Creative Writing Class: Meowmeowmeow - Fiction Unit

Day 7

To be honest, I'm getting fed up of playing with this piece of string. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the sound of his voice, my purr even –because only his touch would make me do that. I hate to see my owner sad. Really, I hate when he feels bad; he could just meow a lot like I do, it’s always cheered me up. Please, just shake this string over my face. I don’t understand how it can just dangle off this thing…

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Day 1

Is today going to be the day, big boy? Yes. Today is the day the house turns from having two residents to having three. He has been staring at that little black box for a couple months now, slowly gaining the courage to go up and ask her. A homemade dinner lay out upon his table, with expensive wine glasses and a bottle of Champagne. He finally put that black dress shirt on, the one his mother picked out for this special date. The girl must be mad if she can’t tell from one look at him what he’s going to do. She’s always been a cool girl; never nagged about him wearing sweats everyday, even when she brought him to church with her mother. It’s wonderful to see him out of them. He shook as he poured milk into my saucer. While nudging his pant leg with my head, I heard him dial the phone with a nervous voice saying she should come over.

Once he heard a knock at the door, he shoved the box into his pocket and rushed to the door. He tried welcoming her in; moving his lips close to her’s, but she moved her head and became out of his reach.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She nodded with a frozen scared expression. “… It’s my grandmother.”

“Is she—”

“No.”

“Coming close?”

“Afraid so.”

“How bad is it?”

“She could pass away any moment.”

He hugged her tightly, and said without letting go, “Are you going to Winnipeg then?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?”

“Flight leaves at midnight.”

He let go of her body and grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry dear, we can do this when you get back.”

“I won’t be coming back.”

“I can go with y—” I rubbed body against him, knowing this would end terribly.

“Baby listen, it’s just that I—I really can’t focus on you right now, she really needs me.”

“But won’t you come back when she’s …”

A dirty look appeared on her face.

“Right… I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Baby, you do mean a lot to me but she really needs me. I plan to get her better, and if not, I’ll have to live there with my granddad. It’s not like he’ll be very well if that happens. And I can’t just expect you to pack up and leave everything. Think about it; are we even that serious about each other? We never talked about marriage, it’s not like we were planning to be together forever, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said, moving his arm from her’s and hugging him.

“Right.”

My purring was the only sound through their five-minute stare. After a long heartless kiss, she walked down the hall quickly, knowing his eyes were on her. Once she left his sight, he slammed the door and walked in a slouch to the couch where he would sleep for fourteen hours.


Day 2

Why hasn’t he said a word? He didn’t even greet me this afternoon when he woke up. I’m probably better for him than she was, anyways. If he is this sad shouldn’t he go out and find another woman, the way the bunnies do? I really wish he’d stop moping around.

He keeps listening to the bitterest songs. They’re not helping him get over this at all. He should chase mice with me instead. He hasn’t even cleaned up the food, and when I try to eat it for him, he shoos me away. This isn’t the way to keep a memory of her.

Day 3

Why does he keep sleeping? He hasn’t fed me in two days and he hasn’t eaten anything either. Perhaps if he left the window open I could escape to catch the two of us a delicious bird dinner. That would definitely cheer him up. But how can he open it when he won’t get off the couch. He sleeps more than I do. If I licked him with my scratchy tongue, maybe that’s what it’d take for him to notice me… nope. Perhaps it’s time to bite him and taste his sour blood….


Day 4

Who is he talking to? I woke up in a curled up ball at the edge of his bed to find him kneeling against it, whispering with his hands folded.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…” is how he started off. “If she comes back I swear I’ll do anything. I’ll go to church. I’ll visit my mom. I won’t wank it to pictures over the Internet. Please, just please… I’ll do anything.”

He sobbed for hours after this. I searched the house looking for who he’s talking to. It’s impossible inspecting for invisible individuals.



Day 5

Why can’t he invite his sister over anymore? He should tell her to bring her Siamese cat, but leave the schnauzer at her place. He hasn’t called her up in months, because all of his focus was on his girlfriend. I miss the times he’d share new recipes with her, then he’d make them and give me a small bowl full of it. The lemon salmon and tuna casserole will always remain my favourites.

