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Fiction Friendship

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Mitzee watched as Snow did a complicated in air twist, landing lightly on her feet like a ballerina, her thick, white coat gleaming under the streetlamp. Her breath puffed in little tendrils in the icy cold air.


“Locked,” she muttered as she walked off the pain of her fall. Nothing shook her for long.


“Yep, locked,” Mitzee agreed. “C’mon Snow, this area is the worst for the likes of us.”


“Pickings are the best here, though.”


“Not much to pick if there’s no way in.”


The two incongruous companions sauntered away from the tantalising smells that seeped through brightly lit windows that didn’t seal tightly.


There was a storm coming. Mitzee could feel it in his bones, especially his left leg, that had healed with a strange twist after he had narrowly escaped being run down by a maniac on a bike.


“Let’s find a nice bolt hole for the night, Snow. My leg’s telling me that it’s gonna be bad.”


“Mitzee, old man. You know I’m not doing anything with you. You can just keep your dirty paws to yourself, now.”


“Snow, love, you wound me.” Mitzee gave her his best innocent, wide-eyed stare.


“You know I’m not interested in raising a passel of brats, so if you try anything handsy, I’ll rip you to pieces.”


She meant it too. Snow might look like a princess, blue eyed with soft silky hair, but she had claws, and she knew how to use them. Mitzee had witnessed her single-handedly taking on the neighbourhood bullies who thought that residing in the grand houses meant that they didn’t have to take no for an answer. She had been a sight to behold, spitting vicious insults on their parentage, their courage and their less-than-agile, well-fed bodies, as she slashed out at them with her weapons. He laughed as the fat cats ran screaming and bloodied from the alley. Poor little rich kids! Ha, Snow was worth twenty of them.


Together they crept along garden fence lines, peeping in to each yard as they went. You never knew just what you would discover if you kept your eyes and ears open. It was how Mitzee had stayed alive for so long. The Jones residence was one such place. They never remembered to lock the window leading to the kitchen, no matter the weather, and he remembered that the catch had been broken the last time he was here. He nodded to Snow and tilted his head at the casement as it flapped in the wind. Snow smiled, a feral grin of mischief and delight. Sneaking into tight spaces was her speciality, and this was too good an opportunity to pass up.


Mitzee sat below the window as Snow did her thing. She scaled the wall with a single agile leap and easily wedged herself through the window, ensuring that it didn’t hit her on the way in. Mitzee grinned. Her ass looked spectacular as she shimmied the last few inches inside before she dropped out of sight. He’d look, but never touch and certainly never tell her that he looked. He didn’t have a death wish. Quickly, he brought his attention back to the mission. His job was to keep a lookout, to cause a distraction if needs be and allow Snow the time to escape should things go bad. He looked about him. So many good distractions, garbage cans, log piles, children’s toys. And if none of that worked, there was always the tried and true, a good, loud and long, blood-curdling scream. They were his speciality.


Just as he finished scoping out the yard, a soft thud told him that Snow had tossed the loot out of the window. He rushed to collect it, and seconds later, Snow dropped beside him, landing on dainty, delicate feet, a much better landing than her previous one. Mitzee nodded at her and she winked back. She knew she was good, and together they scampered from the yard. You never stayed near the scene of a crime.


They dined that evening on succulent chicken cooked with eleven secret herbs and spices. It had been so long since their last meal that they tore into the carcass with frenzied gusto. Neither of them gave a single thought to manners or decorum. Mitzee watched as Snow cleaned the grease from her face with dainty swipes. She was always well presented, even in the midst of a burgeoning storm.


The sound of hail as it began to patter and pelt against their little improvised shelter didn’t disconcert her, and she calmly continued to clean herself. Mitzee longed to help, to reach across the tiny nook and wash away the spots she missed, but Snow would take out an eye if he so much as offered to assist. When they were both as clean as they were going to get, they curled up, huddling together for body warmth as they settled in to wait out the storm.


The next morning, Mitzee stirred and yawned, his mouth stretching wide as his jaw popped and creaked. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that the weather had blown over, leaving murky puddles and wind ravaged trees strewn over the roads. Fortunately, though, the storm itself was long gone, but so was Snow. He was alone, not an unusual occurrence in his world, and often he preferred it that way, or so he told himself.


Sidling out from his secluded shelter, he stretched in the weak sunshine, arching his back and extending all his limbs to work the creaks and knots out of the old bones. It was breakfast time, and after last night’s feast, he was hungry. His stomach had been re-acquainted with food and protested its lack this morning.


