My Life and Cats

Cats. Cats here, cats there, cats everywhere! They follow me, I swear it. Every time I go out in public, I only have to throw a glance over my shoulder and see one stalking me. There are black ones, skinny ones, tabby ones, Siamese and even those massive Mancoons. That’s right, stalking. They don’t walk, they don’t prance; they stalk. It’s all because of the time I insulted a cat…

I was walking along a road in the middle of the day and everything was as sweet as honey. I was even whistling and you must know; I never whistle. So as I passed the corner of Manson and Bly streets, I came across as strange assortment of creatures. One was a dog, one was a budgie, another was a frog and there, sitting in front of the group was a black cat.

His eyes were as yellow as a squash and fur as silky black as a flowing river in the middle of a moonless night. Each ear was pricked forward, listening to the unintelligible babble of the animals around it and a knowing smile spread across the lips. “Could this be the Cheshire cat, the one from that bizarre story of a girl down a rabbit hole?” I thought as my pace halted half-way around the corner. “No, you’re just being stupid.” I did notice one thing though. One thing so significant that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. As I neared a little closer to the group, the cat turned and spoke with a strange British accent:

“It’s rude to eavesdrop you know. Please mind you own business.”

My jaw dropped to the ground beneath me. Boy, did my perspective change on this animal. I had just witnessed a cat talking, shaking his paw at me as if to shoo me away he continued to glare.

“Cats can’t talk!” I shouted back at him with my mouth in the shape of a vortex of shock.

“Well you stupid humans don’t listen that often do you? Only when you want to find out some juicy news or some gossip,” he retorted with another sharp jab of his paw into the air, “Shoo now.”

Shocked to the core, I was quick to lose my temper. I wasn’t as cool as a cucumber anymore, panic began to overwhelm me. “Am I mad? Have I really lost it?” flew around my mind as it tried to make sense of the boggled mess it was in.

“Don’t shoo me, you stupid dirty animal,” I boldly replied. But as I did so, I knew that it was a mistake.

With the narrowing of those golden orbs, the cat screeched one syllable which erupted into a pandemonium of legs flying everywhere. The bird pecked at my ears, the frog launched himself onto my face, the dog bit my leg and the cat just went berserk in all the wrong places. Now the sky began to whirl and new points of pain erupted all over my body as these animals attacked me.

“Thanks for the inspiration for my next show,” said a clown as he walked by and didn’t bother helping.

Once I had disentangled my legs from the legs and wings of various other animals, I raced home as fast as I could only stopping once to look back at those all-knowing eyes watching me, always watching. So that is why cats stalk me and hunt me both in my dreams and in the real world. The worst thing about it is that there’s a crazy cat lady next door and you know what that means…

(Attempt at Comic Short Story)

Tables Turn

Pass the piece,

In control,

Thinking the next move.

Plans, papers, perfection

already set in stone.

Suddenly stone shatters,

A Million shards floating,

pointing every which way.

Up, down, left, right,

Manipulation of ideas.

Like a spinning top

the tables turned.

And flung away the cultery,

twisting moving destroying,

the plates shatter against the wall.

Pushed and shoved,

spiralling out of control.

The world spins,

as do my morals.

People shout and cry,

my life is no longer

set in stone.

Till the day I die.

While the World Turns

Turning, spinning, moving
           For Eternity
Trees grow, trees fall,
fish swim, primates climb,
          For Eternity
Flowers burst wildly
all colours of the spectrum,
Only to seed and wither,
back to the ground
           For Eternity

Technology advances
like a metal plague,
growing smaller, better, faster
          For Eternity
Tips get bigger,
Forests grow smaller,
The waste of the world grows
          For Eternity

Humans shift, humans move,
societies rise and fall,
like waves in the ocean
          For Eternity
Opinions alter,
issues come and go
like bubbles that easily
Pop!
          For Eternity

Everyone will talk
and Nobody will listen,
While the world turns,
         For Eternity

