Writing Boot Camp has become #FictionFriday! Each week I'll be picking a prompt and exercising my fiction muscles. This week's prompt is brought to you by 642 Things to Write About.
Today's prompt: A scene from the cat's point of view.
That woman was back again.
Oliver could see her from his hidey-hole under the couch. Her voice was high pitched, especially when she giggled. When she talked to him, she used words like "kitty-witty-witty" and "fluffer-McFluffkins".
Oliver did not like her.
Oliver's roommate, Ben, brought home lots of girls. They came and went, but Oliver didn't really mind. As long as Ben was there to fill his food dish, supply his kitty nibble treats, and roll his jingle ball around, Oliver was happy. But then this woman showed up and things started to change.
Ben starting going away for the weekend. Sure, he left extra food and water, but it wasn't fresh. Three-day old cat good did not taste good. And no treats for days! And the woman started bringing things in. One day, Oliver took a leap on to his favorite windowsill to snooze in the sun and found it covered in stuff--candles and little vases and little framed photos. He fell right off the windowsill and darted under the bed, alarmed. This woman was making her mark. Oliver had to do something about it.
First he stole the funny little brush she put on her eyes every morning. Then he knocked all those stupid little things off the shelf. And then he rolled around on her clean laundry. And then he sat smugly and washed his paws.
It irritated her, Oliver could tell. But she didn't leave.
The final straw came one night, after Oliver had his dinner and collected his nibbles, he trotted off towards the bedroom to settle down on the bed for the night.
"Oh, no, kitty," cooed the woman. "No kitty-witty in the bedroom tonight! I just bought a new chenille blanket and we don't need kitty hair on it!" And she shut the bedroom door, squashing Oliver's face.
"Mrrrroooooow!" Oliver yowled at the door. He scratched at the door. Nothing. He howled louder. Louder and louder, until finally he was screeching at the top of his cat lungs.
"Oliver!" Ben came out of the bedroom and scooped his up. Oliver swatted at him with his paw and tried to lunge at the woman's sleeping form.
"Oh, no you don't," Ben said, quickly shutting the door.
"Meeeeeeer," Oliver growled under his breath.
"I know, I know, you don't like her," Ben said, sitting down on the couch with the cat in his lap. Oliver glared at the shut bedroom. Didn't like her? That was an understatement. He wanted to use her pants as a scratching post. He wanted to attack her ankles. He wanted to hack up a hairball in her shoes. He wanted--
"It's okay, calm down," He scratched him under the chin like he knew Oliver liked so much. Oliver tried to stay mad, but it felt good.
"The problem is, I like her," Ben said. "Do you think you can at least try?"
Oliver growled again, and Ben laughed.
"Okay, okay," Ben said. "I'll work on her." He laid a blanket on the couch and went back to bed.
Oliver settled down on the blanket. He was comfortable...but not as comfortable as he would be on the bed.
"Where did you go?" Oliver heard the woman asked.
"Just settling the cat down," Ben said.
"Why? I mean...he's just a cat."
Oliver started to growl again. He hopped down, walked over to the kitchen counter, and swatted at the strap of her purse until it fell. He then started to systematically paw the contents under the couch: keys, cell phone, packs of gum.
Lady, Oliver thought, it's on.