The Other Cat

    Spot sat on the floor, tail twitching in anticipation as her owner took yet another bite of the large, ham sandwich he had yet to share.  She meowed piteously, hoping to get his attention. She rubbed her black-and-white body along the legs of his chairs, wound around the legs of her owner, and purred loudly. She meowed again, and focused her gold eyes on his sandwich, giving him a clear signal of what she wanted.

    Lazily he reached out a hand and gave her a dismissive pat on the head.

    Damn. She had to try again.

    She rubbed, purred, meowed, nipped and licked until he finally looked down at her.

    “What?” he said.

    “Meow.” She looked at the ham sandwich. Humans were so dense.

    “Oh, fine.” He sighed, and ripped off a small piece of ham and placed it on the floor in front of her.

      Yes! Success!

    She daintily picked up the ham, brought it over to the bed and jumped up to the pillows to enjoy her victory snack. It didn’t take much to get him to feed her, usually. All she had to do was irritate him long enough and he would give her whatever she wanted so long as she stopped bothering him. This system was flawed, but it worked for her.  It took her a few years to perfect this technique, but now she knew enough tricks to get him to feed her pretty much every time he went to the kitchen.

Spot stretched lazily on the bed, circled around, and made herself comfortable. The ham was delicious, and she would have gone for more, but herowner had already finished it off and had his eyes on the black box in front of him. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why he found that thing so interesting. In fact, the constant clicking it did was rather annoying. But she put up with it. When he was in front of the box, she got the bed.

      She was just about to put her head down for a long nap when the doorbell rang. Her owner got up to answer the door. She knew the drill. The door was downstairs. So was the kitchen. In the kitchen, there was food.

Spot quickly got up, and decided the desk was a far quicker route to the stairs than taking the time to jump off the bed and walk all the way over to the stairwell. She jumped up on the desk, meanwhile giving the black box a casual glance. Then she back up and looked at it again.

    There was another cat in the box!

    Well, this was a predicament. She had not expected there to be another cat around. How was she supposed to get food when there was constant competition? And when had they gotten another cat? She didn’t remember her owner going out and coming home with another cat.

    She stared at the Other Cat, tail flicking back and forth anxiously. Why was it just standing there looking at her? It must be one of those improper feral cats. Those cretins wouldn’t know how to be polite it their life depended on it. Running around in the wilderness like…like savages! Yes, that’s what happened. One of the savages got into the house, and her owner put him in the box. But that didn’t explain why her owner was looking at it. Was he considering keeping the Other Cat?

She pressed her ears flat against her head, arched her back and hissed viciously, showing the Other Cat just who the boss was.

    The Other Cat stared glassily at her. How rude!

    She batted angrily at the box, daring the Other Cat to show her how tough it was. It stayed in one place, not even wincing. 

    Oh dear. It was tougher than she thought.

    She hissed, and batted with claws out this time. Her claws scraped against the box, and never even touched the Other Cat.

    She sat on her haunches; tail swishing wildly as she considered this arrangement. The Other Cat was protected by the box, which explained why it didn’t bother coming forward to introduce itself. It knew it was safe behind the box. She sniffed, hoping to catch the scent of the Other Cat. Stray cats smelled a lot like a normal, decent housecat smelled like, only with a touch of sadness mixed in. Stray cats weren’t a threat—most were so happy to finally be taken indoors they would put up with any other animal. She could handle a stray.

    Feral cats were different. They smelled of woods, asphalt, and danger. Most were fierce fighters, and complete thugs. She could hold her own with many other cats, but she had let herself go these past few years. She didn’t know if she could fight a feral cat and come out on top. If her owner had brought one of those heathens into her home, and had it protected, then how was she supposed to prove her dominance?

    She couldn’t catch a scent of the Other Cat. It smelled the same as it always smelled in the room. In fact, she had no proof there was another cat in the house at all.

    This Other Cat was good!

    She approved of the method, but not the intent. There was no way, no way, she was sharing her food with a savage!

    She hissed at the feral cat. And still, it simply stared.

    Growling, she hopped off the desk. She would simply have to wait until her owner came back up and let the Other Cat out. Then they would see who the big shot was!

