This is my effort in response to Thain in Vain’s Week 19 flash fiction prompt: A man’s dog (or pet of your choice) develops the uncanny ability to communicate telepathically with him.
I find myself in the kitchen, on my hands and knees, searching through the cupboard containing treats for Mr Tibbles. It’s still dark outside, dawn hasn’t yet arrived and here I am, scrabbling through a cupboard in the middle of the night looking for tuna Wheaties for the cat.
Thank God that Mr Tibbles soft mewing didn’t wake the wife up – she’s never been much of an early riser – she would have kicked me out of the bed with her foot and demand that I feed the cat anyway. I’d been having a nice dream about…..well, best I don’t tell the wife what I’d been dreaming about, lest she kick me somewhere more painful than the back of my legs….
I’d had the feeling someone was watching me as I slept, whispering in my ear that I needed to get up and feed the cat. I’d cracked one eye open to look at the display on my bedside clock, deciding that it was way too early (and way too cold) to get out of bed yet.
Feed Mr Tibble. He is hungry.
Without much conscious thought, I did just that.
I let out a triumphant snort as my hand locates the cat’s favourite treat, shaking it at him as I pull it out. I suddenly get an overwhelming urge to put them back, deciding the half-empty pot of cream in the fridge will be more to Mr Tibbles liking.
I pour the cream into a bowl and put it on the floor. Mr Tibbles looks at me expectantly and I realise that I’ve left his bowl too far away. I need to bring it closer to him.
I can hear him lapping hungrily at the liquid, the sloshing as the cream coats his whiskers and face. I decide to leave him to it and try to get a few more hours of sleep before I have to get up for real and go to work.
Mr Tibbles is hungry. The tuna steaks in the fridge would make an excellent breakfast for him.
I turn around at the sound of a voice. No one is there except me and the cat – and he looks at me with innocence shining through his eyes.
But the voice is right, Mr Tibbles loves tuna steaks. I turn the oven on, wondering what else Mr Tibbles might like to accompany the fish.
Carrots and green beans – al dente.
Yes, that’s it! I pull a pan from the cupboard, filling with water as I take the vegetables from the fridge, humming a merry tune as I peel and chop. I’m concentrating so intently on my preparations that I don’t hear the wife enter the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screams at me.
“Feeding Mr Tibbles, he’s hungry.” My eyes glaze over as I speak.
The cat just looks at me. Victorious.