This story was inspired by Terry Slack's poem "Black Pussy"
Bath Time
I sat on the floor shaking and soaking wet.
My thick dark hair was matted to my skin. Worse still, I felt slimy. I needed a
bath. My head tilted as I scanned my body: waist, hips and legs intact and
accounted for, every inch of me was coated n a jelly-like clear substance.
There was a heavy panting noise nearby. I
glanced over in anger rather than fear, poised for a fight. Instead of a snarl
I was encountered by an oversized goofy grin.
“Don’t give me those puppy-dog eyes”, I
called out angrily.
Meanwhile, in the corner of the room Mr and
Mrs Watson sat with mouths agape. Mrs Watson held a shaky hand to her chest
whilst Mr Watson simply shook his head.
“I thought you were a ‘gonner’ for sure,”
Mr Watson remarked as he eyed me up and down. “Looks like you’re down to eight
of your nine lives, Lucy.”
Mr Watson picked me up and plonked me onto
his wife’s floral dress lap.
“Ewwh,” Mrs Watson squealed. “She’s covered
in saliva.”
That’s what you get when you go for a ride
in a dog’s mouth. I should be dead but I am actually alive. Only my tail had
remained un-gooey as it had dangled freely between the big oaf’s lips. I
shivered. God, this is going take a while
to get over!
“Poor cat’s freezing, Love. Better give her
a bath,” Mr Watson suggested.
“Finally,” I replied. “I’m not going to
lick my fur clean with that mutt’s spit all over me!”
Rover watched Mrs
Watson cart me off to the laundry tub. His tail wagged furiously as he followed
us.
“Bad dog!” Mrs Watson admonished him. Bad dog, indeed, I scowled.
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