Catacombs

I’m sitting here, licking the dust from my fur for the third time since morning dawned. I’ve still not managed to get used to the taste or feel of these particles that stick to the fleshy hairs of my tongue. Living in this place has been…enlightening to say the least. I spent most of my time watching the world through windows, basking in the sun, from sills and perches around my home before I ended up here. Being out in all of it is…disturbing.

I can’t read any of the stones I see, but I can smell those buried beneath them. Some smell just terrible, others have a faint smell, and the fresh ones still smell like their homes. It’s fascinating to meet their animals or lack thereof through the thick layer of dirt that separates them from the surface. It sometimes reminds me of the treats I’d find that weaseled their way through the walls in the basement of my home. I’d catch them and bury them myself in the exposed dirt of the flooring. That dust tasted so much better than the dry drivel they’ve got here.

That reminds me, maybe I should grab a snack. I think I saw a family of mice scurry under the tool shed this morning. I wonder if they’re still there.  Ahh, yes, I think I see one of their tails now.

Gotcha! Oh heavens, this thing is bloody, and I’ve just cleaned myself too. Ahh well, a well-earned breakfast nonetheless, how else should I balance out the laps I walk around the acres of this place. Other cats might spend their days sleeping or playing with yarn. Not me; not anymore.

God, I remember that ball of yarn I used to play with. I loved it so much. Sometimes I would hide it for myself, not find it for days, then be so surprised to find it again afterwards. A little game I played with myself because goodness knows my owner would never play with me. All she ever did was sit in a chair and watch television. Heaven forbid she pick up a bag of treats for me. Were it not for that cat sitter I had, I might have never learned the sweet joy of a treat eaten for no reason but boredom. My owner likely never wanted me to experience that kind of joy, passing her days thinking all I ever wanted were scratches behind my ears, a brush through my hair, or an hour or two spent on her lap being pet. Pfft, humans are so stupid.

I remember the perfume she used to wear. I’ll sometimes smell it in the breeze as if the scent itself was a bastardized version of something natural. I hate it. It simply ruins my day when that blows by. Hang on…Is that…is that it? Where is that coming from?

The dew on this infernal grass has wet my feet to soaking, I certainly hope this is worth it. My owner was possibly the best meal I’ve ever had and they stole her away before I could finish. My nose has always been a good one though, I can always rely on it to find my next meal. The trek to this part of the cemetery has certainly stirred that mouse from my stomach and the energy it’ll take to dig down to that useless wheezebag should strike up a healthy appetite. Now, let’s start digging.


Last Story: Bugs

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