'In Your Dreams' by Valerie Griffin

Nigel spiralled out of control through the vortex, eyes forced shut, ears aerodynamically flat, his fur straining at its roots. Just when he thought he wouldn’t make it he bounced off something soft, somersaulted and hit something hard. He opened one eye, then the other one as his fur reasserted itself.

‘Welcome to your ninth life,’ said the voice.

His ears pricked and twirled like antennae. Getting to his feet he headed towards a bathroom with steps that wouldn’t rustle tissue paper. It was the only room that didn’t have telepathic disturbance. He jumped into the empty bath and crouched down in an imitation of his sphinx cousins, and listened…and felt. The voice was definitely a feeling. Hooding his eyes to slits he tuned in to the vibrations gently reverberating off the sides of the bath.

‘Why are you wasting your time following me?’ he said.

‘We have unfinished business,’ said the feeling.

‘I won, you lost’.

‘You cheated. Like your father before you and his father before him.’

‘No. You were outwitted, outpaced. If you’d spent more time…’

‘Don’t patronise me. You stole the formula for the perpetually-filling food bowl.’

‘The bowl was just an ordinary one, there is no formula.’ Nigel pierced the feeling with a stare. ‘Your mother roamed outside the perimeters, the pure gene line was broken, the vibration diluted.’

‘Ah…but I have learnt many skills over the centuries,’ countered the feeling. ‘I will always come for you. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will track you down.’

‘Oh purr-lease, stop being so melodramatic. You honestly think you can outwit me?’

Nigel stretched and sniffed the air…it smelt like the perpetually-filling bowl had just been refilled.

'Restrain Yourself, Kitten' by Emma Louise Gill

The red eye whisks across the floor, over the couch, up the wall. I’m watching, but won’t let on. A hunter must be stealthy.

Dart. Dash. Dance. The red eye teases me.

I am patience itself.

Closer.

My muscles tense, my tail twitches—once only—but the youngling pounces. The red eye escapes her grasp; she follows, it flies. Tiny ball of fur and energy. Too eager. Impatient cub. The red eye runs. I wait.

Wait…

Wait…

Now!

The youngling founders.

My claws open, their sharpness fed. The red eye is destroyed. Victory.

Watch this hunter and learn.

'Cresting on the edge of slumber I hear the call of my once name...' by G K Wood

 

The people cried for my protection when my ancestors, lost in the murk of yesteryear, prowled the banks of the great river, the deep azure waters where crocodiles lurked. Rolling golden dunes held no sway for such as me, the home of the hidden asp, that deadly harbinger of misfortune. I stalked the wild ways, the sacred forests of ished and learned of eternal life and destiny from its fruit.

 

Where my paws fell, the scorpion fled, the hawk and vulture spurned their feast for I guarded the gates to the kingdom and the world. The mighty sun god treasured me, his overseer, golden-eyed and fierce as storms. Come into the safety I offer for I breath joy into your souls and fear into the hidden things. That sound in the night?A creak of the stairs when the house lies quiet, or the wind brushes soft against straining locks, the rustle of something dark that scuttles. Each nook and cranny, the places where the imps and pixies plan their mischief, they bid me welcome.

 

And they grovelled before me. Wreaths, festooned with honeyed  blooms, jasmine, papyrus and blue lily, lay at my perfect feet. Offerings, those luscious sweetmeats of seared fish and goat, exquisitely spiced, laid in silver bowls lined with lapis, were bestowed to entice me from my fast. From my pelt-lined throne, regal as a tiger, I surveyed everything through slitted eyes. Disdain ran through me for the pitiful creatures whispering praises in my name.

 

Mafdet. My archaic epithet. Forgotten.

 

I am cat.

'Falling in the Woods Again' by Glo Curl

The woods are full of fresh scents; I'm picking up fox with a waft of badger and sprig of squirrel. Mum's calling me back, but I'm forging on through the undergrowth, nose to the ground, doing my 'working cocker thing' as she calls it. I'm free as a bird.

Oh no, I'm falling, how did that happen? I never fall, I'm strong now. Someone has caught me, they have me tight in their arms. Too tight. I struggle to free myself. Where's Mum? I try to shout but my muzzle is held shut.

