Kitty had had quite a night as a cat. She arched her back in a final feline impulse, purring softly to herself. It had been wonderful fun playing with the dogs. She'd saunter up behind them in four-legged form and meow in that sultry cinnamon way of hers that brought out the tiger in them. They pursued her as she sprang a skewed path all the way to a magic meadow she knew of, where no one could disturb them. Only Kitty and her chosen pursuers knew what secrets they shared in that out of way place. The dogs never told, but let out a panting sigh whenever they recalled it. Kitty meowed to herself in the mirror, resolving to sleep a sound sleep that night. By now she had enjoyed so many of these little romps, she could no longer say for certain whether she was born a girl or a cat.
Story #238
Note: This story is dedicated to Tom and Icy.
7 comments:
If Michael Jackson does time, Sara mused, someone will have to bust him out. He'll never make it through the first month. Much too fragile. Especially the nose. There has to be a way. She thought of explosives and she pondered a tunnel and for a moment she considered parachuting into the prison yard with two jet-packs. But the explosives would remind of that horrible Pepsi commercial and dirt's too hard to get of latex. The jet packs, to be honest, seemed a little childlike and she had herself to think about too. But maybe, just maybe...I wonder what happens when you moonwalk in the mirror.
If I hear Michael Jackson's name once more I'll leave the country! Oh, I already did that. ;-)
Sorry that Friday's story was so late. Tomorrow I'll post a weekend photo.
My apologies. I spent all week growling at staff that if they brought up him whose name we don't speak one more time I'd fire the lot of them. Then you put up a picture of a woman grabbing her crotch and boxed me in. I promise that whatever picture you put up, I'll write about Ben Affleck.
Icy has an identity crisis like that cat girl. Good stories!
Meow! prrrrrr...
Problem with kitties is they have claws. And fangs. And are unpredictable. And yet we still want to pet them and have them in our laps napping. [sigh...]
I was thinking about this post the other day and about how I like your stories because you are so in touch with what it is like to be feminine... (as I've said in the past) then I wondered... well maybe Indie isn't Indie after... maybe Indie is just a pen name... and maybe Indie is really "India"... that would surely explain a post about being a kitty!! How could a man know about the girl/kitty connection??? How could Indie know our secrets!
I think there was another writer out there who is/was accused of being female... hmm... was it Williamina Shakesperina?
Cori: Don't ask me how I do it. Maybe I'm just in love with women, their being, their beauty and their psyche. I'm certainly as surprised about my apparent ability with the female perspective as you might be to climb into bed with a woman only to find out suddenly that she was a man. Purrrrrr. (P.S. My muse has been saying this to me from the start that I've somehow captured the feminist perspective).
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