Why do cats captivate us? They can be both companionable and aloof; furry and sharp. Unlike the loyalty of dogs, cats let us know we are superfluous to their existence. They descend from the gods of Egypt.

This week, writers tackled one of the most viral subjects know to YouTube. You’ll find stories where cats are a prop and stories from the canine perspective. Take a literary break and call in the cat stories. Don’t worry — you won’t get scratched.

The following stories are based on the July 6, 2016 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a cat.

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Seeking a Living History Book by Charli Mills (from Miracle of Ducks)

Danni left Ike fishing at the steel bridge eddy. She doubted he’d catch trout with weekend river revelers invading. Turning on to a rutted two-track, she popped the clutch into 4WD. Hardly anyone climbed this old mountain road except loggers or prospectors. In the 1930s it was an old train track. If Danni was to connect the writings of the old journal to a definitive place, she needed an old story-teller willing to divulge tales. Atop the mountain she found his cabin and cats. He rocked on the porch smoking a pipe as if he’d been waiting for her.

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Mr. Boots and the First Ride by Charli Mills (from Rock Creek)

“There you are Mr. Boots!” Sarah set down a tin of milk and watched the black and white cat lap the liquid.

“Rider!” someone shouted, and Sarah paused to watch the hustle. A handler readied a fresh horse, double-checking the cinch. Cooks to carpenters stood outside cheering the rising dust from the east. First ride of the mail ponies and Rock Creek was officially a stop. Cobb sat on his mule toasting everyone with corn liquor. He was officially a Pony Express Station Manager.

“So important,” Sarah grumbled to the cat that remained the only creature unimpressed by change.

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Cat-Aleptic Control by Anne Goodwin

Aleptic did not stir as the mouse scampered across the hearth rug.

“See!” said Renshaw. “Even a cat has more self-control than you have.”

Thomas’s anger tasted acrid, but he swallowed it down. He’d have to manage his base instincts, or he’d never leave school.

The teacher returned to his marking. Thomas forced his attention towards his essay. The essentials of self-mastery. Why did the topic elude him so much?

A fearsome yowl. Teacher and pupil raised their heads from their desks. The mouse captive in Aleptic’s paws.

Thomas took up his pen. I resolve to emulate a cat.

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Pestilence by Bill Engelson

“Are you a smoking man, Mr. Dobbs?” Merle Taylor asked.

“I have been known to be,” he replied.

“Henry has a box of Mr. Philip’s Cheroots. Would you like one? You would have to take it on the porch.”

“I would enjoy that.”
Dobbs went out to the porch, sat on the rocker.

“Henry’s night chair,” Merle said, handing him the Cheroot.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Merle. Please.”

“Merle.”

“Henry says…we are suffering from a plague of rats.”

“Caldwell’s gang have been called even worse, Merle.”

“But you will be our rat catcher, Mr. Dobbs?”

“The Good Lord willing, Merle.”

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The Fair Feline by Sarah Brentyn

He whipped a rock across the pond. “Nice! Seven skips.”

I grabbed his arm, “Let’s go. We’ve disturbed them.”

“The fish?” He laughed.

I glared. “The fae.”

He eyed my fingers, tightening around his wrist. “Who cares?”

“I do. Which is why you’re still alive.”

“I don’t think so, sis.” He smiled and pointed to a cat perched on some driftwood, tail curled around its feet.

The cat yawned, licked its paw, and said, “Fae know what a cat sith can do, child.” It nodded to me. “Make no mistake, I am the reason you both are still alive.”

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Catnap by Larry LaForge

Edna pulled in the garage, grabbed a small bag from the passenger seat, and called for Ed. The trunk full of groceries required his assistance.

She found Ed sprawled on the sofa, snoring lightly. “Up, you catnapper!” she said while giving his ribs a tickle.

Ed rubbed his eyes as he sat up, still a little groggy. “What’d you call me?”

“Catnapper. That’s what you are. Always catnapping.”

“Huh?” Ed replied, still trying to get his bearings.

“Catnapper,” Edna teased again.

Ed’s forehead crinkled as he struggled to his feet. “Edna, I’ve never stolen a cat in my life.”

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Barn Cat Bert by Ann Edall-Robson

“Said she didn’t like cats.”

“I know. Says they’re filthy buggers that have no place around the house.”

“Then why is she crying. I thought she would be happy to know that old tom cat is gone.”

“She had a soft spot for him. Called him Bert. He’s been the barn cat for years.”

“So that’s who Bert is.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She was grumbling under her breath one morning when she came back from the barn about some guy named Bert that had been hanging around the wood shed.”

“She’ll miss him.”

“I know she will.”

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Ill-planned Flight by Kerry E.B. Black

With a rumble, her stomach reminded Sylvie of ever-present hunger. She licked the fur along her protruding ribs and purred a reassurance like the lullaby the sick Girl’s Momma sang when tucking the Girl in to sleep.

The Girl would clutch Sylvie like a stuffed toys. One spring evening, the girl sobbed into Sylvie’s fur, muttering about nurses and shots. Sylvie wriggled free and fled to lick the salt from her coat. The Momma leapt at her, but Sylvie dashed out an open door and hid beneath the porch.

When an ambulance collected the girl, the family forgot Sylvie.

