The Lament of Mr. Whiskers
by Sara Codair
“I think I preferred your old hobby,” said Mr. Whiskers. With his sleek, black fur and yellow eyes, he looked like a mini-panther.
His human rubbed his head and scratched under his chin until he purred.
“You’re such a handsome boy,” said the human.
“I appreciate the massage and compliments, but I do not think you understood me. I said I think I preferred your old hobby.”
“You’re a talkative little guy today,” said the human, intensifying the rub.
Mr. Whiskers meowed in frustration. The human never understood him.
“What’s wrong?” cooed the human.
“You,” hissed Mr. Whiskers. He swatted the human, with his sharp claws out.
“Ouch!” The human jerked his hand away and sucked on his bleeding finger.
“Serves you right,” muttered Mr. Whiskers as he stalked away.
He hissed at the litter of fluffy kittens as he walked by, letting them know that if they dared swat his tale, he would scratch and bite them. They cowered behind the couch cushion.
Pleased with himself, Mr. Whiskers leapt on top of the mini bar and took a bath. Rescuing kittens was a noble hobby, but one that he would prefer not to happen in his own territory. He really wished the human had just stuck to knitting. Those balls of yarn had been so much fun to bat around the house.
©2016 Sara Codair
Originally written for Cracked Flash
Sara Codair 
How funny, I just fostered a litter of kittens for a local rescue and know this attitude well–except, it wasn’t my cat that was put out, it was my partner.
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