Short Stories for Your Enjoyment

Hi, my name is Marie. I like fried chicken, long naps that can last into next week, and watching nature documentaries. You know: the kind that makes you feel like you’re right smack in the middle of Yellowstone chasing the elk across snow-covered hills with a pack of ravenous wolves on your heels. I love sunny mornings when I can stretch out on a warm rug and soak in the rays. What, you don’t take naps in the sun? What kind of cat are you? Oh, you thought I was like you. A human? Bah, that would be so boring. I’m a cat, a no-nonsense, gorgeous Siamese with eyes so blue I make human models envious, and a nose that can smell dinner cooking from the other side of our cute little bungalow before the grease even begins sizzling in the pan. 

You’re probably thinking that you should put this down since you thought the main character would be some person, some human being that has it all going for her but is flawed in some endearing way. I can be just as endearing, all 6.8 pounds of me. Humans are so boring, always rushing around acting responsible, at least that’s what my human does. She does whatever I ask and is constantly calling my name, so she must really like the sound of it. She definitely has her faults, unlike me, and the issues she has (and she has A LOT) make me like her even more, but this story isn’t about her. No, it’s all about me. My human says that she wishes she could stay home all day and just eat, sleep, and play like I do. It is nice, but sometimes you see things: things that nobody should have to see, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Since we have established that I am a species of a higher order, let’s get to the actual story. This is not your run-of-the-mill cat story about a bird hovering outside my window, fluttering at its reflection only to beat its head against the glass, shortening its pathetic little life. No, this is about what happens when you see too much of the wrong thing and it costs you your life. Do I have your attention yet? Thought so. Let’s begin.

My human always leaves before the sun is up each morning. I don’t understand why, but she claims she has to be at “school” and teach these animals she calls “teenagers” or “mini experts in sarcasm.” She even smiles when she says this. Weird. I spend most mornings on the kitchen table that sits in front of a huge window that allows in a gorgeous amount of warm sun, so it’s the perfect morning napping spot. 

That morning, however, my sleep was rudely interrupted by an obnoxious honking. I open one eye to see a sleek, shiny black SUV screech to a stop at the Karr Kare convenience store, which just happens to serve the best fried chicken in the county and is conveniently location right across the street. Bobby Joe is the genius in the kitchen who owns the small gas station in our little slice of country heaven in the middle of Missouri. Too bad he likes dogs.

 This was not the typical human “mom” vehicle. The Tahoe gleamed in the bright sunlight with its black windows and polished shiny wheels, but the man who stepped out was definitely not what I would consider parent material. The car made me think it could have the President in the back seat. That thought made me sit up. Hmm, that could be interesting. The President’s hair always looked like a great toy to bat around. 

A tall man in a dark blue suit stepped out of the Tahoe and immediately began to yell for someone to fill up his f***ing tank (There is no reason for rude language. It’s just gas, for goodness’ sake). Bobby Joe is so nice that he runs out of the store, wiping his hands on his apron, leaving greasy stains, and immediately starts filling up the jerk’s car without saying a word. He’s much nicer than me. I would have had my newly sharpened claws from the couch rip into the man’s obviously cheap polyester suit.  

As I yawn and stretch a little, a large brown box car zooms up the driveway, I mean, the UPS man. I only catch a glimpse because he drives so fast; he’s always in a hurry. This was shaping up to be an exciting day. Come on, I’m a cat. Other than watching Netflix, what was I supposed to do all day other than sleep? 

Hearing the slide of the UPS van door, I watch Greg carry a box with its black lettering and smiling symbol walk up to the porch. Goody, it must be my Amazon order. I was almost out of catnip toys. I think my human ordered a new book too, but who cares, my order is here. 

I have a game I like to play with good ole‘ Greg the UPS guy. Once he gets really close to the front door, I jump towards the window like a rabid bobcat. Normally, he just sets the package down and smiles at me through the glass, but today was definitely not a normal day. As I make my predatory leap toward the window, I must have been especially frightening because Greg drops the box and slides into a jumbled heap right below my window, cussing loudly. He and the cheap suit guy must be brothers. The table shakes from the impact and I screech as I dive under the table.

