~2 Years Ago~
~Home of Sanoh “Poog”, Reno, NV~
Sanoh, everyone calls her Poog, opens her refrigerator for the third time shaking her head. One of the dozens of post-it notes littering the door loses its sticky grasp, slowly gliding toward oblivion under the fridge. “Oh here it is,” she rattled, pulling an iron from the refrigerator with plump hands. “No, no that’s not it…what was I looking for again?” she implored the growing clowder. Her feline flock lovingly brush against her legs motors running with beseeching mews of hunger and impatience. Dander floats in broken sunlight like a dandelion on a spring breeze.
In a stroke of clarity Poog reaches for the dishwasher, opens the door and inspects the top drawer. Dim sunlight breaks through the cracks of the rumpled curtain to mix with tainted yellow fluorescence. She pulls the can opener from the drawer and replaces it with the iron between a toaster and a cup with what appears to be a pelt of black and green fuzz.
Cans of cat food and tuna fish line the counter alongside several plates and bowls. “Yes, you are hungry aren’t you dearies,” Poog consoles as she opens a can of cat food. The whirring motor of the can opener triggers a stampede of the remaining cats; tails in the air, whining petulantly. The Korat however, remains motionless upon his red velvet pillow; his silver tail coiled beneath him. Only slightly visible is the movement of his penetrating emerald eyes trailing in the direction of the ruckus. He is Poog’s most beloved companion, Mār. His shimmering silver coat outlines his thin yet muscular frame. He is an emperor surveying his kingdom. All others are mere peasants in the presence of his glorious shadow, or at least that’s his opinion.
Poog places a heaping spoon of cat food between two slices of bread, takes a bite, and spoons the remaining onto a plate. While finishing her sandwich she opens the remaining cans mixing cat food and tuna periodically. After placing the bowls and plates among the seemingly famished felines, Poog fills one last bowl with tuna. This has been her routine for the past 10 years, since the emerald eyed master came to lord over the kingdom that once was Poog’s. Lately though Mār has not felt well; losing a great deal of his muscle weight. He now lies on the pillow rather than regally perching. Poog has been feeling less active as well. At 90 years of age it’s a little harder to get around and at times even more difficult to remember where that damn toaster is, or was it the broom, anyhow...
Most of Poog’s money goes to her clan of cats. Only the best food and plenty of treats, which is obvious by the size of a few of them. 15 pound cats are not all that common but in Poog’s house less than 10 pounds is a sign of sickness. The only exception is that of her beloved, Mār. While Poog works to feed the near dozen other feline friends the silver godlike emperor remains atop his perch on his special red velvet pillow.
With the clowder satiated for the moment she collects the glass bowl filled with tuna and turns to walk to the living room where his royal highness waits, just slightly annoyed. “Mār”, pronouncing it as if saying man…“I have your special meal coming dear”. As she takes a step from the counter a loop from her stained and tattered nightgown snags a knob causing her to jerk to one side. Lucky for Poog, she drops the bowl on the counter only spilling a few drops of the pungent juices to the floor. Unscathed however she is not; her knee slams against the cabinet with a hollow thud.
“Shit!” Poog groaned, leaning against the cabinet, shifting her weight to the other leg and rubbing the quickly darkening knee. Slowly regaining her footing she releases her gown from the grasp of the murderous drawer and once more collects the aromatic feast for her beloved emperor.
Poog’s now shaky foot plops on the tail of a corpulent Siamese. With more surprise than pain the cat emits a shriek mixed with a growl that not only sends chills up the spine but also sends the terrified snackers scrambling for safety, wherever that may be. Displaying the grace of an epileptic at a rave poor little Poog hops to her other foot, which is supported by her now purple knee. Grimacing in pain she shifts her weight back to the other leg. As if living in some sick twisted dark slapstick comedy her foot slips with a squeak smearing the pungent fish oil. In a final attempt to catch her balance Poog drops the bowl and its delicious fishy goodness with a crash. Arms flailing and the slimy fish covered shards scatter in every direction she continues toward the ground. One particularly sharp shard which came to rest in the mound of wet oily fish, ominously points to the heavens.
Time seems to almost stop as Poog watches the pile of fish come ever closer. Unable to stop her decent she turns her head just before slapping the hard concrete floor; the fish laced shard lodging just a couple inches below her right ear causing a sudden and forceful burst of crimson to erupt from the broken and confused woman. Quickly decreasing bursts of thick sticky life force swirl with fish and begin pooling around her motionless body.
As her pupils begin to contract, for what is surely the last time, her beloved Korat leaps to the ground, meanders to the edge of the thick pooling blood, stops short and crouches slightly. With uncanny speed and agility he leaps, landing upon the back of the one person in this horrible world that loves him almost as much as he loves himself. Let’s be honest, no one could love him as much as he loves himself, but she did her best. Purring, the beloved companion gently rubs his face along her neck then slides his course tongue across her neck to her ear. As a final gurgle bubbles pink foam from her nose and mouth, Poog’s most cherished friend bites deep into her still warm and twitching cheek.
Submitted January 01, 2015 at 02:42AM by RJTAtheist http://ift.tt/1BmFPNF DarkTales
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