losing my step, I skipped uncontrollably forward, stopping myself right next to the end of the curtain. Recollecting myself, I turned up to hear the line…
“Kitty… kitty, where the devil are you?”
Mindlessly, I scurried to the stage. I was on the spotlight.
“Oh, there you are my kitty.” the actress said with a relieved look.
As I cleared my throat for the ‘meow’…. BANG! The theatre door flung open and crashed to the wall. A shooting gust of wind blasted into the room, snatching away all the warmth.
It was like a monster, an angrily crying monster searching for something… or someone.
“It’s the 23rd..”, I whispered to myself as memories start to flow along with my tears. Three years ago we were infinite, but now there is nothingness.
is it just a meow? are there no other words. this word rings in my head like chimes on a windy day. it wont go away no matter how hard i try. “Begone!”, I said as I invite it back once more.
is it just a meow? are there no other words. this word rings in my head like chimes on a windy day. it wont go away no matter how hard i try. “Begone!”, I said as I invite it back once more.
my past. it will stay my past. i hear or at least heard you every day. not from a cat. but a person that was once very dear to me but now so far away. Nebulas and galaxies apart.
“What is happening?”
Time was running out.
“What do I say to them?”
Time was running out.
“How do I do this?!”
Time was running out.
“Meow!”
The clock stopped.
Walking into the living room was probably the best part of the day, because here, at least, you were safe. No one telling you that you were doing the job wrong, no one shoving you along the street in the rain. You strip down to just skin and wet hair, seeking out the one soul who missed you. When she finds you, she calls out to you with a sly smirk. Her whiskers droop a bit at the scent of rain, but she purrs at your touch anyway.
my cat took my place after i left home this morning. the warm spot left on the bed following my departure. i know i’ll outlive her, but part of me hopes i don’t. it’s a funny state of mind. i wonder what she thinks about. i wonder how she feels about the way we live. i wish i could speak cat or she could speak english. oh what conversations we’d have.
in an act of desperation the small, fierce cat began meowing at the window. He was begging her to come back from work-only, she had no idea. I guess that’s kind of how I feel about you. i meow at the window. but you can’t hear me. Even if you could, you wouldn’t understand.
The sound of nails gliding across wood was heard behind the door. The house was old and every time he took a step towards the door the floor wailed beneath him. He heard a soft, “Meow.”
Thrumming purrs raced through the night, almost covered by the sound of the crickets. If I hadn’t heard one telltale “meow” rise above the rest of the background noise, I would’ve missed their presence completely.
the sound of the hungry cat staying with him for the day. they were both in the same situation. the fridge, the empty shelf, no money into their pocket, so with a last effort he cried his own meow back to the cruel world. “They deserve it!”, the cat backed him up.
I think about the only pet I used to play with even after midnight and how it would cuddle up next to me in cold nights, warming up. I think about how it licks it paws, about how it would let me massage them afterwards, about how I’d run my hands over his forehead and it would pretend to fall asleep to please me. I remember it and everything about it. Now I can’t do a single thing except remember.
My aunt’s cat just gave birth to seven kittens yesterday night. The family jokes that they were royal kittens because they were born on the same day as the new (possible) ruler of England. I imagine those kittens are too young to meow.
Meow is the sound of my dear Gina. Truthfully, I hate cats. I LOATHE them, but cats are gina, so I love the sound of meow.
millie is a bit of a piece of shit sometimes, but at the very least she’s cute, you know because nothing is worse than an ugly cat. it’s true. on my honor. she likes to be the center of attention at all times especially when other animals are around, like when maya came to visit and she hissed until we took her out.
there was a dog an then there were two, and when my handle was miau, it sounded like everything i said was preluded by that miau, and then there was wooftroix, woofvier and woofcinque and finally woofsechs because it is truly original
“Alright,” I began, “I am fine with the idea of me being a mouse. Even at the start of all this, it wasn’t too strange a concept to understand. But what about you?” I gave Kitty a pointed look. “I’ve been here for the better part of a year, and aside from a few minor things, I’ve yet to see you act particularly cat-like.” I grimaced, steeling myself for what I was about to admit. “Everyone knows I’m easily startled, and I squeak when I’m surprised. Even I know how frequently I do that. But I’ve yet to here a single meow from you.”
Kitty gave me a haughty sort of look. “Me? Oh, I don’t meow. I’d never allow myself to allow myself to make such an undignified sound.” He looked even more smug than usual – if that was even possible – and only prior experience prevented me from going up to him and slapping that condescending smirk from his lips.
“He does purr, though,” Blaine added thoughtfully as he continued cleaning the tea set. Then he chuckled, and his tanned face turned faintly pink. “And you should hear him roar.”
To his credit, Kitty barely flinched at Blaine’s words – though it did seem, to me, that his usually impeccable posture wilted almost imperceptibly.
