Catastrophe's Dilemma

Staring down at the cold, stone floor, the cat realized for the first time how fat she really was because she was stuck in the basement window.

She was an indoor cat, and had let herself get… comfortable over the years. She had noticed lately that she had absolutely no stamina when performing her usual duties; such as racing around the house for no apparent reason, terrorizing the other cat, and hanging upside down off the end of the couch.

But to get trapped on a windowsill? That was just embarrassing, even to a cat with limited pride such as Catastrophe.

She had been wandering aimlessly through the house, making her rounds in the basement, when a subtle movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Catastrophe had peered up to see a little Robin twittering in a small bush just outside the basement window. Turdus Migratorius, Robin Redbreast; it was beloved by most New Englanders because its annual migration north signaled the beginning of spring and the end of the terrible winters. It was lively, energetic, and adorable.

It was a quick snack.

Catastrophe was a cat after all, and as an animal that repeatedly ate her own hairballs, was unaware of the concept of “Adorable.” She had switched to “Hunter Mode” and had crept as stealthily as possible (for a 20-pound cat) across the floor to the window, to prepare for launch. She hunkered down, beneath the bird’s radar, yet curiously raised her rump and excitedly twitched her tail, as if to give the robin a warning. The bird did not notice because it had the brain of… well… a bird, and continued pecking at the tasty berries of the bush.

Catastrophe almost jumped twice, false starts that would have completely blown her chance to catch the robin in her watering mouth, but she caught herself. She was a killing machine, genetically engineered by God to be the best hunter in the universe, and possessed little remorse for creatures beneath her.

Which is why she felt really stupid when she leaped into the air and bounced off the screen of the open window.

The Robin turned to look toward the window, and saw Catastrophe’s face pushed against the nylon mesh. It cocked its head humorously, as if wondering who was really the birdbrain, and darted off.

The basement windows were not very big at all, and the sill was less than an inch in depth, so Catastrophe was precariously balanced on her splayed back legs, with her forepaws grabbing for dear life at the window screen. No problem, the cat thought, I’ll just jump down. I’ll get out of here and pretend this never happened.

In her youth, she had been nimble and light; she had the flexibility of an Olympic gymnast. Back then she would have been able to completely turn around and float gracefully down to the ground, but that was a few years ago, and there was no way she was going to be able to turn around and do anything on that ledge – other than fall to the ground below with a jarring thump. The hard floor certainly did not look inviting, and Catastrophe thought better of attempting an ill-advised acrobatic maneuver at that height.

She looked to her left, but there was a very high stack of old boxes leaning against the wall just next to the window, and they cut off any chance of her jumping to safety in that direction. She thought she might use the boxes to climb down, but they were old, rickety, and covered with dust. Climbing down those would end up being about as effective as jumping if she stumbled and plummeted to the floor.

Hmm. What was on the right?

An old, rusty pipe that jutted out about two inches from the wall, ran the length of it, and disappeared into the floor below; also cutting off any chance of escape.

If cats could swear, Catastrophe would have turned the basement air blue right about then.

“Mrowp,” the sound of a cat meowing beneath her brought Catastrophe’s attention to the floor.

Oh great. The other cat had come down to taunt her, no doubt. She sat on the cold floor and stared up at Catastrophe with her pretty green eyes.

Calliope was a year-and-a-half older than Catastrophe. She was a shorthaired Calico with smatterings of orange on her sleek, dark fur. While she was slightly large around the middle, Calliope was positively svelte when compared with Catastrophe’s mass of fat and fur. She was vain as well, and didn’t particularly like Catastrophe anyway, so she would often demonstrate how thin she was when she was around the younger cat.

Catastrophe willed the other cat to go away and leave her alone, but Calliope just sat there and stared up with those damn green eyes of hers.

Calliope looked over to the next window, then sauntered over to it. She jumped up ever so gracefully, an easy motion that required minimal effort. She landed on the tiny ledge without a sound and looked out for a minute. There was nothing out there that interested her, and she couldn’t understand what the other cat was doing up in the window to begin with, so she changed her focus back to the taunting at hand.

Calliope made a big show of turning around in a complete circle and then, to be certain Catastrophe saw how easy it was, did it again. She jumped silently down to the floor and parked herself beneath Catastrophe once again to look questioningly up at her.

Yes, I know I’m fat, thought Catastrophe, I’ll go on a diet tomorrow. Just leave me alone.

There was a fluttering noise outside the window. The Robin was back, and to Catastrophe’s horror, had returned with some friends: four other birds stood by the robin’s side and stared at the fat cat stuck in the window screen.

Catastrophe’s humiliation was complete; she bowed her head in shame. If cats believed in God, she would have raised her head to the heavens and plead for a little something from Above.

Like dignity.

The Robin bounced forward and looked quizzically at the round ball of fur that was suspended in the window, in an awkward position. The cat had a fluffy tail that twitched irritably when the bird approached.

Catastrophe’s discomfort escalated into full-blown misery, Okay, yeah that’s funny. Now go away.

The Robin took another step forward and gave a tentative peck through the screen and into Catastrophe’s formidable belly. Catastrophe howled in anguish and embarrassment and pulled away so hard she lost her footing; the only reason she didn’t fall to the stone basement floor was because her terrified claws still clutched the screen.

“Mrowp,” Calliope made a contented sound from the floor. If cats could laugh… well, you know.

Another peck, and Catastrophe cried out. Her entire body was airborne for an instant as it pulled away from the painful (and embarrassing)poke. She stretched out to full length, until her front claws pulled her back to the screen in a whiplash motion.

She hit the flimsy screen full-force, and with so much weight and momentum behind the impact, the poor screen could not endure that kind of physical abuse. It ripped loudly.

The Robin’s life passed before its beady little eyes in a flash as both feline and nylon tumbled on top of it. The other birds assembled at its side suddenly took off for safety.

Calliope jumped up to the window just recently occupied by Catastrophe and watched with great jealousy as Catastrophe ate the bird.

Catastrophe turned around to face Calliope, and even though it was difficult to be haughty with a little brown feather dangling from her chin, she walked by Calliope with her nose to the sky. Without ever acknowledging the older cat, Catastrophe squeezed in through the window and jumped down to the cold, stone floor.