By Akela Jean Underland, Duchess of the Damp Towel, Heiress to the Unloved Pillow, Radiator Recluse Emerita

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C-ACT I: THE OBSESSION

They have abandoned me again.

Not for travel. Not for turkey. No, this time they have forsaken me for… zine.

zine?

What it is I have no idea. But I do know this. It takes time.

My time. Or rather time away from me.

I watched them both hunched like Poe after Sunday dinner. The pair of them scooched over the keyboard (as if it doesn’t get enough attention already) , muttering incantations like “issue layout” and “Bleed settings.”
I tried to remind them of my needs, my elegant, sophisticated, supreme presence. I placed myself firmly in front of the screen.
They did not care.

I was shunned.

5 times this week mommy one has gotten up, removing me from her lap. Me? Can you believe it? I do the removing. I decide when enough is enough. I remove myself.

Then they published it.
Then they were happy.

Oh you should have seen it. Such betrayl. They hugged.

Yes hugged.

Each other of course.

I

I was not included.

Then, inevitably they were sad because no one said anything.

Frankly I could have told them that. Humans are nasty little creatures

Willful in their apathy and indifference. Cruel. I of all cats should know.

I might even go as far as to say that karma bit their biscuits.

Of course, their melancholy didn’t last, not like Mowgli’s who can stretch it out for weeks.

Some Aaron said thank you and , of course they were happy again.

Aaron?
What is this Aaron?
Does this Aaron refill the biscuits?
No.
Aaron does not refill the biscuits.

Nor does he give me scratches.

I shall blame this whole zine incident on it.

The boy died

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C-ACT II: THE ROGIT RETURNS (AGAIN)

Rodgit.

This floppy, dripping, bin-scented flirt has returned to my courtyard with renewed gusto.
He winked at me.
WINKED.

Then he flopped, limbs akimbo, like some Victorian damsel about to faint under the weight of her own melodrama.
I was not impressed.

He left a wet pawprint on the step.
A metaphor for the dire state of the Underland household..
I hated it.

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C-ACT III: SOMETHING IS AFOOT

There has been… movement.

Furniture shifts.
Boxes appear. And disappear.
The red chair is now in the wrong room and no one is talking about it. Silence.

I sense betrayal.
I smell uncertainty.
And also mildew, because it’s still raining.

Something is coming.
And I do not trust it.
Until further notice, I shall remain in the cupboard.

Silently.
Elegantly.
Grudgingly majestic.

(Cue thunder. Cue distant zine printing. Cue one mournful meow echoing through a hallway of damp secrets.)