I was nowhere near as graceful in my response, however. “Ew.” I closed my eyes and shook my head furiously in an attempt to get a certain mental image out of my head. “Too much information.”
cat baying, squabbling ,praying, waiting for a mouse pounce, feeling whiskery by the ounce. The cats pajamas are frayed and the knots leave no-one bound. But the plaintive, weak, mewling is the only cat like sound.
the timid sound of a cat, trying to peer around the corner, tiptoeing on its paws, unsure it if will be welcomed around this unknown corner. meow. now a little stronger, confident, founding it footing, and confirming its territory.
“Honey” he yelled down the hall into the kitchen. “Honey it’s… it’s here again.” He stared into the eyes of his nemesis and it stared back, licking it’s lips.
This means a sound of cat which happened to be a domestic animal.
The cat jumped from the roof onto the cab of my truck. “Here kitty kitty.” I called and yet still the furry little best ran from me. As it ran and I chased, we dodged moving vehicles, children on bikes moving almost at the speed of light,
“Get back here right meow!” shouted Mr. Pusskins. The students stared back at him blankly. They had long grown tired of his terrible puns.
Meow in the box of the kitty litter, too many people watching. Can’t go. I’m not a cat, Oh God why am I here. Meow. Meow. Why do they all look at me, looking at me so intently. Am I that freakish, here in the box, the kitty litter box? I understand nothing, but I am pulled, so pulled by the scent. MEOW.
I cuddle the cat to my chest, stroking its ginger head. My hair is almost the same colour, but the eyes – the eyes are different.
Mewling softly in my arm, it squirms and I can’t help but cry. It sounds just like a child and I hate it.
Putting a free hand down onto my empty stomach, feeling the hollow womb in my abdomen, I sob.
Her meow surprised him, the soft sound like a question coming from under the cart. He kneeled at the side of the street. The wee cat looked up at him. He picked her up and set the thin cat on his shoulders.
“Most people travel with a dog, you know,” he said.
The cat licked his face in reply.
market segmentation
The cat didn’t just meow. The cat demanded, and insulted, too. The cat’s meow said, “Get up, you lazy slut, and fetch me something to eat.”
Every time she saw that cat all she could think of was that guy she used to date when she was ten. It was every time it mewed or miawoed that she grew most sad. Whatever happened to that guy? Last thing she heard he was working on some stall over at Coney Island. Or was that the guy she dated in first year at Rutgers?
i don’t like cats, except the hairless variety. at least, i thought i did. turns out i’m allergic to them as well. i imagine they’re pretty swell if they don’t make your eyes swell every time you get close, but most things would be better if not for little incongruities.
I heard the dark and hard meow of your cat last night, I listened too the Ninth Symphony while you were washing the blood of her in your hands and I could perceived from my window your footsteps in the wet ground of your garden when you were digging a big hole for her cadaver. I could’t believe it I could’t believe that one day I loved you.
i knew you were lonely
but i could not brave the cold and rain
to seek you out from under the car
and offer you my hand.
She told them how in her younger years she had only one friend, a cat, and like herself it was not allowed outside without her father keeping an eye on them. He would even get angry if he heard it meow, as if it was talking back to him. She was not allowed to talk back to him either, but he punished her more severely than the cat.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing. Katniss looked at the world’s ugliest cat. Her tears were depleted to cry at anyhing that reminded her of Prim.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing again. That time its upright ear caught something cannot be heard by Katniss. “What?” thought Katniss.
“Meow.” Katniss imitated Buttercup. Buttercup eyes turned sharply. Very alerted.
“This is a waste!” Katniss woke up from his seat. Started walking for Greasy Sae in the kitchen. She needed something to eat Buttercup and herself, who had been so emaciated by the last war. By the last bomb, actually.
“Meow.” “What?” She turned to Buttercup.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing-not this time-it’s not meowing. Other cat maybe?
“Meow.” The voice from the opened door. There stood with blonde hair, fair skin, a pair of blue eyes and a smile. As fresh as a raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named.
Prim. Prim came back. “Meow-hello, Katniss.”
The cat was hiding behind the door when I waked in, startling me as she slipped out with a small ‘meow.’ She’s always been a master at hiding. I think she must sit at home all day and daydream about new and exciting ways to startle me out of my wits. I mean, to be fair, what else is she going to do all day? Sitting in the window can only be entertaining for so many hours at a stretch, even for a cat. I bent over and scratched her ears lovingly, immediately starting her off purring, and tossed my purse on a chair as I headed inside to unwind from the day.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing. Katniss looked at the world’s ugliest cat. Her tears were depleted to cry at anything that reminded her of Prim.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing again. That time its upright ear caught something cannot be heard by Katniss. “What?” thought Katniss.
“Meow.” Katniss imitated Buttercup. Buttercup eyes turned sharply. Very alerted.
“This is a waste!” Katniss woke up from his seat. Started walking for Greasy Sae in the kitchen. She needed something to eat Buttercup and herself, who had been so emaciated by the last war. By the last bomb, actually.
“Meow.” “What?” She turned to Buttercup.
“Meow.” Buttercup meowing-not this time-it’s not meowing. Other cat maybe?
“Meow.” The voice from the opened door.
There appeared as a pretty primrose princess, stood with blonde hair and a smile.
Prim. Prim came back. “Meow-hello, Katniss.”
