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Writing challenge #4: Cats and dogs
Writing challenge #4
August 2, 2020
This is the fourth writing challenge on Writing Codidact. The previous one was Something new for July.
The challenge for August is cats and dogs.
Entries should somehow prominently feature cats, dogs, or both. Wild, even ordinarily wild but captive, felids and canids are also acceptable. Other than that, how you interpret this is up to you.
Here are a few prompts, for optional use:
How could something so small grow into something so big?
The cat walked over the keyboard, only to fall asleep over the mouse.
The two of them got along exactly as cats and dogs don't.
And remember: this is a fun challenge. The point is to have some fun, perhaps stretch some creative muscles, or give a new style a try; it's not a contest or anything.
Have fun!
Post
CW: animal abuse, animal death
"Come on, Rosie!"
It's those familiar words that mean it's time for my favorite activity: WALKIES. It's the same phrase that he's used almost every day for the past twelve years, and it's always hugely exiting. WALKIES!!
I bound over, wagging my tail furiously. It's time for walkies!! My claw slips on the floor, but I manage to regain my balance. Walkies means running and smelling and grass and SQUIRRELS! I almost can't sit still enough for the leash.
A couple hours, some interesting smells, one dropped sandwich, and two terrified squirrels later, we were back at home. I was worn out. I flopped over to his bed (even though I I'm not supposed to) and start snoring.
He wakes me up, laughing, and sends me to my own bed. Puppy eyes don't help, so my own bed it is.
A man with a broom stands over an exhausted mother and her litter of pups. He has a can of beer in his hand, and he looks very angry and very drunk.
The next day, I wait patiently for him to finish whatever he does all day at that "computer". There were dogs on the computer at one point. I tried to smell them, but there was no smell. It was confusing.
"Come on, Rosie!"
Yes!! Time for WALKIES again!! More sandwiches and squirrels! I jump up from my blanket and start running over to him... but something's different.
My legs aren't working. I'm trying to run, but I'm not moving. I'm trying to bark, but nothing's coming out.
I lose my balance, and this time I can't catch it.
The man with the broom is shouting. He is angry about something. I don't understand. He takes the broom and starts hitting the mother dog. Again. And again. And again. And again.
BEEP. I wake up in a place I immediately recognize and deeply loath: the vet. BEEP. I appear to be lying down, with something attached to me over my heart. BEEP. It's uncomfortable.
He's standing at the other end of the room, next to that sadistic dog-hating needle-loving vet, looking at something on that computer and speaking in low tones.
"...brain tumor... at her age, it's no surprise... caught earlier?..."
I whine in discomfort at the thing on my chest, and he immediately turns around. "You're awake!"
He walks over to me and starts stroking me softly. I give him a lick in return. "It's okay, Rosie," he murmurs, more to himself than anything else. "Everything is going to be fine."
Comforted by his presence, I drift back off to sleep.
She's not moving. Why isn't she moving? I'm hungry. My siblings are hungry. Why isn't my mother moving? Why won't she wake up?
The next time I woke up again, I was back at home. It felt different, though. He seemed quieter and sadder, and even my best dorkiness wasn't working to cheer him up. He would just smile sadly at my antics.
We didn't go on any more walkies after that. Apparently the vet, dog-hater that she is, had said no more walkies. This was so unfair!!
On the other hand, he seemed to be paying more attention to me than ever before. And whenever I stumbled, he was there to catch me. So all in all, things were pretty good, except when I was sleeping.
It was freezing. It was the middle of the winter, and here I was barely three months old sitting in a snowdrift by myself.
The others were gone. I don't know where they went, or if they were alive, but after that day that mother stopped moving I never saw any of them again.
For a few weeks, everything was great. There were more treats, more time with him - what more could I ask for?!
He even let me stay ON THE BED!!
And then, while playing with a ball on the bed... it happened again. He was at the computer. My legs locked up and started shaking. I couldn't control my body. It just shook itself to pieces until I shook myself off the bed and hit the floor.
I was almost ready to give up. I was freezing and hungry and alone. And then I found myself being lifted into the air by a pair of warm hands.
"Well, what do we have here?" he said, his voice coming from somewhere inside the big gray jacket that he was buried in. "A half-frozen puppy. You look like you could use some help, missy."
And with that, he stuffed me under his jacket to warm up, and I knew I was safe.
I was lying on a cool table, disoriented. He was petting my back. The sadist vet was there, a needle in her hand.
He smelled like he had been crying. The salty scent was stuck to face. He was whispering Just let me say goodbye. The vet nodded.
I didn't know what was going on, but I was sure of thing: as long as he was there, everything will be fine. I'm safe as long as he's there.
Just don't leave me alone.
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