she isn’t dying.
I groan, rolling to my back, mouth opening in an exaggerated yawn, pink tongue licking the air.
Blink at the ceiling.
No one comes to scratch my belly.
An irritated ear twitches, and I crane my neck to peer over at Girl, who still has those loud noises coming out of her mouth.
I dig deep into my belly and push out a loud purr, glance over at Girl.
No one comes to scratch my belly.
Fucking A, how hard is this going to be? Am I going to have to get up and walk over? It’s cold in this godforsaken room and the sun isn’t shining anymore. It’s dark and chilly and Boy is sitting on my blanket.
Bastard.
Except.
There is that shrimp…
Clearly no one is going to hand-deliver it, more’s the pity, so a trip across the room seems to be the only way I’ll get my furry paws on a single morsel.
Screw the kibble.
Rolling to my feet, I manage to rise. Shake out my luscious mane like a white tiger on the Serengeti before stretching. Yawn.
Shake again.
Lick my paw.
Strut forward gracefully, amber eyes—the ones that have Girl spellbound—fixated on the white container in Boy’s large hand.
Give it up, pretty boy.
I lick my chops.
“Ouoiutoiua kitty, kitty.” Girl’s mouth is moving and sound is coming out; she finally gives me the attention I deserve, but I have no interest in her just yet.
I jump onto the couch, into Boy’s lap.
Another loud screech from his mouth hole and I startle, ears pulling back.
Keep your hole closed while you’re feeding me, human. The last thing I need to hear is your intolerable voice. I’m not as impressed with him as Girl is, groaning from deep inside my chest. I don’t like it when he talks, but I do like it when he feeds me.
I deserve better than to be kept waiting.
“Get him off my lap,” Boy whines, annoying voice more high-pitched than before. I’m surprised I can understand him; normally I can only pick up bits and pieces of what Girl is saying, unless it’s Good kitty or Pretty Desi or That’s my good girl.
All the words I’ve learned have been from the talking box Girl watches when she comes back to the house after leaving me to lounge all day.
I don’t know where she goes, but when she comes home, she changes her clothes, feeds me, then sits on her side of the couch and watches TV. Then when it gets dark and she begins yawning, too, we watch TV on the big bed in her room.
“It’s a she.” Girl corrects him for the hundredth time, but actually, Boy is right—I am not a girl.
I am, in fact, a male feline.
Problem is, I have so much luxurious, fluffy fur, they couldn’t find my balls when they were checking me, so—I’m Duchess Desdemona McPurrs-A-Lot.
Worst fucking name on the list of kitty names.
Desdemona? I have no choice but to occasionally exhibit a bit of evil…
Oddly enough, I’m partial to the name Boy has been calling me—Pussy of Terror.
I lick my paw. “Meow.”
“OIAuoiugoiug off me!” Boy cries, and I can barely understand what the fuck he’s saying, he’s speaking so fast. So high-pitched, so loud and panicked. His eyes are as wide as the time Girl stuck me in the bathtub and I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror before she snapped a photo of my bulging eyes and posted it on her little phone.
“IUOIUB afiougoiug gouddig precious Desi.” Girl pats me on the top of my head, stroking my supple fur.
I might not understand a fucking thing she’s saying, but Girl knows what’s up.
She thinks I’m wonderful and pretty.
Because I am.
I paw at the box in Boy’s hands and he makes another strangled sound, moving so fast I almost fall to the carpet.
Hmm.
Being coy and cute is not going to work on Boy.
He doesn’t like me.
No bother. I want shrimp, and no amount of noise from his face is going to stop me from trying to get it.
I dream about seafood all day, every day. That, and snacking on a delicious songbird. The occasional squirrel, though they look like they’d take too much effort to catch.
I swipe through the air with my paw, imagining my nails like tiny swords of glory.
Swipe, swipe—that’s how I’d go after my prey if I were let loose in the park…
“Shit, iouoijaoiut fjoiaug this fucking cat.”
“Be nice!” I understand Girl shouting that, albeit a bit too loudly. I do love her stinky face.
She reeks like perfume and whatever is in those