Slice of Life: Turf Wars

He moved from the desk, toward the corner chair. Repositioned himself in the stream of sunlight pouring through the windows. Books surround him. Finding solitude, he closed his eyes.

He had thought the desk an excellent location to work.  A quiet space stacked with papers and books.

Then she came and moved things around.

The reorganization was not disturbing at first. It was a refreshing change, advantageous allowing him more room.  He enjoyed her company from time to time. She gave him his space and attention.

Then she brought in a few of her bags and her computer and started to spend more time there.

Yesterday, she decided to stay. He thought it would work out. But she was there all the time. Just when he’d get settled, ready to mediate on something of great importance, papers would be adjusted, and books rearranged. He just couldn’t take the unpredictability of it.

He had to leave. She could have the desk but without him.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers Blog for Tuesday Slice of Life. I am grateful to each and every one of you who venture here to share your stories. Read other slices or share your own here.

Slice of Life Day 5: Catlike Reflexes

I sit in my classroom, eating lunch and blogging with five students.  Slicing is an option for my students. They can join me if and when they like.  For now, I’m letting it grow organically. I’m finding lunch is the perfect time to get my post going, next to my students.

Two more students walk in.  They sit scattered around the classroom — side by side on the carpet, at the computers, at random desks. All quiet. Involved, independent in their writing lives.

Joy…. Check out their writing for today here. And find adult slicers here.

This morning I woke up in the usual way. I don’t need an alarm clock, I have a cat.

My cat has needs and he makes them known. A creature of habit, he requires that I am up at at the same time each day.

A gentle tap on the shoulder coupled with purring signals his presence.

I roll over. Silly me, I think that today he will be content to settle down and sleep next to me.

Not likely.

The gentle touch becomes more of a jab.

I stay still, hoping he’ll give up.

Not today.

He presses his entire weight on one paw, and then he shifts the weight to the other. It’s like he’s stomping on me.

I know his next move.

The purring gets louder and he approaches my pillow on the way to the bedside table. It is just a matter of moments before… WACK! My glasses go flying off the table and hit the hardwood floor.

Miserable thing.

I’m up. He knows this always does it.  I move toward the door, and he’s watching, looking back every few steps as if to say, “Are you coming? Come on this way!”

When I turn toward the bathroom, not the hall, he stops, takes a step back, and gives my ankle a nip.

Naughty thing. I scold him.

This is the dance we do every morning.

Funny thing.

Eventually I get to the place he wants me to be. He gazes out the window. He looks back, I open the door. Off he goes into the dark, my alarm clock.

Slice of Life: A Cat Tale

This slice is about my cat. Thanks to the Slice of Life community for putting up with slices such as these, because they are a part of life. New rules about slices may have to be made.

I love my cat. Never thought I would be a self-proclaimed cat lover. This was an unexpected conversion. We are not cat people. We are dog people. But the busy nature of our lives and a dog’s needs just don’t mix. The self-reliant cat really seemed to fit our life style, so when a litter of kittens was abandoned near our home, we kept one.

In many ways I admire my cat. He is beautiful. He moves with power and grace. Sleep never evades him.  He oozes confidence.  He really doesn’t care what others think of him. And, he always gets his way. No one can say no to a cat. They torture you until they get what they want. You got to hand it to cats.

I spent the weekend with my cat, but not in the typical non obtrusive, just lie around and add to the furniture kind of way.

I got home on Saturday morning after a swim, just a quick stop before I go shopping, and hmm. There’s a smell. Must be the trash, I think. I grab some bags and off to the store.

About a half hour later. I walk in, bags full of groceries. Still the smell. Hmm. Check the trash, nothing there, empty.

I start unloading.

My daughter walks in and screams, “Oh my God Mom look what Chubby did!”

Yes, his name is Chubby.

I come running. What is left of a bird, is scattered down my hallway. The heat is on; the fan is blowing; feathers are floating, clinging to the walls. Yuck.

“Get a plastic bag,” I tell my daughter.

“I’m not touching that,” she replies.

“Just get it,” me disgusted with everything.

I know this is the way they say I love you (not the daughter, the cat). Great. Love me less.

After the mess is cleaned up, I go looking for him.

Vicious, evil, carnivore. Where’s that demon.

Yep, usual spot. Basket of clean clothes.

I pick him up. “Oh… Claire, come here.” I yell.

Daughter comes running.

The tip of his ear has a piece taken out of it.

I’m thinking was this after or before the bird.

He regularly comes home with scratches and I hope he’s learning not to pick fights. This is a little more that a scratch.

I call the vet.

Get him into the carrier and obtain a few scratches in the process.

I sit at the vet’s.

The gentle female vet walks in, full of love for all creatures great and small. She examines my cat.

“Hmm. Well, we’ll have to clean this,” she says. “Looks a little too late to sew it up.” She whisks him off.

In about 10 minutes and $295 dollars later, I’m in the car with cat and liquid antibiotics. Is she kidding? Me get this liquid down my cat’s throat. I have a hard enough time getting him in the cat carrier. There is no way.

That night, I dutifully try to get those antibiotics down. Not. Cats don’t do what they don’t want to do. I can’t fathom how the vet can do anything with him. (This might be how some parents view my ability to deal with a classroom full of students.)   He will just have to be ok with the antibiotic she gave him. Ugh.

Next day. He sleeps peacefully on my desk, beside my books. As if he has done no wrong to nature or my pocketbook.