Motley Microfiction: Catastrophe

Everyone’s gotta die somehow. Umet died flinging cat food at strays at 2AM, which isn’t a safe thing to do in your car while topping 90.

Welcome, thrummed a thousand purring voices. Last thing Umet remembered was faceplanting the telephone pole. Now it was a swarm of cats.

“Where am I?” he asked. “What happened?”

It not total useless. We has accept its worships. Seize action of divert from traditioning sapiens afterlife.

“I don’t understand.”

The cat swarm parted, and Umet noticed the lounge chair.

It sittings. Pleasures cat forevers. Welcome!

Claws plucked at his pant leg. Like licking flames.

————————————————————————————————

Cats Eyes
That wide-eyed innocence hides an evil plan to rule your lap for all eternity. (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

I wrote this piece after hearing a friend’s story of someone who drives around at night feeding stray cats. I love the fact that someone like this really exists, don’t you? He strikes me as a sort of cat Batman (Catman?), champion of the strays, and I’m sure that powerful forces of karmic feline alignment are taking note.

But that raises another question: if cats have their own afterlife, and their gods decided to reward you, how would these rewards stack up to what the human afterlife has to offer? Every cat I’ve met leads me to believe that for cats, Heaven would be a weird and wacky place, dominated by strings and laser pointers and nice, warm laps.

Someone’s got to provide that lap, y’know. Poor Umet. Let’s all thank him for taking one for the team.

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3 thoughts on “Motley Microfiction: Catastrophe

  1. I can see a long line of cats forming – – – all waiting for Umet’s warm lap and soothing strokes.

    “My turn next.”

    “Get in line, bud.”

    “What we need is more homo sapiens in this here heaven.”

    “Oh well, I might as well return to complete my eight remaining lives.”

    “You stay here, Hon, as this line ain’t getting any shorter.”

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