    She waited patiently at the bottom of the stairs, where her owner was fooling around with another big male she called “Dogface”.

    Like a dog, he was big and dopey, and he never fed her when he had some tasty snack to share. And like a dog, he constantly annoyed her; rubbing her fur the wrong way, pushing her out of her warm spot on the bed, and being generally bothersome. She tolerated him, because she knew if she hissed and bit like she wanted to she would get yelled at. So she let him rub her the wrong way, but she always kept track of where he was going, so she could push herself in front of his feet so he would trip over her. She figured if she did that often enough, he would fall to his death and she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

    Today she had bigger problems, though, so when he gave out a gleeful shout of “What, Spot?” and rubbed the fur along her back in the wrong direction, she merely gave him a contemptuous glare and watched him trudge up the stairs behind her owner.

    She followed quickly, and sat on the floor a few feet away as her owner sat in his chair and Dogface sprawled on the bed, right on her favorite napping space.

    No matter, she would deal with him at another time. Right now, she wanted to see her owner let the Other Cat out the box. She tensed her muscles, ready to pounce when the Other Cat jumped off the desk.

    He didn’t let the Other Cat out. He and his friend simply stared at the box and made clicking sounds. She listened hard, and she could hear some faint meowing coming from the box. The cat sounded happy to be in the box. Imbecile. Wasn’t that savage smart enough to realize that being in a box was completely demeaning? The number of times she had fought to get out of her carrier…not because she wanted to get out, precisely, but because it was so belittling to her caste. Boxes were for strays and feral cats, not housecats! Plus, every time they pulled her out of the box she was taken somewhere to be poked, prodded and pinched, then shoved back in again only to be taken home.

Clearly, the feral cat was so savage it didn’t even understand how humiliating it was to be in a box. She lay down on the rug, settling in for a long wait. The Other Cat obviously liked being in the box. Let her owner and Dogface poke and prod him if they wished. She would take care of the fool later tonight.



    A couple of hours later, after Dogface had left, Spot sat on the bed watching her owner. The Other Cat had made no other sounds all night. Perhaps it too was tired and wanted to sleep. She waited patiently for her owner to go downstairs once again, leaving her with the box. She had thought of a plan, while he and Dogface had sat around. When her owner left the room, she could reclaim what was rightfully hers.

    She had curled up right next to the pillow, and felt the bed shift and shake as her owner settled next to her. She purred loudly as he stroked her, scratching in just the right spots. This was why she had to get rid of the Other Cat. There was no way she would get this kind of attention while another cat was around. She would have to share food, scratching time, and napping space. One of those, she could live with. But all three?

    She dozed off for a while as her owner lay with her on the bed, his warm body pressed up against her back. She liked these moments, when he laid next to her and shared body heat. It was cozy. Yet another reason she had to get rid of the Other Cat.

    She woke up slightly when her owner got off the bed and went back downstairs. Excellent, this was her chance. She stalked up to the box and looked inside. The Other Cat was still there, staring at her sappily.

    The battle began. She batted at the box, pushing it closer and closer to the edge. She would push the box over and the Other Cat would simply have to get out and fight. Then she could prove she deserved to be here, had earned her place in the house.

She pushed and shoved, batted and head-butted. The box inched forward slowly, so slowly she wondered if she was doing any damaged at all. Then, with a crash, it fell to the floor.

    She stared down at the box, waiting for the Other Cat to come flying out, ready for attack. She had the advantage now, being on top of the desk. She could simply launch herself down onto the savage’s back.

She waited, but the Other Cat never appeared.

         She jumped down to inspect the box, wondering all the while if it was a trap. She sniffed the box gingerly. She didn’t smell anything, despite the large crack. She walked around the box a couple of times, waiting for the Other Cat to show itself.

         It never did.

         Pleased with herself, Spot jumped back onto the bed and curled up in her favorite place near the pillows. The Other Cat had been vanquished, and she was the conqueror. It was easier than she had ever imagined. She purred loudly as she listened to her owner rush up the stairs.

         Just wait until he saw what she had accomplished. He would be so proud, maybe proud enough to get her another snack.