In spite of your exalted status, you are not invited to sit at the dinner table.
We will not save you a chair or set a place for you, and you will not be considered a centerpiece.
I left the letter on the table where I knew she’d find it.
Candace writes from a comfy chair since the cat is using the table.
They slap him, drawing blood, and berate him for being male.
With stoic dignity he walks away, returning later bearing gifts. They sneer at the quality.
He lays down, exhausted. They shoo him outside.
With a sigh, Tom leaves his feline mistress and their daughters to eat the mice alone.
Hilary Nichols wrote this story.
Of all the despots, megalomaniacs and common or garden dictators, Fluffy was the least objectionable. Her demands were few: a little salmon here, a subservient bow there, and as an afterthought, the total and complete dominance of the Human race.
It was for their own good, after all, wasn’t it?
David is a creative writing student and recently won two flash fiction competitions back to back. He’s rather pleased with himself.
Black cats come every night. They sit at my freshly cleaned porch and miaow.
Begging for food, so I feed them.
Begging for shelter, so I help them.
But they keep miaowing for more and I can’t take the noise. I shut them away, but they keep coming back.
Lottie Nancarrow is a girl who spends too much time in her thoughts.
What in the world was she thinking as she stepped out onto the ledge of her 34th storey window?
We will never find out, because it was only seconds later that the feline revolution began and she was dragged back inside her studio apartment and devoured by her beloved cat.
Christian spends his days in a day job and occasionall, his mind will wander to strange places. He has some artwork on display at the following website: http://swissozculture.org.au/meet-our-members/creative-members/christian-blunschi/.
A dog fell in a hole. The hole was very deep.
“Help! Help!” cried the dog.
“I will help you,” said a cat. It reached into the hole, but the dog barked and frightened it away.
It never pays to be mean to cute kitties. Kitties are great. Yay kitties!
It had been a fantastic idea, in theory.
For months they had lived together in harmony, sharing a common home and a common purpose.
Then the new litterbox arrived. From that day forward, it was every cat for himself.
Except when they were puppeteering Obama. They still did that together.
Cats smile because
- They can sleep up to twenty hours each day;
- They can be mean and rude, but people still consider it a joy and privilege to pet and scratch them; and
- Other people prepare their food and clean their litter boxes.
But mostly, it’s the justifiable superiority complex.
This “story” is based on a title suggested by @Haberley. And for the record, I love cats.