The Jones place was out of the question after last night’s expedition. He was sure they would be alert for intruders this morning, so he padded in the opposite direction. Some of his less discerning neighbours were dumpster diving this morning. He could hear the commotion as bins were rattled and knocked over. Dumpster diving was dangerous. If that lid came down, you were done for. Mitzee always avoided the occupation.


Down one tree strewn road, a moving van reversed its way into a long driveway. Moving vans meant chaos, and chaos was the perfect distraction for the criminally inclined. Mitzee considered himself to be a mastermind when it came to manipulating a situation to his advantage. A fallen tree that was uprooted in one corner of the yard provided excellent cover for close surveillance. Mitzee approached the house cautiously, the branches hiding his approach as he slinked closer. Boxes, crates and bags littered the back verandah. People came and went with no predictable pattern as they unloaded items from the large truck and placed them under the large covered area. They moved quickly, glancing often at the sky, which was clear now, but threatened more rain, with large, heavy, grey clouds rolling in.


Still and silent in the shadows of the fallen tree branches, Mitzee observed the people as they hustled back into the moving van, and drove away down the long driveway. Mitzee hesitated as he listened and observed for a few long moments more. No sounds, nothing to raise an alarm. So he cautiously crept closer to the boxes, hoping to investigate their contents. Perhaps they contained breakfast.


He was sniffing around the abandoned boxes, and cataloguing the contents in his mind to identify the perfect box to open, when it happened. They say curiosity killed the cat, and sure enough, Mitzee saw his whole life flash before his eyes in an instant. From nowhere, a large, muscular, and angry dog charged him, growling and snarling as he scampered, nails clacking with hysterical frenzy on the concrete patio.


Mitzee defied gravity and leapt vertically with desperate fear, his legs stiff, fur on end and back arched. But Mitzee was not as young as he used to be, not as fast or spry, and the pup had youth on his side, pouncing upon him in an instant. He felt the jaws close painfully on his head even as he hissed his terror and fury in the face of the enormous monster. His claws extended and he madly scratched at any flesh he could reach. The pup yelped in surprise and Mitzee was gone, straight up the fallen tree, over the fence and down the lane, leaving a trail of blood behind.


He could barely see, through the blood that covered his face and dripped into his fur. The world began to swim and pain soon edged fright from the forefront of his mind. Without knowing where he was, Mitzee staggered to a stop, and collapsed in blind agony. This was it! His nine lives were over. It had been a good nine lives, and he was set to die as he had lived, alone.


The concerned voices, the horrified, and urgent voices, did not register in his brain. He was hardly breathing, and so thinking was not happening at all. Vaguely, he felt a soft fabric cover him, and the smell and warmth of human was strong enough to penetrate his mind. He tried to run, his brain said flee, his body would not comply.


Many days passed in a blur of befuddled drowsiness, the kind that brought strange shapes and ideas to mind. He dreamed of flying, of catching that bird, of swimming with fish and collecting the pinpoint stars with his paws. Day after day, the pain and confusion slowly receded, and he began to stagger to his feet. But his balance was off and he tumbled to a heap of tangled paws. Mitzee gingerly glanced around to see if anyone had seen him embarrass himself.


“Hey good looking. Welcome back.”


The voice was familiar. Mitzee looked about him and saw bars, prison bars, but across from him lay Snow. He was ashamed to admit that he was glad to see her, and so he hissed at her. It was just to prove that he was still fearsome, and would ensure that she did not pity him!


“Settle down, old man,” she said condescendingly. “I must say, I’ve seen you looking better.”


“Where are we?”


“Prison, Mitz. They finally caught us.”


“So this is it?”


“Oh, no!” she smiled, a feral glint in her eye. “I’m getting out. A cute cat like me will not stay locked up long.” She eyed him up and down critically. “Sorry Mitz, old man. Now that you only have one eye, I seriously doubt you will get out of here any time soon.”


One eye? Mitzee blinked and shook his head. One eye! He had lost his eye! He yowled his anger and despair at any who would listen.


He soon gave in, but he promised, if he ever got out, someone would pay, and they’d pay dearly. He glared, one eyed at the people as they came and went. He had one plan: have a bath, eat the food, glare at everyone. Bath, eat, glare. If he was to go down, he thought, then he’d go down the same way he’d lived, alone and fighting.

March 11, 2023 12:21

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37 comments

Zatoichi Mifune
13:24 Jul 17, 2023

This would be an interesting and exciting story on its own... As a prequel it's better. I bet the snow in the first lines suggested another Mitzee story to you immediately.

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Michelle Oliver
13:43 Jul 17, 2023

Yep “snow” in the prompt made me think of the cat from he Mitzee story, and I had to write the prequel.

