Faux Stories From Real Pictures

Several storeys above the city Percival contemplated his next move. He was a cat with a conundrum, a frenzied feline. Was this how it was all going to end? What was it that literally brought him to the edge?

Percival the pampered pussy questioned whether there was more to life than staring at the humans who fed him as he plotted their demise. Sure he had all the cat toys and catnip he wanted, but deep down in his cat gut he knew there was more to life than chasing that mysterious beam of light around the house that seemed to come from one of his owner’s strange looking writing implements.

He acknowledged there was a whole existence beyond his ivory tower. He had seen other creatures in the wild fending for themselves, but he knew his life was better. From his perch he occasionally spotted a raccoon flummoxed by the latches of a recycling bin, witnessed birds battling over an errantly thrown French fry or a dog making a break for freedom only to literally reach the end of its rope. But still he wanted more. Peeing on his human’s pillows and carving his initials in the furniture just didn’t give him the same fanatical feline high that it did when he was a kitten. So here he was, Percival on the precipice in a kitty calamity, reciting words from The Clash, “should I stay or should I go?”

But then a moment of sober second thought washed over him. He was a cat. His humans kept telling him he had nine lives. No matter how painful the outcome of this rash decision was, it might have to be repeated eight more times. On the other hand, if he just stuck to the original plan and continued to torment his humans, maybe he could drive them out on this ledge. Suddenly a smile came over Percival. He knew what he had to do. The vertical view was spectacular, but it wasn’t going to be his final one. All he needed was to figure out how to work his human’s magic pen. If he could just find a way to get one of those idiot bipeds to chase the light beam toward the window . . . gravity would do the rest!

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

About Peter Anthony Holder

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