Day 187: You are a loser who lives alone with a cat and have for quite some time. One day your cat can’t take it anymore and starts talking. What does it say?


I kicked the door shut behind me, dropping the bags of cat litter and food onto the carpet. Gently, though. When I’d first got Nipper I’d made the mistake of dropping a bag from my arm height. That was a mistake. Kitty litter everywhere, it took me weeks to clear it all up. Ridiculous stuff really. Still, that was a year ago now. Nipper had taken to the flat like a duck to water, prowling around and pissing on everything to start with.

That had been a fun few weeks. Damn that cat can empty its bladder.

“Nip!” A soft yowl came from the sofa, meaning that Nipper had decided to completely ignore his perfectly adequate cushion bed and had decided to sleep on my sofa cushions. “Not like Mum got me those for Christmas or anything… What’s on the telly?” I slid the litter and the food into the cupboard by the door. I’d deal with that in a bit.

The only response I got to my question was another yowl. Nipper’s really chatty. I walked into the living room to see that he’d managed to turn the television on again. Quiz shows. I could have sworn that I’d turned it off when I left, but what do I know?

I gingerly rested my hand against Nipper, who would either claw my arm or willingly submit to my fussing. It could go either way, depending on… Probably the phases of the moon. Does anyone know what their cat is thinking? “I’ll just get changed, then we’ll see what’s on tonight. Maybe I’ll break 5000 words tonight?”

“Maybe I’ll grow wings and fly.” That gave me pause. I hadn’t said it, it wasn’t my voice and it was vaguely terrifying. Imagine Samuel L. Jackson with a cold. I ignored it and carried on, heading into the bedroom. Started rifling through my drawers, picking out a dark blue pair of tracksuit bottoms. I know, dark clothing when you own a white cat is daft, but I look ridiculous in light clothes.

I bounded back through to the living room, grabbing my laptop from the stand and collapsing onto the sofa. Nipper looked up at me with a glare before stalking to the other end of the cushion. “What we working on today then, Nip?”

“How about a job application, asshole?” There was the voice again. “I was so comfortable…”

I looked at Nipper.

He looked at me, dead in the eyes and spoke. “What, cat got your tongue?”

This is definitely one to come back to, but my duvet is calling me. I may also now have to get a cat and call it Nipper… What would your pets say to you?

The Idiot in Tin Foil