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Irene Duchess
02:32 Mar 23, 2023

a fun read, Michelle. I already read Mitzee'z Moment. a good prequel... and now we know how he lost his eye and got stuck in a cat shelter. :) thanks for sharing!! :D

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Michelle Oliver
14:15 Mar 23, 2023

Thanks for reading

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Michał Przywara
21:10 Mar 22, 2023

So the opening sentence and prompt: making snow be Snow the cat - brilliant :) Mitzee's undone by his overconfidence, but that's the way it goes in a dangerous line of work, isn't it? The longer you're in the game, the greater the chance of catastrophe. He's got a good voice here. The focus on survival, on being alone, the mistrust - it does a good job of showing us a history of being a street cat. An old one, at that. Another fun (pre) episode :)

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Michelle Oliver
22:27 Mar 22, 2023

Thanks Michal. I wasn’t really into prequels and sequels, so when people started asking for them I thought I’d give them a go, just to see if I could maintain that same level of charm over multiple works. I’m not sure it was successful, so I appreciate you comment about voice.

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Michał Przywara
01:44 Mar 23, 2023

I think Mitzee is just one of those characters who's easy to read. He's opinionated, he gladly gets into trouble, and he gives a cat's eye view of our world. Plus, we cheer for the little rogue. I get the reluctance about sequels and prequels though. On the other hand, it might be a good way brainstorm ideas for a novel :)

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Rebecca Miles
19:00 Mar 16, 2023

I must confess that I haven't read your prize-winning Mitzee one yet, but this stands firm on its own four feet with both eyes fixed on a tight plot, heaps of action and two lovable scoundrels. This dynamic duo, they're just comic gold. Your dialogue is just as spritely as they are, leaping fences most would fall at: “Let’s find a nice bolt hole for the night, Snow. My leg’s telling me that it’s gonna be bad.” “Mitzee, old man. You know I’m not doing anything with you. You can just keep your dirty paws to yourself, now.” “Snow, love, you w...

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Michelle Oliver
22:17 Mar 16, 2023

Oh goodness, don’t get me started… a story for Snow? I wonder… I lapped up the Star Ka’at books by Andre Norton as a child. I think that started my love of all things Ka’at. Thank you for reading this one and I hope you get to read Mitzee’s Moment too.

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Leasa Moore
14:52 Mar 14, 2023

There is a book here. Great writing. You have a fan.

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Michelle Oliver
15:25 Mar 14, 2023

Thank you

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Kerry Batchelder
11:16 Mar 14, 2023

I really enjoyed your story. Such detail and I liked the way it kept moving. I was engrossed in it. I also enjoyed the relationship between Snow and Mitzee. You humanized it in such a clever way, adding a sense of sexiness to Mitzee’s fondness for his furry companion.

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Michelle Oliver
12:13 Mar 14, 2023

Thanks Kerry. I figured Mitzee was a bit of an old Tom Cat who was probably a bit “naughty” in his hey day. I’m glad you enjoyed this story. Wasn’t sure it had the same charm as the first one though… but it was still fun to write.

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Kerry Batchelder
20:19 Mar 14, 2023

It definitely did Michelle :)

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Kevin V
23:19 Mar 13, 2023

This Is really cool, Michelle! I loved how you tied the prompt to Mitzee's friend Snow. 'Snow was falling...' devilishly clever! And then tying it in so seamlessly to Mitzee's Memoir! I know it said prequel, but since he's so old, that could've been at any point. The relationship between Snow and Mitzee and their repartee is a joy to read. I can sense the respect? (Not sure of the word I'm searching for) that they have for each other. Maybe needing each other and neither wanting to admit it. Congratulations on winning the previous prompt....

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Michelle Oliver
08:18 Mar 14, 2023

Thanks Kevin. I’m glad you like the characters. I enjoyed writing them, they are little scamps and just needed to have their story told. I have the sequel plotted in my mind, but need to wait for the perfect prompt to unleash it.

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Carla Ward
18:56 Mar 13, 2023

You must do more Mitzee stories. He's a ca who can never be fully comfortable with comfort. He needs mischief to get into, and no doubt can serve as a rogue companion to his little human

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Michelle Oliver
20:30 Mar 13, 2023

A rogue companion, I like it. Thanks for reading this story.

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Susan Catucci
15:20 Mar 12, 2023

This is a wonderful read, Michelle. I enjoyed every word. Had I not gone in knowing it was a prequel, I would say it stands perfectly well all on its own - much like Mitzee himself. It defines resilience and spit! Those judges knew what they were doing this go-round and you've solidified your talent - to my mind at the very least - for all to see. I know I can sound gushy at times but Mitzee's worth a good gush. So well done!

