Monday, October 15, 2012

Welcome Home, Snook -- by KittyCat


Last week I was so happy to see my tabby friend, Snookie, but right off she started arguing with me. She accused me of throwing insults at her. “Snookie,” I tried to explain, “I didn't say you’d gotten fat over the summer.”

“You most certainly did.” She put on her all-uppity look.

I tried again. “I didn't even say the word fat. You’re the one who said it. What I said was...”

She jumped in, not letting me finish the sentence. “You may whisper one word while your body language screams another. I saw what you were thinking the moment Mother walked in the door with me and set me down on the floor.”

“I merely noticed you were a little rounder than usual, and said if you needed to pee or something, Mom cleaned the litter pan in the bathroom.”

“How crude,” she said in her Snook-the-Snob voice.

“What? Are we in the same conversation?”

"That word you used is crude,” she said.

“What word?” I asked.

“That three-letter word,” Snook replied real high-and-mighty like.

By now, she’d got me so flustered I felt itchy all over. Scratching my neck and thinking three-letter word, my question just popped out. You ... or fat?

With Snook right behind me, I flew past Mom and Aunt Pen, and found safety in a skinny spot between two plants Mom had brought inside for the winter. Snook hissed from the other side of a plant pot, threatening to bite my ear off if I moved from my little nook.

“What on earth has gotten into those two?” Mom had panic in her voice.

Aunt Pen isn't one to get rattled much. She looked at us like nothing special was happening. “It’s been five months,” she said. “I suppose they are getting reacquainted.” She took a sip of her Irish Cream and added, “And the exercise is good for Snook. She’s been idle and has gotten much too fat.”

(c) 2012, Bernice W. Simpson

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