Author: Aeipathetic PM
Must we always blame curiosity for killing the cat?Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Drama - Words: 1,107 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 3 - Published: 01-18-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2623651
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Very random story. Very. It was completely out of the blue. I surprised myself with this one actually. I didn't know where the story was headed. I was glad with how it turned out, despite the fact that it was written in less than an hour. Hope you enjoy! Hope you learn something as well ~ ;D
It was a bright, sunny day. The clouds were nowhere to be seen as the sky was brightly colored in vivid blue azure. The sun was out – its rays were stretched across the sky in a distinct pattern that resembles a cobweb hanging in front of a dusty window. Little Whiskers was taking a stroll in his favorite and normal route.
Little Whiskers' tail was curled lightly at the end, a feature that he was very proud of. Many girl-kittens and even some fully grown female cats have given him a wink and a little purr because of his tail. He always gets his mother, Mrs. Whiskers, to brush his tail everyday for at least 50 times with a broken comb he had once found in the dump. He couldn't help but stare at his tail every time he passes by a shop window on his daily walk.
His walk consists of passing by downtown and ending in the park. As always, he couldn't resist not walking by downtown; it is in fact the only place in the whole neighborhood he could have a good view of his tail. As Little Whiskers strolled by a shop that sold clothing for pets, all the while weary of the shoed feet of the humans passing through, he stopped a second to catch his reflection.
He first looked at his face (it is a must that he always looks at his face first). He noticed his neatly trimmed grey fur, his little pink nose, and his very long whiskers that rival his older sister's. His gaze continued down his body and to his paws. God, he loves his paws. They were just the right size, he thinks, and his sharpened claws reflects his face if he looks hard enough. Lastly, his almond eyes travelled to his tail. To put it simply, it was perfect. It was standing tall and proud, the grey fur darkening slightly as it ran the course of the tail ending in a spiraled curl.
Little Whiskers' eyes shifted to the contents of the store. It was a pet store, he once again noted, filled with various clothing for dogs, cats, birds, and even pigs. On the far corner of the store was a stack of brightly colored ribbons beckoning to his call. He saw a mannequin of a cat with one of the ribbons tied neatly in a bow on the curl of its tail. His mind was set then: he wanted one.
With a mischievous glint in his eye, Little Whiskers gently nudged the partly-opened door with his little nose. So far so good, the shop seemed to be empty and the people in the streets barely paid attention to a cat entering a pet store. His pert little mouth curled into a smile.
His little paws trudged across the room to the pile of ribbons on the basket on the floor. His greedy front paws picked up a midnight blue ribbon, a color that matches his mother's eyes. He couldn't wait to ask her to tie it on his tail when he gets home!
Little Whiskers quietly walked back to the door with the ribbon clutched in his mouth. He almost smiled at the simplicity of what just happened. He could just imagine how many more kittens and cats would come up to him complementing his midnight blue bow on his exquisitely curled tail. Just as he was about to reach the door, it slammed shut.
"Well well well. What do we have here? A lost little kitty?" A voice sneered from behind. Little Whiskers' almond eyes widened in fear and anticipation as he cocked his head to the side to catch a glimpse of his trapper. He felt a pair of hands picking him up from the ground. He shook his head from side to side, his paws clawing frantically in the air. But not once did he dare open his mouth – he would lose the ribbon if he did. His mind was telling him to drop the ribbon, to bite the hand; yet Little Whiskers just clawed the air and shook his head.
"I always see you walk across my shop. I've always admired your gray fur and your pretty curved tail. I've always had a dream of how it would look like as a chew toy for one of my dog-customers. Hmh, your fur won't look bad either. It could be a jacket for other cats." The voice maliciously laughed. If cats could cry, Little Whiskers would have gallons of tears running down his face. A hand went to his neck. Little Whiskers remembers no more after the hand twisted. A muted cry escaped his now-opened lips as the ribbon fell on the cold ground.
Mrs. Whiskers was up all night waiting for her son to return. However, he never did. Speculation went around the neighborhood that Little Whiskers ran away with one of his tail-admirers.
Two days after, the owner of the pet store gleefully put up a cat tail chew toy for dogs. It was neatly curved, made of grey fur. A midnight blue bow was tied neatly on the base of the curve. He also put up a grey "faux" fur cat sweater. It was bought by a vain old lady just minutes after it was hung on the wall.
As Mrs. Whiskers took a stroll in her son's old routine, she happened to glance at the pet store. It hand been a whole week since Little Whiskers ran away. Through the glass, she could clearly see the cat tail hanging on the wall. Her midnight blue eyes widened as her eyes reached the midnight blue ribbon tied around the familiar curved end of the tail she brushed at least 50 times a day. Her mouth let out an agonizing purr. She turned around and ran back home.
People always said that curiosity killed the cat. That was before they encountered the story of Little Whiskers. The truth is: vanity killed the cat.
Let's just hope that the cat isn't you.
Cough. I, in no means, support animal cruelty. In fact, I am very against it. Check my closet! All faux fur, promise!