Stories about animals

A Cat

The sky, just now, which was blue has started to spit rain. My wife and the children are waiting back home for me to bring back Mr. Jingles. My wife changes his litter box at least every couple of days; my children feed him and keep him company, coaxing him up into their laps before watching television. He and I have never gotten along. He likes to walk across the keyboard when I’m trying to type. He has a habit of butting open the door when I’m trying to find some peace and quiet in the bathroom. Despite our differences, I’m outside in the rain calling his name as one might a lover in some old movie, except, I’m calling it under cars and along fence lines rather than after planes or trains. I suspect that he’s gone for good. But I’m going to keep looking till morning. I could see by the looks in their eyes that my children and wife had asked so little of me when it came to Mr. Jingles, here was the only thing they’d ever asked of me, that I bring him home.

A Dog

I’m waiting for the cable guy to show up and it’s past noon. The arrival time was between 11 and 6 PM, and already I’m getting antsy. I’ve taken the day off from work, a thankless job in an office, so that we might watch our show this evening. It’s a procedural about a man and his dog. They solve crimes together in a way that is reminiscent of Lassie, an old show about a dog who would always communicate via pointing and barking  when trouble arose. Trouble was always arising. By five o’clock, I’m half drunk on an old bottle of wine that was sitting in the back of the fridge and it’s clear that something bad has happened. The cable guy is not coming today. Strangely, I feel myself not upset at the cable guy, but at the dog, for not warning me of this impending disaster. He is sitting on the sofa, contentedly slapping his tail on the cushions, while I waste yet another day. 

An Ark

At what point did he realize that he’d made a mistake? You’d have to think it was when the tigers or lions started eating gazelles or zebras and leaving bits of them about the hull of his monolithic ship. You suppose that his wife might have said, “I suggested to you the inherent difficulties in such an enterprise,” or something more colorful, as they listened to the pained screams of a dying animal. “What would you have us do,” he’d say, “drown like rats?” “The rats were eaten yesterday by the jackals,” she’d say. But of course, it was even before that, perhaps when an elephant, pausing on its way up the ramp, dropped off a boatload of dung. I suspect then, even before the sky turned black, he knew he’d been dealt a shitty hand.