A Black Cat Moment

Do you know what I did? The rat race king selected two of his best mice minions to fight me. Those mice thought they would feast upon my sleek, shiny coat for they had envisioned my dead body a ceremonial public banquet to be placed upon and served on their dirty refectory table. Bad move, king rat.

I heard its neck snap a crunch in between my back teeth. That poor first minion; it had no chance. It chose foolishly to sneak up at my front doorstep wearing a flared up chest filled with fury. That was the end of him. I haven’t yet finished him off. He’s still gasping for some air.

Oh, but that second mouse minion was sure putting up a fight. He was plumper around the belly than the first minion. He liked tossing and flinging lit matches inside my kitchen’s backdoor. Unfortunately, his tiny forebrain forgot to calculate my ability to sniff out smoke fumes at least 150 feet away. What a dunce.

He was left stunned and shocked by my supernova act. I had pranced then pronked over the flames, curving my back like an African gazelle, when my two front claws landed on his back. Instinctively, my right-paw claw chiseled a hole on the right side of his face. And on that holey side is where I hooked and hung him flat against one of my kitchen walls, frameless.

A Black Cat Moment

Dear Cat People,

As you know, I can’t stand rats, mice, and all types of rodents, especially the grey ones. Their rat race is dirty, tricky, lazy. All they build are nests, nests, and more entangled nests. They lie, steal and spy all day. You know very much who they are. They make me sick to my stomach, my heart, my mind. What are they looking for? Why are they marching here? I know they know I keep a clean house. That is why when I catch one of theirs in my paw, I come alive when I gorge on its guts, tear through and chew on its heart, and suck blood out from its tiny hindbrain. That is what we Cat People do.

Sincerely,

C

A Black Cat Moment

The overweight lollipop lady warned me. She was stood at the crossing in between my soulmate and me. Blocking him who had been standing on the edge of the opposite pavement side with both hands tucked securely in his front pocket blue jeans, she pushed out both her blubbery arms and waved madly at me. Yet, he watched my heart much wanted to pour out and pound onto his pavement side. Calmly, he absorbed the entire spiritual criticality.

I didn’t understand her urgency. There had been no cars, no children, around to direct; it was just us three. She was center stage. Her manic body, pinched in time, led me to run faster towards him. Until I felt forced to come to a full stop. On that blue day the winds danced violently.

At first, I couldn’t hear it, but I knew there was the sound. The lollipop lady had rushed an emergency in her pressed lips. It was that silver-plated whistle she blew so hard, she nearly swallowed the cork ball. She would have, had the cork ball not settled back in its slotted, empty container. However, the louder she blew into it, the more the cork ball grew its desire to burst out and escape.

No. My soulmate and I haven’t yet hugged or kissed.

We met for the first time in one of our many playground hallucinations.

A Black Cat Valentine’s Day Massacre

You see, the difference between you and me is my eyes remain wide open while yours are still wide shut.

You see, the difference between you and me is I offer blessings while you deliver curses.

You see, the difference between you and me is I like licking on long-lasting lollipops while you like sucking out cheap fruit-filled bonbons.

You see, the difference between you and me is I’m a woman and a lady while you’re a mouse–not a man.

You see, the difference between you and me is I fancy my claws bloodied while you bare your horns milked.

You see, the difference between us will be I want to see your throat choke balls from my own black fur as you still dream about her pure-soft white feathers.

A Black Cat Moment

When your little black, ball-shaped eyes stare at me, I know you think you see me.

Your blindfold makes you believe that.

Can’t you see yourself in me?

Just because you have whiskers, and I have whiskers, doesn’t mean we’re the same.

Mine are pointed and ready, yours fatigued and sweaty.