Today, you can write about whatever you what — but your post must include, in whatever role you see fit, a cat, a bowl of soup, and a beach towel.
I had just moved into the small apartment. My couch was still in storage and I did not feel like spending all my time in bed. I wanted to enjoy the whole living space of the new surroundings. I found one of the few boxes that I had brought with me (I’ve become quite he minimalist when I move, so everything must go…with me or elsewhere.). The first “comfortable” thing that I found was a beach towel. I spread the beach towel out on the living room floor. It would be much more “comfortable” if the floor didn’t have what appeared to be shag carpeting on it. I could see there wouldn’t be much floor sitting in my future here. Lucy walked up to me purring and rubbing her face on my hand. Lucy was the cat my niece had found outside of her grandmother’s house and had begged to keep. She had named her Harmony, but that cat is the devil. I took the liberty of rechristening her…Lucy Fur. I grabbed her little tin bowl and filled it with food. She lost interest in me right away. I watched her eat and purr and then decide that those two leisurely activities were uninteresting. She strolled off to the other side of the room. You could almost hear the thought process….as much of one as she might have had anyway…”Screw that…there’s curtains to climb…things to knock over….annoyances to be made!” Typical cat. She was a long lanky cat. Not even a year old, she barely weighed more than she did the day we found her on the porch. She grew, but didn’t get any heavier. Least it didn’t seem that way. I had quite stocked the cabinets with dishes (I had 5) or food (We were next to a gas station, so I didn’t think that that would be an issue.), so there wasn’t much to knock over. Except for the can of Italian Wedding soup. It was all alone. It seemed a little ironic. You’d expect an Italian wedding to be huge…if the film and television gave an accurate depiction (hahahahaha). But…Nay…There it sat all by its lonesome. If it were a person, if would have been going stag at that wedding. It would have been in the solo finals of a dance competition or something. I’ll stop with the similes. Lucy decided that was her new plaything. She strolls over to it…sniffs it and pats it. She must have liked it, as she started rubbing her face on it. “This is my thing!”, I could almost hear her purr. I like to personify my animals. Is that weird? Anyhow…She started nuzzling and nudging and being extra loving to this can of soup…it started sliding…it slid off of the counter and onto the floor with a thud. Her back arched….eyes widened…fur stood on end…tail got ten times wider (or so it seemed)…She darted off….”Serves you right, Lucy Fur…That’s my can” I thought. I figure now was as good a time as any to eat. So, I searched for a can opener in the box of kitchen essentials I had. I’m not the best at planning of preparing for things, so it’s a wonder I had anything useful. I find it and attach it to the can and start cranking away. I found my other utensils….but realized…I didn’t have a microwave…This Italian Wedding was going to be a drag.. I would have to eat it cold. Nothing’s worse than being stag at a wedding though, right? So I needed someone to share this special moment in a can with me. I found Lucy’s bowl and poured her some soup. “This will be a good thing for an Italian Wedding” She came and started lapping it into her mouth with all nice chunks of meat and other flavorful things. I spooned a couple of spoonfuls of soup into my face, but couldn’t eat very much. Cold soup is not that much fun. But I sat and watched the cat while I sat on my beach towel…holding a bowl of cold soup…and thought “It’s a start.”