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Squints by Elliott Lyngreen

Sylvia LaGrange {heads up} – looking at the quartered story he cannot use {damn}; would die for Chance nine times to absorb one.  If she could. He thinks about the shapes, and every piece {worth stealing when the switch flips} rips. Sylvia shades silver lining her eyelids sharpening squints of clouds. He developed a writing {with so many pieces missing}, epitomizing the {Reach! Touch Me!} Detroit Avenue recycling disambiguation, metal carnage and Cherry Pick’s 9 acres of stripped rides, {across}, craning her stiff bust to follow the necks sorting, {Sylvia LaGrange wanders crooked head} where work finds itself.

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A Hot July Morning with a Cat (fragment from Native Landscapes) by Ula Humienik

She sat there for a while looking out at the courtyard below. All three buildings looked the same, worn gray with age and neglect.

Then she noticed him. A cat. A cat curled on a windowsill outside one of the windows. She drew him following his every line, every curvature, every piece of fur and whisker. He was a variation of grays and stripes. A sleeping miniature tiger curled into a ball.

When she finished drawing, her mind was clearer. She noticed the yellowness of the sun behind the U-shaped buildings on the other side of the courtyard.

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About a Cat by Shane Kroetsch

The Jaguar hasn’t moved in awhile. I watch him, while he watches me. Every now and then he flicks an ear on his broad head, or blinks in a way to suggest I’m of no real interest. Still his eyes stay focused on me, and mine on him.

We seem to share some sort of connection, though it isn’t from any sense of being alike. This magnificent beast, once wild and without equal, sits humiliated in his cramped cage. I stand before him, alone in a room full of people, completely lost in what I am told is freedom.

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The Droppings by Ruchira Khanna

“Gosh! she did it again” I snapped as I picked up her poop from the backyard.
“I have told Janet a thousand times about her feces in my yard, but alas! no action” I continued to complain as I was cleaning up.

**

Days go by and no sign of elimination on my property. At first, I was pleased, but there were moments I missed seeing the feline animal and her purr with her soft gaze that said a lot about her emotions after her ‘act’ in my yard.

I inquired and was devastated to know about her ill health.

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Those Emerald Eyes by Oliana

“Josée used to be such a social butterfly!”  says overly concerned Aline.

“Yes, and now she is so alone,” Gertrude, the office gossip, responds.

Aline sighs, “It’s not as though I have not tried”, she, feigns an air of suffering, “I suppose she will die all alone now.”

Meanwhile, Josée is seated at her desk, laptop glaring at her blue eyes…the heat from the fan soothing her dearest friend, Trésor, a Sibarian cat.  She stops typing for a moment and looks at those emerald eyes and smiles.  “It’s just you and me, kiddo, against the whole world.” Trésor purrs.

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Flash Fiction by Al Lane

MacArthur was entirely, boringly normal. With one teeny-tiny exception.

As a child, he’d vowed to use just one word from then on – “cat”. (He was ten – he hadn’t thought it through.)

Quite how MacArthur managed into adulthood using only the word “cat” was unclear. Fortunately, he was skilled with computers and managed most of life’s interactions online, freed from his vow. Nevertheless, he cried himself to sleep each night, mumbling “cat” into his pillow.

One morning, in the supermarket, head down, he accidentally bumped into a beautiful brunette. Before he could mumble a “cat” apology, she said…

“Dog!”

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Strayed by Pete Fanning

The rain prattled against the metal roof of the animal shelter, where inside a very serious matter was at paw.

Phil, a matted runaway, slunk low, as all nine of his lives were at stake.

Bill, a white Persian, began. “Orange cats cannot be trusted. Why, they’re not even cats, just troublemakers.”

A Siamese hissed. “They are inferior.”

“Hey, my father was orange,” purred Ramona, a Calico, curling her tail.

Ben, the black cat, only sighed. This sounded familiar.

Phil glanced at the jury. A Burmese. Three silver tabbies. A Sphynx?

He’d sure hopped off at the wrong town.

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C’mon Andy by Geoff Le Pard

Mary stood by the door. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘Shh mum. He’s a set and a break down.’

‘Shall I go? Maybe I’m bad luck.’

‘That’s silly.’ Penny looked forlorn.

As Mary turned Mabel slunk into the room. She purred as she rubbed against Penny’s feet; then she jumped onto Penny’s lap. ‘Mabel. Go away… HE’S BROKEN BACK!’

Mary smiled; the cat settled while Penny absently stroked him.

Two hours later a scream brought Mary back. Penny, smiling, punched the air in delight as Mabel hopped down and left the room, her job done. As she passed Mary she winked.

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Pingpong by Sharmishtha Basu

She had an angelic aura in her. Three white and brow kittens, two were stolen or adopted by someone she stayed, to soothe my heart for a couple of years.

She just adored her human friend (or mother?), as a child she jumped around the house like a white ball inviting the nickname. The only cant with blue eyes in the neighbourhood.

For some reason her babies never survived but she became mother of every cat in the household, she nursed her siblings at first and finally adopted a stray.

She had the sweetest heart in the entire household!

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Game of Cat and Mouse by Irene Waters

Having  guests Tania rose early. The visitor’s child, Josh, followed her asking incessant questions. As he leant on the bench something ran up his pyjama sleeve. Screaming, he ripped his clothes off and the offender, a mouse, scurried to safety under the dresser.

Tania grabbed the cat. “Do your stuff Killmouski.”

Now everyone was present. They pulled the dresser away from the wall to give the cat greater access. With a whiff of mouse Killmouski waited patiently. Finally with a pounce, it was caught. The game of torture began.

Feeling guilty, Tania caught the cat to save the mouse.

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