10-08-2007, 11:09 PM
I wrote this for a creative writing class.... It didn't take long, and it's not that great, but it was fun.
-Snowy Hates Mondays-
Snowy rode in the back of her human’s car. She knew what today was. Her human was trying to fool her, but she’d heard the appointment being scheduled. The dog got to stay home today. So did the kitten. But she had to go in, with the same stupid woman who thought that it was witty to name a black cat “Snowy”.
And there was the apprehension—it always came on like this. She’d vomit on the floor, do anything that she could to get her human to pull over the car so that she could run away. And she caught on! Now the bitch just covered it all with towels! And so she knew what was coming. That smiling man, with his big needles and cold fingers… She shuddered. It would be awful. And when she tried to run away, they would just laugh and put her back on the counter and call her cute. The door would close and there would be no escape.
Not to mention that she hated this road. She yowled about it—the bumps were so uncomfortable—though it was a worthy prelude to this journey. And now she was almost there; she recognized the tree. Once she had managed to flee from her owner’s arms and run to the top of the three, waiting there until it was after dark. Sure, the woman had been angry, but she was angry about getting stuck here.
Now, though, the crazy human gave her tranquilizers instead. She had realized that Snowy was never going to like the vet, so she gave her little pills to make her act as though she were tired and sleepy. Never mind that this just pissed her off more; it just made things easier for her human. It was days like today when she remembered why she hated humans. They would pretend that they were civil, and they would pretend that they cared, but they would buy you the wrong kinds of food, and they wouldn’t bother actually trying to help you when something was wrong; they would just take you to someone who claimed to “know about those kinds of things” and would stick you with a needled that made you feel all woozy inside. Then when you got home, they doped you up until you didn’t care anymore, and then when you tried to box its ears—in a polite way, of course—you got yelled at, and your nippy-nip-nip got taken away.
Hated them. And, yes, here was the building. It was so sterile that they whipped out an antiseptic wipe whenever you sneezed and sprayed the whole place with cleaner, calling in one of those big machines from the hockey rinks if you dared to drool just a little. It always stank of “cleanliness”. She hated it. And the doctor had such cold hands… The women at the desk had a very fake appearance; they wore dark red lipstick and had bright red nails of a color only found on tomato skins… Did they really think that they were fooling anybody? The thing about cats was that they thought that romance was cleaning off the fake paint used to disguise one’s appearance. Stupid humans, hate them, hate them.
Here he was. Big smile, huge glasses that just made his eyes bug out more. Son of a bitch! He deserved to belong to a dog! Hate him, hate him, HATE HIM! She hissed a little, as much as she could around the tranq drug, but he just smiled and patted her on the head. She was not going to purr, no matter what he tried. He would never be treated to her beautiful, loud purr.
And this woman would be dealing with cold feet at night for a long time. It was bad enough that they took the back road with all of the bumps, and that she drugged her and ensured that she would be given the utmost comfort possible; but now she had taken to playing country music in the car. It wasn’t even that sort-of-country stuff that could be classified as pop or soft rock or almost-jazz or anything else—it was twangy, and pure country, singing about their women or their men and the cheating and my god, just go and grow up. You went through that in high school, now get over it. She understood why humans had to live so long—their brains developed at an abnormally slow rate.
The entire thing passed in what would become a painful blur, although she saw it quite clearly at the time. She was carried back out to the car with a very sore paw, thank you oh so much, Mr. Doctor… She was ready to kill something. Damn it all, she’d better be having some catnip when she got home, and if that runt of a kitten tried to have any of it, she’d make it wish that it was sleeping with the dog tonight…
Oh, this was just not cool. Her human gave the kitten the catnip and told her that she’d have to wait for a few more hours until the medication wore off. This was a shitty day. The dog was having more fun than she was, and where was the justice in that? Oh, there was none. She hated the human-infested world. All they were good for was giving her food and cleaning out her littler box—and they couldn’t even do that right. The bastards! She hissed for hours, and stole the kitten’s catnip as soon as her human’s back was turned. The kitten, wisely, just left her alone.
And she was sick later that night, too. The bitch probably poisoned her. She yowled all night and vomited in the bed. It never occurred to the stupid human that by leaving any catnip out, Snowy would find a way to get into it.
Snowy hated Mondays.
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