Pussy Cats

#134 Pussy Cats

Jay was tending bar at Hungarian Joe’s, and Hank sat on his usual stool.

“What’s the matter Raphael? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

“I did,” I said, and paged through the journal I’ve been keeping for years. I opened it to a story I wrote 14 years ago. I smiled when I saw it.

“What’re you smiling about?” Hank asked.

“Came across a story I wrote way back when I first got Molly.”

“Well, come on, read it to us,” Jay said and opened a beer for me. “If it can put a smile on that sour puss of yours, we’ll probably be rolling on the floor laughing. So, go on, read it to us.”

 

Stealthy paws silently fall as felines strut onto my lawn of sand, a Siamese’s drawn out meow heralds throughout the cat hood, telling all cats, that my yard is the place to go, To show their glee, that they can pee for free on my turf, cat trinkets are left for me, covered in tiny mountains of sand like miniature burial mounds.

“You’re not welcome here,” I shout and chase them away. But they soon return to use their outhouse made of sand, where they don’t have to pay a damn thing to do what nature demands. A dog is what I need. I go to the pound and put a kitten in my hand, to see which dog

hates cats more than me. Pitiful pups crammed into stalls, unfit for a dog, or even a cat, they’re all waiting to be gassed. Aroused by my human scent their adoption hopes rise. They beg to be saved, with made up yelps, and all forget about the feline in my hand. Except, Molly, a sixty pound white Lab, she snaps, snarls, and tries with all her might to get her lunch at first sight of the cat I hold.

She’s the one I want, I tell the keeper of these surplus pets. I’m happy to think that my home turf will be cat free, once Molly comes home with me. I stop at the store to get what she needs, a bone, a blanket, a bed, a bag of food. I brush and bathe her in my tub, getting her ready to show those cats, they no longer rule. Rough, ready and smelling sweet from doggy shampoo, we sit and wait until a Persian saunters into my yard, and begins building a burial mound in the sand. My heart fills with glee as I point at the Persian and declare, “Get him Molly.”

She can’t wait to get out the gate, barking, and snarling, her feet slip on the floor

as she tries to push through the door. I fumble the latch in my rush to free this horrible hound onto my monument strewn lawn. To show those cats, a beast now lives here. Finally the door bursts open, a ball of white fur speeds towards the cat lazily scratching through the sand. A hairy back balls up to the sky, claws extend, a screaming yawl that scares even me, stops Molly in her tracks. She turns around and heads back to the entry in fearful flight, with an apparition from every dog’s nightmare in hot pursuit. Yelping in fear, she burst through the door that I barely close in time, to stop the demon cat from coming through. Shivering from fear Molly sits there, ashamed that as a dog, she is nothing but a pussy cat.

**

Jay and Hank were smiling. I had a tear dripping of my nose. Jay opened another beer for me. “That one cheered you up, let’s hear another,” Jay said.

To be continued.

Get my audio book free for signing up with audible.com

http://www.audible.com/search/ref=a_pd_Histor_tseft__galileo?advsearchKeywords=A+Penis+Manologue&x=10&y=16

For more stories, poems, & other stuff. <http://joedibuduo.com/> http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=joe+DiBuduo

 

 

My newest novel “Cryonic Man,”is available at http://www.amazon.com/Cryonic-Man-Paranormal-Joe-DiBuduo/dp/  0692381287/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1425870872&sr=8-1&keywords=Cryonic+Man

 

PLEASE SUBSCRIBE FOR$1. A MONTH TO ENABLE ME TO CONTINUE WRITING A STORY A DAY. IF I CONTINUE FOR A YEAR, I WILL WRITE 365 STORIES. You’ll receive them all for $1. A month. https://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=1343256&u=423048&alert=3

 

Puss