Kitty
Matilda Eisenhower
11/4/10
Period 3
AICE English
Short Story
Mistaken Identity
The soft green grass tickling my belly, the warm sun shining on my peach colored fur, and the sound of silence in my own backyard; all familiar and pleasant. Stretching out my mighty paw I listened to the humans move their things in and out of the townhouse in the distance. The sounds were faint to the average ear, but my cat ears are mighty sensitive to even the slightest bit of noise. Twitching my ears to every loud crash I continued to clean myself. Licking my dirty paws over and over again I saw the humans add more boxes to their pile as well as a long black object on the other side of the backyard. Leaning against the wooden fence, it reflected an intense yellow light.
After spending a considerate amount of time cleaning myself like every good kitty, I found a better way to entertain myself; lunch. I really do enjoy the time outside. I’m usually a house cat so coming out is such a treat for me, especially when lunch is one of those common birds that always spend their days lounging on the power lines that hang over the townhouse. It was early afternoon, only a few were there. Soon, it would be time for their lunch too and some poor black little birdie will be searching for insects in my grass. In my territory they’ll be feasting, but little did they know that they’ll have a little she-cat on their feathered tail.
The hardest part about hunting as a house cat is that you’re so out of practice. Also, patience runs thin. It’s not like I could enter the house though, they were moving too many things and my short little tail might get stepped on. Lazily I waited for a lonely bird to swoop in and peck at the ground; and one did. I began the usual feline-crouch; hind quarters in the air, head in the grass, slow and careful steps. My dang collar made some noise and scared the birds away. I had completely forgotten to take extra precaution, how stupid of me! I quickly wiggled out of my tiny red collar and buried it in the ground, my gold painted tag being the first thing I cover up, just in case another bird might be coming down.
Waiting patiently I rolled in the dirt to mask my scent. I know my owners would despise my dirty peach fur, but I didn’t want to take anymore chances. Besides, they’ll bathe me anyways so it’s not like it’s a terrible crime. As soon as I finished I only waited a few more minutes; it’s like the birds were keeping me on schedule! Sure enough there was yet another, but smaller, black bird. Its fur was like coal, a dusty onyx color showing age; you could tell that this bird was of an older generation. I resumed the feline-hunting-stance. Once again my hindquarters were in the air, my little tail poking out of the long grass, my face smuggled in the sweet smelling blades of nature, the bird only a yard away munching on insects. Inching closer the grass tickled my pink nose; I really did have to resist the impulse to sneeze. When I was just a few inches away, preparing myself to pounce, I stepped on a snail shell and it cracked under my weight.
The old bird was in mid-flight when I batted at his wing injuring it. I thought it was the end of it there, but oh I was wrong. The bird began this hop-fly routine, but it never really left the ground. I was stunned at first, so my lunch got a head start. Chasing after it I reached the other side of my yard, where the ground meets this wooden fence. Right before hitting that black-reflector object I caught the bird. Satisfied, I pranced around with the bird in my mouth. That’s when I really to a good look at the object.
My owners had left it there, it seemed broken because some pieces were missing, but that wasn’t the peculiar part. There was a dog, a little dog with peach colored fur, looking back at me. Not only that, but it too had a bird in its mouth. I was confused! This dog did not bark at me or growl, not that I encounter many dogs, but it just looked back into my caramel eyes. Quickly looking back to see if maybe it was behind me I only saw the yard that I had spent my whole afternoon in. It was empty, except for a few boxes that were gathering at the backdoor. I dropped my meal and just stared into this peculiar object. Soon enough my owners came speaking their strange language. I just continued to stare at this dog, this tiny little rat-faced dog.
“Mom, look what Kitty is doing. She’s looking in the broken mirror,” said the little girl fixing her shirt as she placed a shoe box down next to the mirror, “Kitty’s never looked in a mirror before; I wonder how she feels Mommy”.
“Sweetie, Kitty probably doesn’t even know that she’s a Chihuahua, but it doesn’t matter, she lives a happy life anyways.”
