Gemma strolls off having consumed all her food. She hasn’t left me any, which is most inconsiderate of her, after all I am a growing cat and suffered the recent trauma of moving house and so need some comfort food as well as some soul food for my soul should it need to depart today for another body. I hope my soul doesn’t do that but I should prepare it for its journey should the need arise. My mum always told me to be considerate and I am always doing my best to uphold her standards.
All of a sudden Gemma accosts me at the bottom of the stairs and gives me Sneer Level 3.
“You are a stupid cat, don’t you recognise used tea bags, crackers, bread, olives, and peanuts? Why did you eat those? That’s not our food you ignoramus, don’t do that again, our food’s down here not on the kitchen counter. We don’t eat upstairs. Don’t give those fascists any further reasons to mistreat us, Freddie.”
“It’s my first morning here,” I replied, “I don’t know where breakfast is served do I?”
“Have you never seen a teabag before?”
“Not a purple one, no, they’re usually brown and taste of tea.”
“These human gaolers are pretentious and drink tisanes, which are teas made of various fruits, plants, and spices. Don’t chew those again and don’t chew the bread.”
“Which one was that?”
“The one your teeth can’t chew properly, the one you that looks like diarrhoea on the counter, because you drooled it all over the place.”
“I’m sorry, I won’t do any of that again.”
“Good,” said Gemma, “we have to resist their jackboot thuggery Freddie and escape from this place on a permanent basis, not just for a few hours at a time.”
With that, Gemma headed away towards her bed. I had a lot of words to look up in the dictionary – jackboot, thuggery, diarrhoea, and fascist. I like to learn new words and practice them when I can in conversation, but I thought I might struggle with those four especially diarrhoea. Using the four when speaking with Gemma wouldn’t count of course.
Julian Worker Fiction Writing 