Storytelling Sunday: "Trapped Behind the Kitchen Door"

"Why haven't they come for us yet?" she asked herself, pacing between the bathroom, the hallway and the study. The shoes by the back door were scattered and caked with mud. She barely noticed.

The door to the kitchen was closed. She had tried knocking, repeatedly, to no avail.

The door to the kitchen. (Photo: Rachel E. Watson)

Back in the study, her companion perched warily beside a stack of books and papers, unsorted on the desk.

Rain beat against the roof and trickled down the window panes overlooking the neighbors' driveway. This morning, even a clear view into their kitchen offered no comfort.

Jaguar had plenty of time to think. And right about now, she was beginning to believe the door would never open.

"It's 9 a.m. This is highly unusual," Jaguar said to herself as she settled onto her bed to lick her fur. Her coat was glistening today because she'd had so much time to clean it, trapped in the back half of the house while the humans did ... well, whatever it is humans do when they're not feeding cats.

She realized she'd already bathed nine times, and so began pacing again, bathroom to hallway to study.

"You're making me nervous," Sinatra called out from atop the desk. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Must watch the door," Jaguar growled. She continued pacing.

Sinatra turned her attention to the window, watching a neighbor cross the street in rain boots and a slicker.

In the master bedroom, far away on the other side of the door, an alarm sounded on the nightstand, barely audible underneath a tall pile of spent tissues, black licorice throat lozenges and store-brand NyQuil gel caps.

The black digital numbers on an orange-yellow background read 9:35 a.m.

"Ughhhh, the cats haven't eaten breakfast yet," one human moaned to the other. "Unless you fed them earlier. Did you?"

"I don't think so. I'm pretty sure I didn't," the other said.

The pair looked frightful: greasy scalps, matted hair, tangled bedclothes and red, puffy eyes.

No matter. The rulers of the show were unhappy, and it was time to set their world aright.

"Ping! Ping! Piiinnng!" The food tumbled from the scoop in the human's hand to the small metal bowl on the place mat in the study.

Jaguar was torn between relief at being freed from the back of the house and that gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach. She ate several mouthfuls, then started to leave, but changed her mind and came back.

"I can always go explore later," she thought to herself. She took another bite.

You may also like


Sarah Mascara said...

Ha! I love this, Rachel. Great job storytelling. How is it we become slaves to our pets, anyway? haha

Rachel E. Watson said...

It's funny; we do, don't we? It's probably best to just embrace the silliness of it all and keep on loving the stuffing out of the little critters. :)