Another short story from the past, a free write.  This is how it tumbled out of me, as is.  This time not disturbing or weird.  But definitely close to my heart.

The prompt?  Put your heart on the page.  And so I did.  And here it is.


Somewhere in the outskirts of Oregon City, out in the country, out in the backyard of a one-story ranch style house, there is an arrangement of stones.  On top of these stones, maybe, there is a decaying daffodil.  Under these stones, under the soft warm dirt, there is a cardboard box.  In that decaying cardboard box there is a plastic bag, tied off at the top.  And in that plastic bag sleeps Mytzie.

Long, long ago, south of that burial site in Oregon City, in a city called Salem, a little baby girl was born.  She was born healthy and happy, and was taken home to her own room with a mother, father, and a brother.

About the same time, a little baby girl kitten was born.  A beautiful blue-eyed Siamese girl.  And for some reason, this little kitten when it was big enough, snuck away from her own family, and ran into a house that had a baby girl human about her age.

The brother of the household, even though he was allergic to pets, begged the mother and father to keep this little blue-eyed kitten.  The father, who had a big warm gooshy spot in his heart, and the mother, who didn't like cats but had a little warm spot of her own despite this, relented.  And the brother named the cat Mytzie.

And that is how I got Mytzie.

Mytzie would jump up in my crib while I slept, and would curl up next to me.  My mother, who didn't hold much stock in old wive's tales about cat's stealing babies breath, would stand over us and smile.  And I was happy.

But, just like every other human created, I grew.  I grew into a girl child.  I was curious, and rambunctious, and had my own ideas on things and would set my mind to them.  

And just like every feline created, the little kitten grew too.  She grew into a cat.  A play thing that grows fur, and walks, and everything.  I would chase the cat around the house, give her haircuts, dress her in doll clothes, drag her around on a self-made leash.  I even attempted to curl her hair with a curling iron.

And when she didn't do as I wanted, I would hit her.  And when I did what she didn't want, she would lightly bite me, or swap her paw at me, not hurting me, but letting me know this was not her idea of fun.  

And the kitty more and more began to sleep with the brother.

Soon, the tantramatic child that I was grew into a young teen-ager.  My experiments and tortures dropped off as I grew into adulthood.  And more and more at night, I would hear my door creak open, and the light steps of cat feet cross my carpet.  I would fall asleep with a warm bundle purring away, perched upon me.

But sometimes I was a very sad young teen-ager.  Sometimes I felt unloved and unnoticed.  And I would cry.  And then that warm bundle would pad over to em, and lick my tears away, until I curled up with her and fell asleep.  And I felt loved.

More and more, I grew  I grew until I was a young woman more concerned with the life-sized Kens than I was with the plastic ones.  Right beside me, Mytzie grew too.  She grew into an old kitty, passing her teen years while I passed my diapers.  So, at night, as she would pad into my room I would her her claws catching on the carpet, and would wait in the growing pause as she tried to get up enough energy to jump onto my bed.  I would curl up with her and cry, thinking of the day she would leave me.  And she would lick those tears away, too.

Older and older, until one day time saw the mother, brother, and daughter standing around a metal vet table, with tears running down their faces.  The old cat looked up at the family, with her now cloudy blue eyes.  She was tired of the IV's that the daughter tried to feed her, tired of throwing up, and just tired of being old.  

The little girl, who wasn't so little anymore, picked the cat up for the last time, and told her she loved her.  And the kitty went to sleep.

And that night, the little girl heard no door creaking open.  And she heard no padding feet across her floor.  And she felt no rough tounge wiping away her tears.  That night, the little girl slept alone.

And that is how I came to love Mytzie.

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