 It was kind of scary, but that really wasn’t the strangest part. I wait until I hear the rumble of the truck roar away before I peek my head out. I feel kind of bad since I have now realized why Greg went down like a giraffe on roller skates. I forgot that I had a slight “accident” with my last batch of fried chicken yesterday when my human and I were relaxing on the front porch watching the sunset. Okay, she was watching the sunset, I was watching this fat robin that was building a nest in the corner of the porch, but then my tummy started hurting and I lost most of Bobby Joe’s famous chicken. Poor Greg probably slipped on it when he was on his way to the door. Oops. 

I jump back up on the table and glance down to see that I’m right. A brownish blob is smeared across the wooden boards. Eww, I bet he is not a happy guy right now. My human constantly complains about my messes which I think are beautiful works of art. 

Then a flash catches my eyes and I see that same creep in the cheap suit hugging Bobby Joe. Huh? I’ve never seen that car or guy before, so why is he hugging Bobby Joe? That couldn’t be right-Bobby Jo doesn’t have any family, no kids, and supposedly his wife left him because she said he worked too much. Look, he and my human talk a lot, alright? And he happens to own the house we live in, so she likes to have a little conversation every time we go pay the rent. Yes, I go with my human. She puts me in this little cute backpack when she walks across the street. How else would I know about Bobby Joe’s famous chicken? 

Wait a second, he’s not hugging him;
He has his hands around Bobby Joe’s neck! What? Why does he have gloves on? Who wears gloves when it’s 80 degrees outside? Bobby Joe slumps to the ground like a lumpy bag of cat food. The dude in the suit drags him to the back of the SUV, but the doors block what he does with Bobby Joe. The car speeds away from the pump. 

Licking a paw, I ponder what I saw. Who was that guy? What happened to Bobby Joe? Bobby Joe’s old Chevy truck is parked beside the store, so maybe he just went back inside. I stretch to get a better look. The door to the shop is standing open. Bobby Joe wouldn’t leave the door open. He says it’s too hot outside and he hates having to pay a high electric bill. I continue my bath, thinking of what to do. I stretch again and realize that all of this excitement has worn me plumb out. A nap is just what I need. 

“Kitty Marie, where are you? I’m home,” my human calls out, jarring me awake.

Blinking one eye open, I see her standing in the doorway, the Amazon box in her hands. “Merow,” I said, meaning: Open my box, I want my toys. 

“Okay, I’ll open our box. Maybe you have a surprise in here.” She places the box on the table beside me and slices through the tape. See, she’s pretty perceptive. 

“They did come! Here you go, Kitty Marie,” she says, unwrapping my toys. “What do you say we eat out tonight? I’m not really in the mood to cook.”

I meow my approval and suddenly remember the black SUV and Bobby Joe. I glance out the window, expecting to see flashing lights and crime scene tape at Karr Kare, but it looks the same as usual. The lights are out, but the door is closed now and Bobby Joe’s truck is gone. 

My human follows my line of vision. “Sorry, no chicken tonight. I think we might order a pizza. There was a sign on the door at Karr Kare saying Bobby Joe had a death in the family and would be gone for a few days.” I raise my eyebrows, as much as I can anyway. “Besides, I saw the mess on the front porch from your little episode last night, so no more chicken for a while. I think someone stepped in it.” She wrinkled her nose and put me on the floor to play with my new toys.

The euphoric, intoxicating scent of kitty weed fills my senses, overloading me. Bobby Joe and his mystery customer vanish from my thoughts.

I don’t waste another moment on Bobby Joe until that night, or more like early morning. About midnight, I woke up suddenly from my dream of catching that robin with a particularly bad case of dry mouth. There’s nothing worse than that cottony taste and I have to get up to get a drink. I drop down off of the pillow I share with my human and make my way to the kitchen. Licking the faucet is the very best way to cure a thirst, so I jump up on the counter. My thirst quenched, a light outside catches my attention. 

There are two white lights moving up and down fairly quickly in Bobby Joe’s darkened store. That doesn’t make sense. I thought he was going to be gone for a few days. I concentrate harder and can very clearly see two figures inside with flashlights. They’re not very good burglars if I can see them. Whoa, burglars! Wait, a second, I take another look with my superior eyesight. It’s like having a super power. Humans have no idea how handicapped they are when it comes to night vision. Even in the dark, I can see shapes clearly, and clearly, these two thugs are in Bobby Joe’s store tossing items on the floor like they wouldn’t be asked to pick them up. 

