Poor Mr. Whiskers

Poor Mr. Whiskers…

My mom said that every time I tell a story, start from “the big beginning”. I will try to do that now.

Mom said that we were going to take a very big trip and I got excited and she said don’t be excited because you will have to go to the bathroom and I just put you in your favourite coat and hat with those boots (my feet hurt). I did not get that excited, but I was happy that we were taking the trip, but where was dad? Dad had to work that week and we could not take a trip with him so we should just enjoy it and maybe not tell daddy everything about what we do.

I need a juice.

Okay…

So, we took a trip and mom said that I was a good and big boy (I am almost ten, so I know). It was great to go on the highway and see that we could take another number that did not go to the same park or to visit my cousins who were all older and mean to me when I tried to play games with them. We were on a highway that went past more farms than other buildings that I would see when we took all those other trips. It smelled bad, but I liked to see the cows and the horses and the barns and all those fields that were brown now and the farmers must have taken in all that corn or wheat or whatever they had out there for farming and it was really getting close to getting cold anyway.

I should slow down a bit. There is a lot to say.

And I have to talk about Mr. Whiskers.

Mom said that daddy couldn’t come with us but she did not say that I could not take Mr. Whiskers. Mr. Whiskers is a brown tabby who likes tuna but hates salmon and he is very friendly when he likes you. He likes me and I think he likes my neighbour, Mr. Jenkins, and his daughter (yuck, girls!) and my mom and dad and maybe some of those cousins when they come over (they just ignore him until he jumps on them and they scream or push him away and that makes me angry and mom tells them to stop and I tell them to stop but they don’t care). And Mr. Whiskers was happy to be around me, even if I did not tell her that we had a guest in the van.

Orange next time; not fruit punch.

Mr. Whiskers was quiet in the back until we took that first stop and mommy said, Why is he in the car and I said that you never said I could not take him with us and he was quiet in the back and she said, Well, as long as you take care of him and he does not run out of the car when we stop, Mr. Whiskers will be our secret guest. “Our secret guest.”

That sounded good to me and I liked it so I kept thinking about it as we found another road after the highway and mom said that we were almost there.

I thought that it was a nice place. I had Mr. Whiskers in my lap as the car stopped at a big house and there was sun going down and it was all cool and nice. My mom said, “We are here!” when we parked and I knew that because I saw that she was smiling and she slapped the steering wheel (she always did that when she was really happy). I looked out behind us and there were no other cars on the road.

There was only the one in the driveway.

It looked a little like our car, except it was grey instead of blue and it was the only one there. We walked up and there was no doorbell, but I kept looking back and Mr. Whiskers was also curious about it.

“In the car, J. J.”

“I can’t leave him in the car.”

She was looking for the key to the place as she said that, and I picked up Mr. Whiskers and felt him purring on my chest.

“He might get in trouble.”

“I got ‘im.”

And that was when she opened it all up.

Guess I’m almost done with this.

Mom was talking and talking about how she needed to get away from things and that we would use this place when dad wasn’t around, but I wasn’t listening because I saw that there was a TV with all the gaming stuff I always wanted in the front room and that we were going to have dinner soon and I wasn’t even hungry at all…

And we got our own rooms.

I think that mom was right about Mr. Whiskers. I didn’t have the carrier, but that was not my fault. He just showed up and wanted to be a part of things and I couldn’t leave him out there. It was sunny but night was cooler and we did not know this neighbourhood.

And we didn’t know him.

Honest to God, I would have just stayed in my room for the whole night and pretended nothing happened when I heard the noises. I knew what was happening in there and I didn’t want to know anything. Mr. Whiskers must have known, too, because he got up before I did and left the room (mom knew that I never left the door closed when I went to sleep). And if I had been up, I would have done something really stupid like slam the door or complain. But I did not do that.

And now Mr. Whiskers is hurt.

Dad, if you get this message before we get home, could you call Dr. Neko and tell her that Mr. Whiskers will need an appointment to take care of his leg. He was limping when I brought him out of the room, and I’m sure it wasn’t mom that did it and the other guy was wiping down the scratches on his face, anyway. I never even said a thing, but I’m sending you pics so you can see what’s going on.

I don’t think that I want to see this place again.

I think Mr. Whiskers deserves better.