Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include Mow de Grass! and The Suburbityville Horror. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
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Amanda arranged the stuffed mouse next to the ball that hung from a string attached to the three-tiered, carpet-lined cat perch with the scratching-post base. She put out the sparkly spinning toy for good measure, then smiled.
“Now you have plenty to play with,” she said to the two felines who were watching with skeptical eyes. “That should keep you busy while Mommy reads.”
Amanda carried her mug of tea over to the recliner, sat, and picked up her long-awaited copy of The Inner Life of Cats. It was, the author and publisher and reviewers promised, the definitive study of feline psychology. It would, Amanda hoped, make her a wiser and better cat owner.
Rascal looked at Boots. She’s joking, right?
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Have fun!
Boots continued cleaning her paws. She seldom got excited about anything, preferring to nap in a sunny spot or on a warm lap and conserve her energy into small, very fast packets. However, she perked an ear Rascal’s way, curious about what he was planning.
Rascal was the planner, par excellence. He could actually make Amanda shout at them with some of his schemes.
There are better things to play with, Rascal meowed. Look, the closet door is open.
“Good kitties,” Amanda said absently, sinking deeper into the story as she read.
Rascal looked at her then at Boots. Boots had forgotten all about cleaning herself as she eyed the partially open closet door. Curiosity, never far away, gripped her.
Almost instantly, she and Rascal headed for the door, crouched low, moving silently. Stalking the closet was fun.
Closet time also occasionally resulted in a dead mouse. Such a mouse, delivered to Amanda’s feet might just distract her from reading.
Rascal and Boots knew from their feline friends that reading such books made their people into strange housemates. One of their friend’s humans had read, The Cat Who Cried For Help; Attitudes, Emotions and the Psychology of Cats by Dr. Nicholas Dodman and tried so many weird things that the cats in that house finally dragged the book to the garbage. It took weeks for that human to return to her normal affectionate being.
“Meow,” said Boots as he leaped upon a little mouse and caught it between his teeth.
Rascal pushed the closet door open a bit wider and Boots pranced out with the squirming mouse in his mouth. Boots jumped on Amanda’s lap and dropped the mouse on top of the open book.
Amanda shrieked as the mouse fell onto her book.
The mouse looked at her with tiny, beady, black eyes then looked up at the cats, then looked back at Amanda, whiskers twitching expressively. I guess this human won’t be much help.
Amanda might have recognized those signals, had she read The Inner Life of Mice. Alas, she had not. Instead she flung the book – with passenger – into the middle of the floor and leaped onto her recliner. She pointed frantically, half-words sputtering: “Ca … ih … tha….”
The mouse looked at her, whiskers twitching even faster. Nope. This is not the white knight one hopes will rescue one from dragon in the dark castle.
Boots looked at the mouse. Sadly not.
Rascal looked at the mouse. But we’re trying to teach her.
The mouse looked at the cats. And you drafted me for this plan … why?
from my 3 and 5 year old grandkids:
Rascal and Boots should be gentle with the mouse cause he’s littler and we have to be gentle with our baby sister. This was followed by a kangaroo hopping by the outside window and Amanda making sure the cats had enough food.
Not exactly an easy to follow thread which was delivered by both of them talking at once and dissolving into the giggles when they wondered if a mouse made little farts.