 I do a double take. One of them is the same guy from earlier! And are they making a mess! Bobby Joe is going to be so mad. He’s super weird about keeping all of his shelves orderly and clean. 

A door opens slowly on the Tahoe that is sitting beside the store again, and Bobby Joe stumbles out. What? His white shirt is stained with some dark red blotches and he is racing across the street towards...What? He’s headed this way! Why is he coming over here? He doesn’t live here. I mean, I know he owns the house, but he’s never come over before, and if he comes over here now, then those two men may come over too. Oh, no! This is bad, very bad.  

With a frantic leap, I skid across the kitchen floor, raking my nails against the hardwoods. My human is not going to be very happy about these new scratches, but this is an emergency, even more important than when I’m out of cat food and wake her up in the middle of the night. 

I gallop into the bedroom and scurry up the side of the comforter to the top of the bed. Murmuring in her sleep, my human rolls over, mumbling my name. See, she loves me so much she even dreams about me. Stepping onto the pillow, I meow as loudly as I can in her ear. Help! There are strange men coming, including Bobby Joe who looks like hell (my human’s words, not mine). Wake up!

I meow again at the same time that a shadowy figure eases behind me. I yowl as Bobby Joe says my human’s name and grips her shoulder. 

She bolts upright. “What’s going on?” Bewildered, her eyes slowly focus on Bobby Joe. “Bobby, what are you doing here? I thought you had a death in the family.” She reaches towards the lamp. “Why are you here in the middle of the night?”

“Don’t!” He grabs her hand. “No light. They’ll see it. I’m hoping they don’t look over here, but this is the only house close.” He takes a ragged breath as my human’s face pales. 

“Look, I hate to do this but it’s a case of life and death. I can’t go into a lot of detail, but I need to look for something that I hid here, way before you moved in.” Bobby Joe’s face is swollen, one eye is surrounded by a dark color, kind of like he has half a mask, like me, except he has a long gash along one side of his cheek, crusted with what looks like blood. “Please trust me.” He grabs my human’s hands. “You need to hide. They’ll be here any minute.” 

She nods mutely and clambers out of the bed, grabbing me. She slips into the closet and closes the door slowly enough for us to see Bobby Joe kneeling on the floor, prying into one of boards. That’s the one that always squeaks. I thought I was just gaining weight. 

My human pushes past her clothes to kneel in the back corner of the closet. She holds me tightly against her chest, gently rubbing my chin, murmuring to me to stay quiet, so I don’t dare purr; the bad guys might hear me. My motor rivals a 1969 Camaro with big block once I get going. Her heart is pounding against me and I’m scared. So is she. Her rapid, shallow breaths belie her calm facade. 

There is the sound of stomping through the house, like a herd of elephants as they trample over the savannah. Hey, I watch a lot of Discovery Channel, okay? A hoarse voice bellows for Bobby Joe, saying he knows he’s in here. Don’t answer, I think. It’s a trap. 

More clomping and cussing as the two men move closer, they must be in the bedroom. My human catches her breath and her hand tightens on my back. 

“We know you’re here and you know what we’re going to do when we find you.” It’s the jerk in the suit talking. “Maybe we should just kill the cute little gal who lives here and maybe then you’ll come out.” A low chuckle. “Does she know about your little past life? Or does she think you’re some washed up hillbilly like everybody else around here?” His voice sounds close. I hold my breath. 

The door knob slowly turns and one beefy hand gropes for us. My human scoots back as far as she can, but we’re already pinned against the wall behind a wall of clothes. The hand grabs and pulls her roughly through the clothes. I shriek and launch myself in my best ninja-imitation at the cheap suit, my nails finding purchase in his fleshy calf. He yelps and steps back but doesn’t release his grip on my human. She screams as he throws her out of the closet into the other thug’s arms who grabs her and pins her against his broad chest to the point that her face is blanched with pain. 

He shrugs me off his leg, launching me across the room, against the wall. This is it. This is how I end this life. Good thing I don’t have a tail because that toss would have definitely broken it. I close my eyes. 

“Is this what you want?” Bobby Joe is standing in the doorway, holding up a small dark rectangle, no bigger than his thumb. 

The cheap suit sneers. “Hand it over and we’ll let her live, maybe.” 

Bobby Joe is standing straighter, more confident despite his swollen face. He seems different somehow. “I think you better be thinking of whether I’m going to let you live,” he says as he hits the light switch, blinding everyone in the room. That overhead light is obnoxiously bright, so much so that my human very rarely ever uses it. 