Thinking about those days makes me feel like I haven’t eaten in months. I miss the days when he came home from work with a big bag full of Meow mix and a box of beer. He would always let me lick the condensation off his bottles once he finished them. It was so cold and clean.

I wish he’d brush me soon. My fur is becoming very long and matted at a quick pace. It’s like a squirrel’s tail. It’s been building up and I’ve been trying to get the loose ones out but it’s quite hard when he won’t pet it off and let me shed all over him. He gets mad when I do it on the chesterfield so I guess I’ll just have to roll on the hardwood flooring, which I really hate doing.

Maybe he could call his buddy up. A simple gab about the weather would be just fine for my ears. I’ve beginning to forget how he speaks. Does he raise his voice at the end? What was that weird slang word he tried to make catch on but failed? I can’t even remember my own name.

Day 6

Is this possible? He speaks, he speaks! It’s unfortunate that he only shouted angry words filled with regrets of him not calling his girlfriend sooner and not going to Winnipeg with her.

He picked up his cell a dozen times within an hour to call her. He put speakerphone on; I loved the sound of the rings. Before each hello, he’d hang up immediately. He read his text to her aloud after rewriting it several times, even though it was simple and not cute at all: “What’s up?”

He spent five minutes constantly checking his phone as he lay on his bed next to me. The vibration finally buzzed and he read what she wrote to him to me, “My grandma died last night. Thanks for calling to ask, asshole.”

People never understand each other, but I get them. I can hear his self-hatred through the sound of his voice. He yelled louder than I’ve ever heard before, with words I’ve never heard before. One word sounded like duck, which reminded me, once again, of my everlasting hunger.

I rolled onto the floor, starved, and in my mind, I returned to my old home with my previous owner. He was a drunken single sixty year old that smelt like old milk and yelled like this on a daily basis. I was constantly in fear when he came home. I looked forward to the days where he’d forget to close the window, so I could escape. There was no way in hell that I was made for the outdoors, but when I had the choice of sitting in rain until dawn or have beer bottles being thrown inches away from my face, the wet and cold is what I’d choose. I hissed in pain when he kicked me. I surely had days where the thing I wanted most was to bleed. I constantly wished to be hurt and for it to show so someone could take me away and know what I’d been through. I didn’t hate that man at all for kicking me or blaming every problem on me. In fact, I wish I could stick it out and listen to him because I was the closest thing he had to a friend. But I can’t stand living in fear for my life. It was a beautiful day when he died; his son picked me up, fed me and brought me into his life.

I came out of my trance and found him doing the same thing now. The drunk’s son/my owner, walked over to me, picked me up and pet my fur. This is what I wanted. Because the drunk’s physical actions didn’t feel half as bad as his son’s emotional pain. Finally, he realizes what’s important in his life. He cooled down more and more with each stroke of my fur. After this, we destroyed his refrigerator. We practically ate everything in it. I’m pretty sure he fed me more than himself. I love him.

Day 7

…What’s wrong with him today? I thought yesterday would be the day he remembered me and how amazing I am. He has finally opened the door and stepped outside. I thought it would be super good for him but he’s been very boring this past hour.

He stepped onto the grass, which looked greener than it’s ever been and looked into the sky with an unreadable expression on his face. I looked into the sky but it was blinding since I’ve been trapped in the darkness for a week.

I leaned against him, he pet my head and my tail raised up to his kneecap, but he I could feel strong frustration in his touch.

There was a rather large beetle resting upon my paw, which distracted me from him for a good twenty minutes. Beetles are always hard to claw. I pranced around trying to eat it for that time. It was sweeter than the average beetle but I can’t help but wish I saw what my owner was doing.

Once I returned to the front yard, I was unable to find him at first. He’s a pretty tall man so this baffled me. But luckily, I found him an hour ago in a pretty odd place. I’m sitting on the lowest branch as he’s slightly lifted from the ground, hanging lifelessly. This is strange. He isn’t talking, as usual, but it looks like he’s not even breathing. I meowed him an “I love you”, just so he knows. But to be honest, I’m getting fed up playing with this piece of string.