Sneak Attack
Ginger was the friskiest kitten of all her siblings, jumping on them while they were either sleeping or sucking from their mama's belly. She was the master of sneak attacks.
She slept inside the crook of Mom's leg every night, her body twisted like a pretzel dipped in orange cream. Unfortunately, Dad terminated the lovefest and introduced Ginger to her new apartment -- the basement.
"That damn cat gets more attention than I do," he grumbled.
Ginger retaliated every morning by howling and thumping her paws against the basement door until someone freed her. Somehow she knew that her cries interrupted his tete-a-tete with coffee and the newspaper.
Whenever Dad and Mom argued, she meowed and swatted his pant leg. Translation: "You're making her cry!"
Ginger's next target was Mom -- that is whenever Mom left the house. After she returned, she tapped the window to greet Ginger on the sill in her cooked turkey position. The cat looked the other way. Translation: "You left me alone with him, and after I defended you!"
The day the vet injected the needle, I was not with her. Neither was Mom. We couldn't bring ourselves to go. The person who was with her was the last person Ginger wanted to see. That night, a tear rolled down his face as he glanced at the basement door. Mom whispered to me, "That's the only time I've seen your father cry."
Like I said, Ginger was the master of sneak attacks.
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*Note: This short story was published in The Lascaux Review in March 2014.
She slept inside the crook of Mom's leg every night, her body twisted like a pretzel dipped in orange cream. Unfortunately, Dad terminated the lovefest and introduced Ginger to her new apartment -- the basement.
"That damn cat gets more attention than I do," he grumbled.
Ginger retaliated every morning by howling and thumping her paws against the basement door until someone freed her. Somehow she knew that her cries interrupted his tete-a-tete with coffee and the newspaper.
Whenever Dad and Mom argued, she meowed and swatted his pant leg. Translation: "You're making her cry!"
Ginger's next target was Mom -- that is whenever Mom left the house. After she returned, she tapped the window to greet Ginger on the sill in her cooked turkey position. The cat looked the other way. Translation: "You left me alone with him, and after I defended you!"
The day the vet injected the needle, I was not with her. Neither was Mom. We couldn't bring ourselves to go. The person who was with her was the last person Ginger wanted to see. That night, a tear rolled down his face as he glanced at the basement door. Mom whispered to me, "That's the only time I've seen your father cry."
Like I said, Ginger was the master of sneak attacks.
_________________________________________________________________________________
*Note: This short story was published in The Lascaux Review in March 2014.
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