A Scene Upon the Knoll

The cool breeze plays across my face and hair as the sun warms my body. The old creaking oak behind me sways and swishes in time to the symphony of birds playing together in sky above me. Even the leaves share secrets with each other as they slowly dwindle down towards the ground at my feet. Oh the feeling of autumn, how it plays through every glade in the land like a silent page delivering the news of winter across the kingdom. It simply cannot be defined as anything but glorious now that the suppressive heat has passed by and we can relax against the fear of heat stroke. Of course, there is always the chance that autumn brings with it a certain silliness such as falling in creeks, slipping on leaves or catching influenza even before the nights freeze with frost. Right now I can currently see a canidate for a case of autumn silliness as a little boy dances across the stones scattered throughout the bubbling brook just down the grassy slope from me. He giggles with delight before - ah yes, there it is - slipping on a rather mossy rock and falling face first into the water. Well at least his older sister is there to mop him up and take him home. So the glorious day continues as I sit here rather like a lump upon the landscape and just be carried off with all the activities and festivities around me. But as I feel the honey warmed sun now caressing my face, my eyes cannot but droop with the laziness that is carried by the autumn breeze. Alas I slowly drifted off into a world ruled by the season of autumn in which every creature is happy and content with their lives...

The Carving

But all was not right in the house of the Caddys. Soft whisperings could be heard when the house was under the spell of slumber, the walls moved and the paintings sighed as one when none of the household watched. Some believed the house was a common meeting point for the spirits of the long gone as they came from different time periods and whispered secrets to one another. A hushed scream muffled by a soft cry from another would be heart late at night if one listened closely. All the while the house was sleeping...

Babies and small infants were not permitted within the house's walls as everytime they crossed the threshold, they immediately began crying and calling for their family. This did not bother the Caddys as they were people who seldom wished to be bothered. They would potter around the house during a dull winter's day muttering seemingly to themselves as they went about peculiar businesses. One clanging pots and pans, another hugging the moth eaten hallway carpet and a third walking in circles rasping tales of woe to the ceiling. The surrounding neighbourhood thought this family as very very odd. So odd as to be escaped inhabitents of an insane asylum seeking refuge in an innocent part of the country.

The house itself was somewhat of a piece of outdated terror. Marked by the sagging wooden turret in the northern corner of the mansion, the entire structure looked as if a grotesque 3-year old had mashed the individual sections together into a large rambling moldy construction worthy of a good bulldoze. However it was not the mansion that inspired terror into the indivduals who looked upon it, it was instead the large carved face imposed upon the front wooden door of the house that glared at passersby with accusing eyes...

(Gothic Beginning)

The Cruel Forest

What a cruel forest. The area is devoid of life. Small eddies of wind carry the star-shaped leaves to the ground in a spiralling motion. It is as if a plague of fire runs through the forest as flashing splashes of orange, yellow, red and brown flow down around me. Some say this forest tells stories, others say it deceives those that speak to it and all believe it tries to lure its prey in before sending them on a journey of never-ending twists and turns between the countless trunks. They say that if you listen really closely to the swirling patterns of wind and leaves, you can hear the cry of past victims. The air was still warm from the receding summer, the day the forest took me. Ever since, the leaves are the only beings that have kept me company as they crackle under my shoes. They tease me with stories of escape and freedom before the cool breeze picks them up and takes them away. It is indeed a very cruel forest.

(Segment)

The Winter's Calling

I hurried off the train that had taken me to this place. Isolated. Lonely. That’s how I wanted it. The rhythmic dripping of the icicles that hung precariously from the passing lampposts soothed my beating heart. However, the ever increasing layers of clothing were failing to prevent the bitter cold from kissing my lungs. Free. Alive. I had done it. However the comfort of this thought did not keep my mind warm for long as the foreboding guilt of all of my past actions stealthily slid through my skull and froze it solid. This added to the frozen throbbing in my ears and toes made me feel as if I was one of the snowmen that greeted me on my way from the station. Frozen. Immobile. The crunching snow under my feet made me realize the pace that I was walking at. I stopped and took in the smell of sharp smoke that was the result of several indoor fires in the neighbourhood. But as I stood there, the whispers of Jack Frost reminded me that a blizzard was coming and that I was winter’s calling.

(Segment)