Trouble Brewing

There’s trouble brewing, I reckon.

It’s one of those quiet days, when there’s less traffic along the main road at the back. On these days, they normally leave the house early together, come back late. I polish off what they’ve put down for me almost as soon as they’re out of the door and then end up regretting it. I’d like to see them have to survive so long on a single bowl of food – they’d soon understand how I feel. Of course, they obviously don’t take into account that I’m a terrible greedy guts. When they’re at home, they ration out the food – a little bit at a time. When they’re not here, they must imagine I’m going to have the self-restraint to do my own rationing; nothing further from the truth.

Anyway, that’s a normal quiet day. I say ‘quiet’ though it’s not always true; it's when the neighbours bring out their machines to cut the grass. The ones along the street don’t bother me so much – it’s the bloke next door. He’s got a big one that makes a helluva noise. I like to take a nap under the greenery mid-afternoon, but his machine is so loud that it’s impossible. When he’s out there – he’s been working in the garden an awful lot recently – I go to my bed in the kitchen.

So trouble, yes. Today’s a quiet day and they didn’t go out together. He left very early, slamming the front door. I don’t believe it was an accident. She got up late and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, where I was sitting expectantly by my bowl. Nothing. She poured herself some of that brown liquid and took it back to bed, so no food from him or her. I followed her upstairs; I thought I could at least get to nap on their bed, but no – she shut the door in my face! And afterwards, I could hear her talking. Strange.

My tummy’s rumbling something rotten. I could start yowling to get her attention, but she has a high level of resistance to that; if it was him, he’d give in immediately. Alternatively, I could go out through the flap and catch myself a mouse. There are two problems with that idea, though: as well as a greedy guts, I’m lazy as hell – chasing mouses takes work; and I don’t much care for mouse meat anyway.

To be honest, I think she doesn’t like me very much. I was living with him before she arrived on the scene, so with longer service I reckon I should get more respect. If I’m ever in her way, she’s not afraid to use her foot to get me out of it. Also, I never get a cuddle from her anymore. In the early days, she was much more giving, but no doubt she was trying to get on his good side. Since she’s safely installed here, she’s reverted to her default position of not liking me or my kind.

That’s okay really because I don’t like her much either. Nor do I like how she’s been treating him lately. I’m not sure he’s even noticed the gradual change, but I have. Whilst it used to be all kissy-kissy, now there’s a definite coldness from her. And her voice has got harsher – once again, imperceptible to him I expect. I have a sensitive ear; I do catch these nuances.

I don’t know what to do about my food; I’m famished. I suppose I could knock the box of biscuits off the shelf in the larder, which I did once before. I got to eat my fill, but it made an awful mess. With her in the mood she’s in, I can’t chance it; she uses her foot to give me more than just a nudge sometimes.

I should’ve guessed trouble was on the way. Apart from the harshness of her voice and her coldness, I’ve noted that the night-time noises coming from their room – those kissy-kissy sounds – have stopped completely. The day after those nights, they’d be all smiles, all huggy. Now I come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time either of them smiled at all. Hugs? Forget about it!

I’m going to starve to death. This is cruelty, pure and simple. If I could––… hang on! A tapping on the kitchen door. And here she comes down the stairs, in a hurry. Better get next to my bowl, give her a hint. But she goes straight to the door of course, without even a glance in my direction.

It’s the lady from next door, where the bloke with the big machine lives. All dressed up – funny sparkly things hanging from her ears. She sometimes gives me a stroke, so she must like me. Maybe I will give yowling a go. Yes … the lady says something to her and … result! Biscuits! My word – I do believe I’ve gone to heaven! They’ve gone upstairs, but I’ve got other things on my mind. Biscuits!

Well, that hit the spot. Feeling much better. I’ll have a bit of a wash, then a nap. The bed in the kitchen, I think.

*****

Mmmm. Enjoyed that – cut short by them making the brown liquid, with lots of talking. And smiling! What can that––… Hey! The front door! It’s him! He’s home! Let’s go and get a stroke or two...

Ah, that’s the business. Yes, there. Behind the ears. Okay, do your own thing, if you like. But not there – I don’t like that so much. Back to the ears. Yes!

Off to the kitchen? I’d better follow him – see if he’ll put more biscuits down for me. It’s just her there. Where's the lady gone? He gets himself a glass of water – no talking whatsoever. You could cut the air with a sharpened claw. And off he storms upstairs.

She’s giving me one of those looks. It’s not a question of not liking really – that’s hatred, that is. The feeling’s mutual, missus, I can tell you.

Oh, hang on. He’s back. What’s that he’s holding up? I’ve seen it before. Sparkly. Ah, now they’re talking ... very loudly! I’d best make myself scarce. Lucky I’m full up from the biscuits; I don’t expect either of them would be in the mood for feeding me at the moment.

Yep, I knew trouble was coming. I’ve never seen them this angry before. I wonder if anything will come of it. I wonder if she’ll simply disappear, leave us alone. Just him and me. Like before.

Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?