Flash Nano 25 Day 2: Something turns into something else

 Flash NANO 25 

Day 2 Prompt: Something turns into something else. 

 

Ugh. The alarm.  From under the covers, an arm. Alarm slaps off. 

You know what? I’m not doing this. I’m not getting out of bed. I’m retired. Sleeping in. 

The 300-pound orange cat has other ideas. He climbs on my chest, paws at my neck, then does a 180 so I can admire his substantial behind which is a breath away. 

I’m up. 

Stumble into kitchen, bathrobe on inside out.  300-pound orange cat threads through my legs. This is not helpful, I tell him. 

Defying all laws of gravity, 300-pound cat jumps on counter and glares at me as I throw a pod and a cup of water in the Keurig.  

“You are starving me,” his eyes say. 

When I open the pantry to get out his bowl and canned food, 300-pound cat jumps from counter – house shakes – and nudges me to move faster.

I submit the offering to him for his approval: Shredded Shrimp and Chicken. He headbutts the can. This is his people’s highest compliment. The headbutts continue as I fill his dish, so most of his foodums ends up on the floor, as usual. 

While he inhales breakfast, I gulp coffee. 

On the fridge there’s his photo, taken a few days before I trapped him last year. He’s peeking out from the drainpipe he called home for most of the first months of his life. A terrified baby then, fur matted, eyes wide, too thin. Claws like knives though. 

Finally, home safe with me, he got regular meals, a litter box to play in, a couch to shred, and a warm bed. Me? Tetanus shot, couple rounds of antibiotics, and a nice pharmacy bill for bandages and gauze. 

Patrick – yes, he has a human name and is more human than some humans I know – licks his plate until it sparkles then jumps into my lap with the gracefulness of a cat four times his size. 

My coffee spills. 

Who’s a good boy, I say.

He smiles. Can cats smile? Yeah. I think so.