A Game
Title: A Game
Word count: 302
Genre: Social Satire
Summary: Cats and humans play the same game, and though humans may play it longer; cats play it better.
A Game
The cat has played the game his whole life, taking risks when there were benefits to be gained. Jumping onto an unsteady perch to get to food, hunting in the forest where the red foxes and the great lynx prowled, darting in front of carriages in pursuit of a delicious-looking mouse. So far, he had won but he knew relaxing would mean losing.
He still had fun though. He pranced after butterflies as they fluttered their wings a foot or two above his head, only making a half-hearted attempt to actually catch the creatures. He played with twine and other toys children dangled in front of him, enjoying the attention as he flaunted his skills. He courted the ladies and played their games, knowing that his beautiful fur only emphasized his pure features. When he could, he chose pleasurable things like sleeping, eating treats and using his body to keep it nice and healthy.
Which was why he could not understand the two-legger that called itself his master. The man chose to sit in the house all day, his weak eyes peering at the symbols printed on bound sleeves of paper like they were visual catnip, letting his once-firm body get flabbier and flabbier. The man had others to provide for him: a boy to chop his wood to keep the fire from going out, a maid to keep the house tidy and warm, a grocer to make sure the man did not starve.
It was the only way the creature could be so disgustingly lazy and still win the game.
As the cat finally lost the game to the lynx while running after a rabbit in the woods, he lost without regret; the man, who was sixty-five when he died, regretted the better part of his adult life.
Word count: 302
Genre: Social Satire
Summary: Cats and humans play the same game, and though humans may play it longer; cats play it better.
A Game
The cat has played the game his whole life, taking risks when there were benefits to be gained. Jumping onto an unsteady perch to get to food, hunting in the forest where the red foxes and the great lynx prowled, darting in front of carriages in pursuit of a delicious-looking mouse. So far, he had won but he knew relaxing would mean losing.
He still had fun though. He pranced after butterflies as they fluttered their wings a foot or two above his head, only making a half-hearted attempt to actually catch the creatures. He played with twine and other toys children dangled in front of him, enjoying the attention as he flaunted his skills. He courted the ladies and played their games, knowing that his beautiful fur only emphasized his pure features. When he could, he chose pleasurable things like sleeping, eating treats and using his body to keep it nice and healthy.
Which was why he could not understand the two-legger that called itself his master. The man chose to sit in the house all day, his weak eyes peering at the symbols printed on bound sleeves of paper like they were visual catnip, letting his once-firm body get flabbier and flabbier. The man had others to provide for him: a boy to chop his wood to keep the fire from going out, a maid to keep the house tidy and warm, a grocer to make sure the man did not starve.
It was the only way the creature could be so disgustingly lazy and still win the game.
As the cat finally lost the game to the lynx while running after a rabbit in the woods, he lost without regret; the man, who was sixty-five when he died, regretted the better part of his adult life.