In seconds, Bobby Joe pulls a gun from behind his back and shoots Cheap Suit in the knee caps. As he screams, Bobby Joe knocks the other man in the face with the butt of his gun, making the oaf release my human who immediately runs over to me. One more hit and he is on the floor facedown. I’m not sure if he is breathing and, frankly, I don’t care. Cheap Suit raises a gun, but Bobby Joe kicks it out of his hand and sends another swift kick to his face, making him double over. Stupid creep. What type of guy slings a cat across the room?  

“Do you have a phone?” Bobby Joe asks. My human nods and gestures toward her cell lying on the nightstand. 

He makes a call and doesn’t sound anything like the Bobby Joe who cooks the best fried chicken around, no southern accent, no weird nasal tone. In fact, he sounds like one of those superheroes on the shows my human likes to watch. Personally, I think she just likes to see their muscles, but she claims she likes the plot twists and clever writing. Whatever. 

“Are you okay?” He looks us over, taking a second longer to look at me. I mean, I did just get punted across the room like a football during the Super Bowl or at least it felt like it. 

“Yes,” my human stammers. “Um...what do we do now?”

Glancing over at the two men, Bobby Joe smiles, “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go into the kitchen and fix some coffee? I have someone on their way to take care of these two douchebags. They won’t be bothering you again.” His smile is confident, relaxed. He looks a lot younger, more like my human’s age. Maybe it was the adrenaline? 

“Are you sure?” She is uncertain. Could we trust our friend, our landlord? Who was this guy? 

He places a hand on her arm. “Look, I’m sorry. When this is all over I’ll try to explain, but until then please just trust me and don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t worry about the rent, don’t worry about anything, please.” 

They share a long look, and I guess she decides to believe him. I mean, he did just save our lives. We go to the kitchen and that was the last we saw of Bobby Joe for quite a while. 

I know, I know, I promised death and a good mystery, but this story isn’t over just yet. 

It was a quiet evening and we were sitting on the front porch. That stupid robin had built her nest and had three babies, who kept me from enjoying my naps on the kitchen table with their constant squawking. My human wouldn’t let me out on the porch until they left, so this was my first evening outside in a long time because of those stinkin’ birds. 

Anyway, I’m sitting there curled up on her chest as she reads yet another book she ordered from Amazon when this silver truck glides up the driveway and parks. A man with dark hair steps out. He looks kind of familiar. She stands up, gently placing me on the chair. 

“Bobby Joe?” She asks. 

He smiles. “Yup, except it’s not Bobby Joe anymore. My real name is Luke Reynolds, and if you’ll hear me out, I have a story I need to tell you.” He holds his hand out. She studies it and then steps back to take in the straight-backed, broad shouldered man in front of her. The paunch Bobby Joe had is gone, as is the buzz cut, and slumped shoulders. This guy looks like a new and improved Bobby Joe. I hope he hasn’t forgotten how to cook.

Finally, after taking his hand, she gestures to a chair. “Have a seat.”

It ends up that Bobby Joe, I mean, Luke Reynolds, was in the Army and saw too much while on a mission. He put the evidence on a flash drive and hid it after deserting the Army. Every member of his squad had been killed and it didn’t take long for him to figure out he would be next. That was why he moved to a small town in the middle of the Missouri Ozarks. By owning a gas station, he could keep an ear to the ground to see if anyone was following him. Now the guilty parties were in jail and he was back in good standing with the Army. All was good, except for one thing.

“I wanted to come back and tell you the truth,” he said. “I couldn’t do anything about it before, but I hope that maybe you and your killer cat will give me a chance.” My human was silent for a moment. “Killer cat” had a nice ring to it. 

“Maybe,” she said. “But the only way Marie will put up with you is if you keep cooking her favorite meal.” 

I swear she can read my mind. As I watch them together in the setting sun, I thought, if he acts up one time, he’s going to find a little “surprise” in his shoe from that chicken. It looks like I have more to worry about than just a stupid bird. Great! This is going to cut into my nap time. Again…

Oh, I forgot. I mentioned losing a life, right? No one actually died, but I’m pretty sure I’m down to eight lives now.  Besides, a little political conspiracy, a secret identity, and the promise of romance, and good food are what make up a good cat story, at least it does for me and really, I’m the only one who matters.