One magical night, driven by a desire to be exactly like his human, Sam the cat becomes
Sam the boy.
"Sam"
photo by ldyck
A Cat Called Sam
All
day long, Sam waited and waited and waited for his best friend Amy
Sue to come home from school. When she did come home, the fun began.
She’d pull a piece of yarn across the floor, and Sam would play
chase the mouse. She’d dangle the yarn in the air, and Sam would
play catch the bird.
At
night, Sam curled up at the foot of Amy Sue’s bed. He’d sing to
her in purrs until she was fast asleep. When she was sleeping, Sam
snuck out the cat door. He ran past the barking dog. He jumped over
the little stream. He ran under the tree where the owl hooted. He ran
into the deep, dark forest.
One
night, one rare night, one special night, one spectacular night, when
the full moon shone through a gap in the trees, Sam ran to the spot
where the moonbeam lit a circle on the forest floor. Sam did a
strange thing, a weird thing, an odd thing. He walked around the
circle three times, and as he walked he cried, “Meow, mrrrw, meow,
mrrrw, meow, mrrrw.”
He
cast a spell. His tail was gone. He walked on two legs, not four.
Sam
jumped into the moonbeam circle and began to dance. He wiggled his
bum, waved his arms, and sang, “Amy/Oh, Amy Sue/Amy/Oh, Amy Sue/I’m
a human too, Amy Sue.”
He
cackled, snorted, and howled with laughter until he was breathless.
Sam flopped down on the grass and looked up. He saw a tall tree. Its
leaves shimmered in the moonlight. “I like climbing trees,” he
said, “I’m going to climb that one.”
He
stretched and stretched and stretched. He jumped higher and higher
and higher. But he still couldn’t reach the branches.
“That’s
okay,” he said, “I don’t need branches. I’ll use my
claws...um...er...nails.”
He
wrapped his arms around the tree, but his nails wouldn’t sink into
the bark.
Woof.
Woof. Woof. A dog bounced up to Sam.
“No.
No, don’t hurt me,” Sam said and started to run. He ran faster
and faster, but the dog was right behind him.
Sam
stopped running, turned around and faced the dog. “I can’t outrun
you, not on two legs. I can’t climb a tree with nails instead of
claws. I’ll have to fight you.”
The
dog raced up to him.
Sam
closed his eyes. He felt something wet on his hand. His eyes blinked
open, and he saw the dog licking him. “Yuck!”
The
dog walked away.
Squeak.
Squeak. Squeak. A grey ball of fur scampered past.
“Oh,
a yummy mouse.” Sam licked his lips. “I’m going to eat you.”
He
raced after the mouse. Thud! He slammed into a tree. “Ouch!” Sam
rubbed his head. “I can’t see anything in the dark with these
boys’ eyes. I hate being a boy. I want to be a cat.”
Fizzle,
snap, poof! His fingers were paws. He walked on all fours. The spell
was broken. He was back to being Sam the cat. He put his tail in the
air and wiggled it.
Sam
ran under the tree where the owl hooted. He jumped over the little
stream. He ran past the barking dog. He snuck through the cat door.
He walked into Amy Sue’s bedroom and called, “Mewoo.” He called
again, louder this time. “Mewoo!”
Finally,
Amy Sue woke up. “Come on up, Sam.”
Sam
jumped onto the bed. Safe and warm and once again with his best
friend, he curled up into a tight ball and purred until he fell
asleep.
"Joey"
photo by ldyck
When my husband and I moved to Mayne Island, we were animal-less. What a sorry state. Thankfully, our kind landlady found us two cats--Joey and Sam. They had been raised as siblings and so were approximately the same age, but that's where the similarities ended.
Joey was a skilled hunter. She brought us a hummingbird and ceremoniously devoured it on our bed. She was a beauty, but didn't share her beauty with visitors; she preferred to hide. Sam enjoyed making friends. But his gregariousness landed him in trouble when he chose to attempt to befriend a raccoon. Unlike his sister, he had no desire to hunt. Joey brought him half-dead mice. He batted the poor creature a little but quickly lost interest. I prefer to think that he had no heart to kill. Or perhaps he simply preferred tinned food.
"Ticky"
photo by ldyck
When we purchased our home on Mayne Island, Ticky joined our family. He was a solidly built tomcat who loved nothing more than to fight with a neighboring tom. The two of them would square off, fur flying everywhere, and Ticky would return home glowing with pride, albeit battered and bruised. I wrote "Cats Have Servants" about my three cats.
Cats Have Servants
photo by ldyck
April on this blog...
This month I indulge my--and hopefully your--love of fiction.
April 13
Sheep Choir (short story)
As a fledgling knitwear designer, I was blessed to have the support of kind people. This is a tribute to one of them.
April 20
Seashells (short story)
...about an "unexpected" gift
April 27
Finding Her (short story)
When you're lost, sometimes all you need is someone to follow.
Photo by Byron
Without a reader,
A writer's words mean
Nothing
In the mail...
