Short Stories

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I should be eating my breakfast…I’m really hungry, but I can’t seem to focus. Not with that cat pacing the door.

“Freckles, what’s the matter with you?” I stirred more sugar in my coffee. "Silly cat, I already fed you."

“Are you talking to someone, Willa?” Granny’s crackled voice filters through the frozen air.

“No, Granny, just myself.” I add another spoonful of sugar. Freckles is frantically pacing the backdoor, going from one side to the other. “You have water, you have food.” Several drops of scalding coffee leap from the cup and into my lap.

“Freckles!” I contemplated throwing the cup at her, but my sensible self took hold of me. “It’s just a spill…and a possible stain.” I mumbled, shuffling to my feet and the kitchen sink to rinse the front of my white blouse. “Crazy cat.”

“Willa?” Granny appeared in the doorway, shrouded in her everlasting bathrobe. “Something the matter, sweets?” She fumbled with the radio. “You didn’t turn the radio on this morning. We’ll miss the news.”

“Nothing’s wrong…I forgot the radio, sorry.” I tore off several sheets of paper towel, mopping the front of my shirt. “Just the cat.”

“The cat?” Granny wheezed. “I told you we didn’t need no cat ‘round here!”

“It’s just Freckles, Granny.” I bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek good morning. “She bugs me, every time I sit down here.”

Granny sniffed. “If you didn’t baby that-”

“Granny, don’t you dare call her a fleabag! She’s a perfectly sweet-Freckles!” I forgot about my blouse long enough to lurch to the back door as the lights went out.

The lights went out. “Granny!”

“Power failure!” Granny announced, her hunched over frame looming in the dark morning light. “Must be adding more cable to those Brewster folk. What’s the matter with that cat?”

I opened the door and bent to scoop up my feline friend…and nearly dropped her. The sky was lightly tinted green with winds that threatened to unravel my French braid. “Granny!” I yelped, jerking back through the door, Freckles in hand. “Tornado!”

“Tornado?” Granny repeated, shuffling to the door to squint for herself. “Why I do declare.” She mumbled. “Willa, get that cat and git movin’!”

Copyright 2008

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