Zoe's Choice

My name is Zoe, and I am a calico cat.

I live with my owner in Virginia and I have
a pretty good life.  Plenty of food, both dry
and wet, kitty treats with flavors like beef,
chicken and salmon, cat toys and even a
scratching post.  Sometimes I go outside
and hide beneath the pines, but mostly
I’m an indoor cat, content to perch upon
the windowsill where I love to bask in
the sun.  Yeah, I have it pretty good. 

Thing is, though, I heard something just
the other day that got me to thinking;
indeed, it sorta got my back up.  My purrs
were stifled, and my tail was not it’s usual
upright self.  So, this morning I persisted
in meowing to where I woke my owner.
He slumped out of bed heavy with woe.
But he checked my food dish, and my
water dish, and both were just fine.
Then, he muttered, “Okay Zoe,”
wherein he opened the back door
to let me outside.  However, I didn’t
want to go out; so I sat down,
eyed him narrowly, and
meowed markedly. 

My owner was a question mark
in bed clothes and slippers.
Guess it wasn’t fair to him,
me acting this way—I wish I
could somehow let him know
what was irritating me.  Yet
all was okay after I calmed
down, and we both went about
our daily business.  But it still
piques me, even now, when I think
about it—I had heard that these
were the, “Dog Days” of summer,
and, as a cat, that didn’t set too
well.  Why not, “Cat Days?”
I had to protest.

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
8-27-16