It was forced, the way she said it all the time, as though it were a catch phrase: “Meow!” She thought it was cute, and some of the dimmer future-sperm-donors in their class thought so too, but Mary saw through it. It was a farce, a ploy at playing precious, an attempt to mimic some character the girl had caught on T.V. late one night while crying. It was sad; did she really think that animal noises could keep the emptiness at bay?
My cat purrs. His fur feels soft against my skin after he wobbles towards me on his little paws and curls around the crane of my neck. I can feel him kneading my head. A thin smile appears on my face as I think of how a creature of such bantam intelligence has the ability to love. Love, it unites all forms of life.
“Meow,” he says, the little thing with bright, bright blue eyes.
I smile and scratch him under his chin.
I was set. I was ready.
“You ready, Kat?” The teacher eyed me firmly.
I rubbed my hands confidently, “Ready.” I nodded.
I checked my cat costume tip-to-toe for the hundredth time.
Ears, face, paws, tail… Oh, that face! I couldn’t help but feel the furriness with my bulgy paws.
“…my dear, I must depart now. When you remember me in deep sorrow, look at the bright side of the world and do not worry about me…”
“Worry about you? Why you’re not the thing to bloody worry about! I’M the poor, wretched one here…”
“Yes, I know, my dear. You’ll be fine, I promise.”
“I mean I’ll be the poor soul left alone to worry about whether her husband will buy striped pyjamas instead of SPOTTED pyjamas. Do you know how much I hate stripes? I want spots, spots, SPOTS!”
As the screeching words and the laughter echoed, I practiced my ‘meow’ part.
It must be like imitating a real cat, I recalled my teacher’s words.
Suddenly, I felt a hard push behind me. Losing my step, I skipped uncontrollably forward, stopping myself right next to the end of the curtain. Recollecting myself, I turned up to hear the line…
“Kitty… kitty, where the devil are you?”
Mindlessly, I scurried to the stage. I was on the spotlight.
“Oh, there you are my kitty.” the actress said with a relieved look.
As I cleared my throat for the ‘meow’…. BANG! The theatre door flung open and crashed to the wall. A shooting gust of wind blasted into the room, snatching away all the warmth.
It was like a monster, an angrily crying monster searching for something… or someone.
“It’s the 23rd..”, I whispered to myself as memories start to flow along with my tears. Three years ago we were infinite, but now there is nothingness.
is it just a meow? are there no other words. this word rings in my head like chimes on a windy day. it wont go away no matter how hard i try. “Begone!”, I said as I invite it back once more.
is it just a meow? are there no other words. this word rings in my head like chimes on a windy day. it wont go away no matter how hard i try. “Begone!”, I said as I invite it back once more.
my past. it will stay my past. i hear or at least heard you every day. not from a cat. but a person that was once very dear to me but now so far away. Nebulas and galaxies apart.
“What is happening?”
Time was running out.
“What do I say to them?”
Time was running out.
“How do I do this?!”
Time was running out.
“Meow!”
The clock stopped.
Walking into the living room was probably the best part of the day, because here, at least, you were safe. No one telling you that you were doing the job wrong, no one shoving you along the street in the rain. You strip down to just skin and wet hair, seeking out the one soul who missed you. When she finds you, she calls out to you with a sly smirk. Her whiskers droop a bit at the scent of rain, but she purrs at your touch anyway.
my cat took my place after i left home this morning. the warm spot left on the bed following my departure. i know i’ll outlive her, but part of me hopes i don’t. it’s a funny state of mind. i wonder what she thinks about. i wonder how she feels about the way we live. i wish i could speak cat or she could speak english. oh what conversations we’d have.
in an act of desperation the small, fierce cat began meowing at the window. He was begging her to come back from work-only, she had no idea. I guess that’s kind of how I feel about you. i meow at the window. but you can’t hear me. Even if you could, you wouldn’t understand.
The sound of nails gliding across wood was heard behind the door. The house was old and every time he took a step towards the door the floor wailed beneath him. He heard a soft, “Meow.”
Thrumming purrs raced through the night, almost covered by the sound of the crickets. If I hadn’t heard one telltale “meow” rise above the rest of the background noise, I would’ve missed their presence completely.
the sound of the hungry cat staying with him for the day. they were both in the same situation. the fridge, the empty shelf, no money into their pocket, so with a last effort he cried his own meow back to the cruel world. “They deserve it!”, the cat backed him up.
“You’re the cat’s meow” she whispered silently under her breath.
The chilly air made her voice visible under the night sky.
He put his arm around her waist and held her tightly next to him.
There was something about her that made him want to keep her safe.
Underneath the universe, earth floats by
we’re all microscopic underneath the giant eye
Nothing is real said the cat
Then he jumped off the tree
and landed like an acrobat
I think about the only pet I used to play with even after midnight and how it would cuddle up next to me in cold nights, warming up. I think about how it licks it paws, about how it would let me massage them afterwards, about how I’d run my hands over his forehead and it would pretend to fall asleep to please me. I remember it and everything about it. Now I can’t do a single thing except remember.