"Just to be Clear, the Narrator is a Human", Review Copy

Recently I got the results for an assignment I mentioned at the end of October.

Here is the version of the story that I submitted, called "They Talk"

The smell of mint wafted in from the garden, intermingling with catnip.

I really should have thought better.  I left Mr Bubbles and the other cats inside.  I locked up.  I managed to catch the Ackersons before they went on holiday for three weeks.  Who could have thought that the shabby little tabby would push a chair against the doorknob and lock me out?

Over the day, marooned in my own backyard, I had studied the situation.  The cats were mostly gathered in the living room.  Once or twice a violent argument had broken out as to who got the beanbag but Mr Bubbles always won.

I scanned the back door for the fiftieth time, noting that the telephone was still off the hook.  At least, I thought, combined with the reek of unchanged kitty litter in the laundry, that meant they still couldn't grasp things.  Opposable thumbs should have been an overwhelming advantage, but I had no winning moves.  Short of walking all the way back to the Ackersons' place and stealing a pickaxe, of course.  There were no open windows, no secret doors – there was nothing I could exploit.

The cat door.

I felt like a bolt of lightning had hit me – the day I forgot my keys and slid in through the cat flap. Reinvigorated, as well as humiliated it didn't occur to me earlier, I rushed to the laundry door.

***

Hopelessness returned.  I would never fit both arms through that hole again, let alone my whole body.  While I stood by the door, a rustling caught my ear, and before I knew it I was staring down at a toothy face.  A black, Burmese claw was held at my throat, the others digging into my T-shirt.  It was Dobby, another of the cats.

'Who goes there?' he hissed, like English was disgusting for him to speak.  I grabbed him at the waist and ripped him away, trying not to scream in pain.  I waited for him to stop struggling.  

'Why are you outside?'

'Mr Bubbles eats all the food,' he spat.  'Challenge him too much and it's out the cat flap, and they've blocked it with a box.'

The only box I could think of was the unpacked books, one that I could easily move with one hand.

'Even with you we all got fed,' the cat growled, 'I'd give anything for that again.'

'I can get you back in,' I said, 'if you move the chair away from the door.'

Dobby growled again.  'Deal.'

Mr Bubbles owed me a long time in his kitty cage.

Just to be Clear, the Narrator is a Human

Here's an absurd little piece I made for an assignment.  Please don't hesitate to voice all comments and criticisms you may have.  And in case you asked, progress is going, but slow on Into the Crust.  It'll be here eventually :)

I left my makeshift shelter amongst the rocks and walked through the tall grass on the west of the block. I reached the spotted gum, the smell of mint wafting in from the garden. I thumped lightly on the ground.

Luckily for me, the ant queen enjoyed music. She wouldn’t talk to me directly but sent a worker out.

‘Sure, we have a battalion we could exchange for the iPod,’ she said.

Hopefully I would have succeeded long before the battery ran out.

‘Hide!’ the worker ant yelled. I dived under the shadow of the tree. Above our heads, Bluey the budgerigar circled, watching for intruders. He would alert the cats in the house if he saw me, so the reconnaissance mission would have to happen that night.

***

When the sun fell, the battalion and I sneaked to the laundry door. The smell was terrible.

‘All the kitty litter must be in there,’ I whispered, feeling smug that they still couldn’t change their trays. Thank God for opposable thumbs.

A noise like kudump kudump alerted me to the arrival of Bowser, the golden retriever who had offered to help.

‘No other humans in miles, sorry boss.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ we all said.

‘What are you doing here?’ Bowser said in his pretend hush.

‘The battalion are going to assess the state of the laundry and hopefully open the doggy door.’

‘Boss,’ said Bowser, ‘there’s a sad cat in there. I can smell him.’

Interesting, I thought.

‘With enough of you,’ I said to the ants, ‘could you carry a cat?’

‘Yes, commander!’ they said eagerly.

***

When the ants had returned, Tabs, the laundry cat, pleaded with me. Mr Bubbles, the ringleader of the revolution, had enforced a strict dictatorship.

‘He sits at the couch lapping milk and watching Indiana Jones marathons while we starve,’ said the laundry cat. ‘I just want things the way they were.’

‘Here’s the plan,’ I told him, ‘I can feed you what little I have out here if you be our inside man, um, feline. And when you get the chance, splash some water on Mr Bubbles. That should distract him long enough for me to get inside and end this nightmare.’

I may have had to sleep outside for yet another night, but I was one step closer to recapturing the house.