Feeding the Animals

My dog knows she is the dog.  She is very doglike in that she obeys and tries to please me.     

My cat, while very catlike, is another matter entirely.  Damnable wretched beastly cat.  I don’t know why I’ve put up with him all this time.  So ungrateful. 

I put him out at night, and he resents this.  He shouldn’t; he’s a cat.  He should be happy.  He gets to kill things.  He kills mice and rats and regrettably, birds and occasionally squirrels.  But at night, he always wants in.  He lurks by the back door, and sometime around 2:00 AM he entices the dog over and begins, through the door, to tell dirty jokes while smoking cigarettes and performing card tricks.  He spits and swears.  He makes up words.  He yowls, of all things.

It gets my dog agitated and she begins to whimper and cry.  She might have to go, after all, so I let her out and the cat bolts in.  I track the cat down and put him out but the dog’s run off so I either wait up which is ridiculous or crawl back into bed and sleep poorly because I’m such an ogre and I’m worried about the dog and finally I get up and she’s back and when I let her in the cat bolts in again and I track him down and put him out again and by this time I am thoroughly awake and unable to sleep at all. 

Or I can leave the cat in because I refuse to chase him.  I go back to bed and of course they have what they wanted all along and they start fooling around banging and roaring up and down the hall and then it is daylight and time to get up.  They do it just to annoy me. 

But now, everything has changed.

There’s been a terrible storm.  After weeks of rain of biblical proportions the soil became saturated and the trees have relaxed their grip.  Then there came a big wind out of the north with arctic air and heavy snow.  It’s very cold out.  All the lines are down, trees are uprooted and smashed everywhere and no one can get through and I’m completely cut off, without so much as a phone.  There are a million and a half people without power in a four county area down valley and in the plains below.  I’m up here alone at the end of a circuit.  It could be weeks. 

This is very unfortunate, because I’ve accidentally stabbed myself in the knee and I hobble badly.  In fact, today I can hardly put weight on the leg.  I’ve got my game face on-I have to keep the fire going.  I try not to look at the swelling.  I cleaned the wound and dressed it but it’s infected.  I need help and help is not forthcoming.

The cat’s been looking at me with bright eyed interest - sitting up even - as I stiffly lurch into the front room.  My dog believes she is my pet, but I see her looking at the cat now for cues.  She finds it all too easy to morally waffle.  I’m disappointed in her.  My pets communicate in that unspoken language of knowing.   I think that’s rude.  The dog is confused.  The cat watches my deterioration.  I hope he is not the shameless opportunist that he appears to be...

Now, I am frightened.  The cat has taken to comfortably licking his paw as I struggle into the room.  In other words, he is ignoring me.  This is very bad.  He ignores me the way he ignores wounded mice.  With mice, he looks away, lost in the bliss of the kill, seemingly forgetting them as they struggle to their death, savoring the end, wishing they’d recover, so he could kill them again.  He likes the ineffectual scrambling, the futile attempts to escape, under the calculating aloofness of his steely gaze.  Sometimes, in the summer, when the windows are open, I can hear little things scream.

I fix myself dinner. I have my polar fleece and a wool hat and a down coat. I have my radio, which I don’t turn on much as the batteries grow weak.  The crews are making progress but not fast enough, I think.  There is a quarter inch of ice on the inside of the windows now.  I shiver near the stove.  Even though the fire is out, it seems warmer near it.  I busted up the few chairs and the table with my axe, and even the cabinet doors, but that’s all gone now.  I haven’t been able to build a fire at this point for two days, as I can’t get out and get firewood. 

I’m having cold beans and slightly moldy bread.  It’s pretty good.  Tomorrow, I’ll have cheese and soda pop.  There’s an almost full pack of Lipton’s onion soup left.  The day after that I will have Tang and soybeans.  I have licorice, and a couple of onions that still have good hearts, unlike my pets.  Of course, three days from now, I will have to start on the dog food, if I can still make it to the pantry.  There is a quarter bag left.  Better that than the cat food.  After that I don’t know.   

 My pets, with their fur coats are content, knowing that one way or another, I’ll be there for them.        

I have to, hopefully believe, there is a continuation to this story.  So why don't you post it and I can find out if I guess the ending correctly.  I have to know.  Thank you.

IJ, That's the triumph and tragedy of a story without a neat resolution.  You are going to have to supply your own ending in this particular case.  Thanks for reading it.  Charlie

Do more. Leave the endings to us.

Enjoyed the story, gave my cats an extra treat and had a nice warm glass of Tang. Tang is also good sprinkled on toast. You don't read a lot of stories with Tang in them.

That could be your calling card, like Hitchcock appearing in all his movies. Tang in every story.

Making a Tangeo appearance rather than Cameos?

Hmmmmm. It could just catch on!

Even astronauts enjoy Tang, and it rhymes with dang!

csharpe, I have to, of course, agree with you.  I was just being hopeful.  Good read.

Wicked! Just my style of story. I'll have to dig up some of your other stuff later when I have more time here. Thanks.

"The cat’s been looking at me with bright eyed interest - sitting up even - as I stiffly lurch into the front room.  My dog believes she is my pet, but I see her looking at the cat now for cues.  She finds it all too easy to morally waffle.  I’m disappointed in her.  My pets communicate in that unspoken language of knowing.   I think that’s rude.  The dog is confused.  The cat watches my deterioration.  I hope he is not the shameless opportunist that he appears to be..."

This was a hard paragraph to read for me. I like it the best maybe, with the dog's loyalty? wavering. You definitely got cats and dogs true characters well pegged in this. I got a bit lost in the he/she/the thing though - Sorry I can't be more constructive :)