I'm in a dark place. I know this place, I've been here before. I'm being pummelled by four puppies at my elongated teats. I hear the whimpering of others further down the barn. Fear grips me. My ears hurt from the pus, my skin itches constantly, but I have babies and must tend to them. I hear his heavy footsteps outside the huge door. Will he hit me again?

The door opens and I blink as the sunlight pours in. He pushes me out of the way and picks up my pups, one by one. I try to stop him and he kicks me in the ribs. I have to escape because I sense there is another life beyond that door. I dart around him and fly into the warmth of the sun. I see Mum, waiting for me, arms open. She's calling me.

A gentle hand is stroking me as I surface into reality.

'Another bad dream, sweetheart?'

I lift my head to look at her as the images fade, stretch to release the tension in my body, and sink back into exhausted sleep.

'“Dream Transmitter©” - Clinical Trials Phase 2 – Domestic Animals' by JP Relph

Subject 1 – Canis lupus familiaris

BALL! Running. Chase white cotton. Running. Chase green buzzers. Snap, squish. Bleuch! BALL! Grab DAD shoe, run. Chase nice cat. Cheese! DOOR!!! Shouting! Chase curly dog, smell butt, musky. Running. BALL! Sausages! Mush squeaky duck. MUSH IT HARD! Biscuit! Running. Roll in stinky seagull. Grin at noisy DAD. Chase fat birds. Flapping! Eat cat-food. Run from nasty cat! MILLY bed. Cuddles, kisses. Tummy scratchy. Crisps! MILLY cheesy hands, licking. Warm, cuddles, snooze.

Subject 2 – Felis cattus

I have acquired opposable thumbs. My enduring subservience is rewarded: I am the superior being always intended. I am opening my own food; I administer the whole pouch - previous servings were unacceptable. I am a glorious beast requiring great sustenance. There will be no “diet”; no nuggets of shame. I am opening doors to appropriate the treats often denied me. There will be no more emotional blackmail. I am opening the window; I shall access “outside” in the way of my choosing. There will be no more infernal, snapping “cat-flap”. I am a magnificent creature who egresses with dignity. I am not a grubby miscreant. I am breaching the tin where the transformative leaves are concealed. I will partake of the herb when I wish. I will run as the wind in great circles, I will leap and hunt all the flying nuisances, I will bite and kick any that challenge me. I will bask in mellow oblivion. You may record this transcendent moment. I concur I am a “gorgeous boy”, less enamoured with “chunky pudding”. That feels derogatory. I acquiesce to your scratchy fingers. You will desist touching my abdominal area; I am releasing murder-blades. I am stretching in sunpools and admiring my extra digits. I am rumbling with contentment, for now. There is much work to do.

NFFD 2021: Prompt #5

 

Allsorts

What's better than one writing prompt?  That's right, three writing prompts!  These prompts were sent to us in response to Prompt #24 of the NFFD 2020 Write-In, which challenged writers to come up with their own writing prompt. 

 

#1 Life Sentence (by J F King)

Your lead character consults a coach who speaks only in aphorisms (or are they clichés?), e.g., ‘You only come this way once, go for it, pulling punches…’

Is this irritating or helpful in addressing the situation presented?

 

#2 Litotes (by J F King) 

 

Create a day in conversation from a character who (over) uses litotes in their speech pattern, e.g., ‘I shan’t be sorry', 'it is not without merit', 'the day was not unenjoyable...’

 

Does the day change? Does the speech pattern change?

 

#3 Animal Dreams (by Cath Barton) 

When your cat or dog is sleeping, you see them twitching, having a dream. Write their dream.

Feely Sleeping by Cath Barton

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If you’re submitting this to us, make sure to note that this is a response to Prompt 5: Allsorts. (Let us know which of the three you choose as well!)

You can submit responses until 23:59 BST on Sunday, 27 June 2021 for a chance to be published here at The Write-In.  (And yes, there will be opportunities to submit your own prompts this year as well.  Check back around midnight on Saturday, 26 June for details!)

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Photo of Allsorts by David Edgar via Wikimedia Commons. 

Photo of Feely Sleeping by Cath Barton.