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Michelle Oliver
22:11 Mar 12, 2023

Thanks Susan. You inspired me to give it a go. I don’t usually try to do any pre or post stories as I like to leave all that to the imagination of the reader. I’m glad it worked as a, stand alone tale.

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Paul Sandford
18:23 Mar 11, 2023

Great prequel to your winning story. I like these characters 😀

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Michelle Oliver
06:15 Mar 12, 2023

Thanks. I just had to tell Mitzee’s origin story. Glad you liked it.

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16:42 Mar 11, 2023

Michelle, this was a wonderful origin story for your beloved Mitzee! I love how scrappy and feisty he is. You really have a wonderful way of expressing what I call "cattitude"! I really do think you could write a larger work with these two characters! Well done!

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Michelle Oliver
06:16 Mar 12, 2023

Thanks Hannah. Maybe one day… for now I’m just having fun and hoping other people enjoy it too.

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Wendy Kaminski
14:24 Mar 11, 2023

This was so great, Michelle - what a wonderful way to start the saga, and a clean sweep of the prompt! I swear I would read a whole book of Mitzee adventures: you have such a lovely way of conveying an interesting story full of charm. Excellent! :)

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Michelle Oliver
14:40 Mar 11, 2023

Thanks Wendy. I’m not too sure about this one, I loved writing it, but I don’t think it has the same kind of charm as the first one. Oh well I write for the fun of it. Happy that you liked it and thanks for the positive feedback.

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Wendy Kaminski
14:49 Mar 11, 2023

We're always our own worst critics, aren't we? :) It was delightful! :)

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Susan Catucci
15:22 Mar 12, 2023

I second this, Michelle! When you write for fun, you do it for all the right reasons - and it shows.

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Mary Ann Ford
12:44 Mar 26, 2023

Cool! I love it. One thing . . . I will remind you that an ass is a donkey so it could not make sense.

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Mary Bendickson
13:08 Mar 18, 2023

Wonderful rest of the story, Michelle. Smart to build on a winner.

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Michelle Oliver
13:40 Mar 18, 2023

Thank you. People kept asking about prequels and sequels, so I thought, why not… I am flattered that people are enjoying them.

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Viga Boland
15:21 Mar 16, 2023

So, I read this BEFORE reading your previous winner. Then, I slipped over to that one to get the full picture re Mitzee and Snow. And now, back to this beauty, which just like the first one, makes me ask, “How does Michelle do it?” How does she know so much about life in the snow when she lives in Perth? How does she know cats and their habits so well? And the big “how”: how does she make Mitzee and Snow so human??! You must be “catbrained” like some other writer I know so well. 😂 Getting serious, I LOVED this. This sentence tickled ...

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Michelle Oliver
22:54 Mar 16, 2023

Thank you Viga. No I don’t think this is another winner. I like the characters and the challenge of writing them in that ‘scamp-like” voice, but I have read some amazing stories that leave me breathless this week! If you have not read Deidra Whitt Lovegren’s The Smoke of her Burning, go do that now. I just bow to that lady’s talent and storytelling. https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/s4gzkn/

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Viga Boland
02:09 Mar 17, 2023

I’ll go over and read DWL’s story. I bet it’s amazing going by her wins and shortlists. I’m finding one of the most demotivating things I can do on here is read contest entries when I’ve written one for that week. My self-confidence vanishes, even when I think my story is good, as soon as I start comparing my entry to others. It’s one of the reasons I think I’ll not be spending my little old age pension on weekly entries. Can’t afford to live on hope. Need to find me some paying markets and try my luck at those 😂

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Viga Boland
02:43 Mar 17, 2023

Okay…just read DWL’s entry and yes, it’s brilliant as usual. But that doesn’t diminish my assessment or enjoyment of your story: these stories cannot be compared to each other. The subject matter is so different. The characters are worlds apart. And both you and Deirdra are amazing and gifted writers. You just choose to write on different subjects. The end result is the same: two great stories by two talented writers.

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Michelle Oliver
07:53 Mar 17, 2023

Thank you. You are very kind. I have this little game with myself each week to see if I can pick the winner, so I am never discouraged by other people’s talent. I love reading and wish I didn’t have to work so I could get round to reading all couple of hundred entries every week!

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Viga Boland
12:44 Mar 17, 2023

Yes, that is the hardest part of trying to support all the other talented writers here. I don’t know how someone like Wendy Kaminski does it when she works and writes too. I’m retired but reading time, let alone writing and commenting time is still very fractured. But then, as a book reviewer, I have long books and deadlines to meet.

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