Wednesday, August 17, 2016
His name was Big Boy
and he was black, fluffy and regal.
Imperiously, he would miaow to go out,
and switch his frothy tail,
that had a kink in it.
Her name was Grandma
and she had a wicked sense of humour.
She would open the screen door enticingly:
soft summer morning air,
inviting green grass where he ardently needed to go........
memory of the screen door slapping on his tail
not all, but some of, the other times.
He would calculate:
the depth of his urgent need,
the space from here to the door,
how swiftly the door would slam
once she let it go.
Would this be one of the times?
Dare he trust her for a pain-free exit?
Life is so random.
scented air, pressing bladder, her smiling invitation,
"Come on, Big Boy," so sweet and lilting,
her hand just waiting to let go.
And he would streak, screen door would slam,
an outraged yowl of pain and betrayal,
Grandma chortling back to the kitchen.
All quiet. Until the next time.
This now horrifies me, on the one hand, but Grandma's sense of humour was so zany - and infectious - that I can't help smiling at the memory. Poor Big Boy! Life is such a crap shoot. For Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Cats