Interior monologue of a cat.

Essay by roochaJunior High, 9th grade May 2004

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The Black Box

Here they are again. I have just eaten some fish, drunk some water, and laid down in hope to be able to rest, and suddenly, they are in the room. Maybe they are here for just a moment to pick up something and then they will leave. Maybe they are here for me, but I'm not sure I am into being petted right now. It feels so good just to lie on the soft bed, lean a little bit on the soft pillows, when my stomach is full, not worrying about anything in the world.

Now they are talking. Usually, when they are looking at me, their voice changes to higher tones, and they show their front teeth. I don't understand what they are saying, but I feel that these are signs that they are happy to see me. I am happy to see them too. I like them and I like their touch even though they lack the softness of fur.

They have some funny stuff on their heads, which looks like a kind of fur. One of them is now leaning on the bed and I can smell the nice aroma that comes from her odd fur. It's been a long time since I have played with it. Maybe now it's the time. "Kitty," they are saying now, among other sounds, with their so familiar high tone, and I know they meant to call me. I love them, so maybe it is not such a bad idea to be petted or play games... but what the hell are they doing?! One of them is holding a black box and suddenly a strong light flashes out of it. Sometimes I hate their magic. If they are doing it one more time, I am leaving the room.