The Cat Always Knows

Fluffy (what a silly, undignified name he’s been given) sits imperiously on the windowsill, sleek grey tail swishing back and forth in a lazy metronome. He’s been on this perch for some time, having watched the small offspring who share his kingdom leave earlier. He knows they’ll be gone for hours.

Stretching out to warm himself as best he can with the meager sunshine that filters through the window, Fluffy surveys his outer domain. Not that he’s outside much in this weather, but it’s his duty to note anything of interest. He knows that once spring sets in the activity outside will pick up. A chirr-up sound escapes his throat at the thought of tiny, tasty feather-covered morsels flying within reach. Better yet when they land and he can pounce! They do that with some regularity once better weather arrives. Birds, he’s heard them called. Whatever. Other than the feathers, they make for a good snack.

Unfortunately, there’s not much to look at today on Cat TV (aka the picture window in the front room). The daffodils are making an effort to push through the earth, although he could have told them to hold off another few days. There will be a spring snow tonight.

Fluffy yawns. Just because he knows these things doesn’t mean he has to share the information.

The snow will melt. When it melts there will be mud. Muddy ground means muddy paws. Not his. He’s too smart to go outside in the mud. It’s undignified!

Reginald (a name he tries on for size) drops, with (very) clean paws, almost soundlessly to the floor. Tail in the air, he stalks commandingly through the house, avoiding entering the kitchen where the deaf dog chews on a bedraggled leather baseball glove. The dog, with the equally unimpressive name of Daisy, looks up as he walks by, her tail thumping the floor hopefully.

Sphinx (that might be a better name yet) pretends not to notice. Nothing to see here, dogg-o. Keep chewing on that thing until your masters take it from you and toss it in the trash. He, Sphinx (it’s working for him), has no owners. He’s the master of this empire. No matter that the dog was here first. She was obviously placed here by well-meaning humans, although given their proclivity to uninspired and unfitting names, he has to wonder at their reasoning for many things, the dog’s presence being one of them.

After a leisurely stroll down the hallway, King (no) Emperor (better!) jumps straight in the air at the sight of an intruder in the bedroom. Ack! What’s this!? His back arches as he lands, his normally sleek grey fur puffed out all over his body against the unwanted foreigner taking up his space.

Oh wait. It’s just his reflection in the mirrored closet door. He knew that. With a quick look around to make sure no one caught that on camera (Oh the horror of going viral!), Emperor leaps on the bed to partake in the daily ritual of grooming himself. This perch is safe from Daisy’s reach, should she finish destroying the glove and decide to find and pester him. Everyone knows Emperor doesn’t play with Daisy. Everyone except Daisy, that is.

Grooming complete, Sir Cat (bingo--his new name!) takes a long nap. Hours later, awakened by high-pitched voices and the sound of running feet that disturb his noble rest, he jumps from the bed, shaking himself awake before resuming his commanding stroll. Time to check on the underlings.

Having made a circuit to allow the small offspring to greet him, and suffering through their insistence on petting him, he makes his way to the kitchen. The dog is still there. Sir Cat fixes Daisy with a haughty stare until she takes the hint and disappears through the doggy door.

Sir Cat sits near his food bowl, looks up and gives one well-timed Meow. He always knows when it’s time for dinner.


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670 words

Write a story or poem titled - The Cat Always Knows - (it must also be the title of your static item) - and include in any order the following, all bolded:

baseball glove
spring snow
daffodils
deaf dog