Not a mere cat.


Come camping with us, Trevor, they said. You’ll love it, they said. There’ll be lots of long walks, new smells, new places. You’ll probably meet some more dogs to sniff around or play with. You’ll really have the best time, they said.

That’s what they said, anyway. That’s how they sold it to me,

The reality? The blighters have gone out again and left me. We’re leaving you in charge, they said. Same as they always say. You’re a good little guard dog. You won’t let any bad people come in and steal our stuff will you. And don’t worry, we’ll bring you back a doggy-bag. If you’re really good, there might be some best steak in it.

And I wag my tail and slobber over them, not because it’s what I feel but because it’s what they expect. And it’s true, they’ll be back after two or three hours, and they’ll have a bag of leftovers with them. And they’ll fawn all over me as they give it to me because, of course, I won’t have let anyone in. Nothing will be missing, nothing broken and – not that I’m not tempted at times – nothing chewed. The place will be as clean and as tidy as when they left.

Admittedly, that’s in large part due to the fact that I spent most of their absence sleeping. Well, it’s about the only avenue open to me to stave off the interminable boredom, isn’t it? Oh yes, and the nagging feeling that always gets me, no matter how hard I try to suppress it, that they may never come back, and I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life.

I did some thinking once. What actually goes into these doggy-bags? Do you know what it is? No? Then I shall enlighten you, I shall add to your education, your knowledge of what’s what, your understanding of reality.

It’s stuff they don’t want!

That’s right. They go to these fancy places and stuff themselves full of all their favourite things. Anything they can’t eat or don’t like, they put in a bag and give to me. What does that say about how much they value me and what I do? And before you say anything, I’ll believe their protestations of love and respect and all the other BS they come out with when they do what they say they’ll do.

What am I talking about?

Where are the long walks, the new smells, the new places they promised? 

What they ask me to do doesn’t need an intelligent and active dog – it could be done by a mere cat!

This was written in response to Kreative Kue 341 published on this site.


11 thoughts on “Not a mere cat.

    1. I should point out, Liz, that although there is a factual basis to the story, he was never alone; Eos was with him; and it generally happened less than once each week we were camping. What he didn’t mention in his monologue is his tendency to howl when left in the camper (which is partly why it happened only rarely).

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