Couch Potato

I encourage all you readers to take a moment and check out the new RocNaNo blog. We post daily with writing prompts and tips, and the occasional bit of our own writing.

Today’s challenge I posted myself. The challenge is to write a story based upon this photo of my cat Charlie, who’s been on my mind a lot lately.

Here’s my answer to the challenge:

—–

My people are gone. I have the house to myself, thought Charlie. He casually licked a paw. As it should be.

He sat back and gazed around the kitchen. The food bowls were empty. Toby had already gone off to nap. Niko had also left and gone off somewhere. Charlie secretly hoped that Niko wouldn’t come back.

Charlie yawned and peeked into the recycling bin. It was too full to make a comfortable bed, so he shrugged and strolled out of the kitchen looking for a different napping place.

Toby was in the cat tree. Charlie paused, considering joining him. Nah. Too high of a climb. He moved on.

As he passed by the stairs, Charlie felt a draft coming from above. the people had left the door to the media center open! He loved going in there. The people would be so upset! Charlie scaled the stairs and walked through the media center door. Niko grunted at him from the couch.

Charlie sighed, and straightened up a little. He was old and sore, but he wouldn’t let Niko see that. Charlie strode up to the couch and pulled himself up. Niko grunted but didn’t move. Charlie stared at him coldly until Niko removed himself from the couch and curled up on the floor. Charlie settled in.

Something hard was under his back paw. Charlie shifted to clear his long fur out of the way and see what it was. He recognized the black object that the people fought over so often.

He nosed at it, and touched it with a paw. Suddenly the black box on the wall came to life. On it were images of people running around and throwing a ball. Other people were sitting and cheering. Charlie had seen this before. His people, and other visiting people, would often watch this while eating those orange snacks that he loved so much.  Charlie didn’t understand the charm.

But now he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Well, maybe if he tried to watch it like the people do, he would understand it better. He sat on his haunches and leaned back until his back pressed against the upright part of the couch.

This didn’t do it.

He slumped, sliding down until his tail and feet nearly hung off the edge of the couch. This is how the people often sat.

Still nothing.

It’s the orange snacks, Charlie thought. How could he get some orange snacks?

He sighed and began to groom himself. At least this position made it easy for him to get to his belly.

Abruptly, the box erupted into cheers. Charlie pricked his ears, startled. his tongue still hanging out. The people were jumping about, then swarming the other people who had been throwing the ball. Images again and again of one person kicking this brown, misshapen ball and missing these two tall bars.

Charlie was fascinated. I wonder how often that happens? he pondered. He watched for a few minutes more, then resumed his grooming. Whatever it was it wasn’t that important.

He fell onto his side finally and dozed dreaming of orange snacks and kicking brown balls. He would never understand the people.