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"OW!"
The sound rang out through the largely empty living space, clearly coming from the kitchen. Petey sprang up immediately. recognizing the little cat's pained voice and subsequently risking a cardiac event. Scurrying to the kitchen, he found the striped kitten sat on the floor in a puddle of milk with glass shards scattered across the floor. Petey quickly scooped his son up into his arms, making sure he wasn't bleeding out or seizing or-
"I'm sorry, Papa, I dropped the glass."
The pair had been sitting by the fire reading bedtime stories when Lil' Petey had announced that he wanted a glass of milk. Petey had offered to get it for him, but the kitten had insisted on getting it himself, claiming, "I'm a big boy now, Papa."
Of course, something had to go wrong. It always did. Petey didn't blame his son, but rather his constant misfortune and apparent doom to be unhappy. The only things that sometimes made him think otherwise were his son and, well, that mangy, city-saving mutt.
"Are you okay?? Where does it hurt, do we need to go to the hospital?!?" Petey continued scanning for injuries.
"Papa, put me down! I'm okay." The kid reassured his dad. Gently, the cat set Li'l Petey down, careful to place him far from the shards of glass. He sighed at the sight, another mess for him to clean up.
Li'l Petey grabbed his father's leg, nuzzling against it. "I'm sorry. Let me help you clean it up," he suggested, but Petey quietly shook his head.
"No, it's broken glass. I'll clean it up this time, okay? You go back to the chair," he said, gently pushing his son towards the living room.
After the child had scampered off and Petey was kneeling on the tile, soaking up the milk with a towel and gingerly picking out the pieces of glass, his mind started to wander. What if he'd reacted differently? What if he'd yelled, or made his son clean up the mess, or sent him to his room?
Petey shook his head, taking notice of his irritated tail flicking around nd behind him. He didn't like that type of authoritarian parenting. The Chief has recommended all sorts of progressive parenting books after he and Sarah had started trying for a baby. They'd certainly brought a new perspective for Petey, along with some bad memories.
Dropping the wet towel in the bathroom hamper, he made his way back to the living room, where Li'l Petey was eagerly flipping through the pages of a Bobert Bunsch book. The cat picked up his son once again, ticking him and blowing raspberries against his furry cheek.
"Hey, what do you think you're doing, you little booger?! Reading ahead without me?" The kitten giggled and shrieked, delighted. "What, are you tryna get smarter than your old man?"
"No, papa, put me down!" he giggled, and Petey obeyed, sitting in the armchair first and setting his son back in his lap.
"You're silly, papa. Ooh, read this one!" He picked up a colourfully illustrated picture book and handed it to his dad, curling up against his chest. Petey opened the book and said, "Alright..."
Turning the pages and reading aloud, Petey heard his son start purring, and when he looked down, the kitten's eyes were closing. He gently set the book aside and wrapped his arms around him, licking his forehead and holding him tightly,
He would not let go of his sun.
When the daylight had long since set and Li'l Petey was safely tucked away in bed, Petey was too tired to stay up much later. After wearily brushing his teeth and avoiding eye contact with the mirror, he crawled into bed, pulling the cold, thin sheets around his body, and it didn't take long before the cat fell into a deep sleep.
-
Grace had a 12 hour shift one weekend, so she'd convinced Arthur to stay home that day to look after their young son. It was around 6pm, and Petey was getting hungry. His dad was sitting in his armchair (which Petey had learned the hard way) watching some cheap looking program and drinking a beer.
"Dad, when's dinner?" the little cat asked softly, peeking around the corner of the couch.
His father grumbled. "Oh, uh, dinner? Don't we have those frozen meal things in the freezer or somethin'?"
Petey held his hands behind his back innocently. "I guess..."
"Well? What are you standing there for, huh?"
"I-I don't-"
"Go on, get outta here," he snapped, turning back to his show.
So the little cat scurried back to the kitchen, devising a plan to get to the freezer, which towered over him as it sat above the fridge. His mind worked quickly as he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and dragged it over to the refrigerator door. Pulling himself up onto the seat, the orange kitten proceeded to stand up, finding himself just barely tall enough to reach the freezer door handle. Thank god, it popped open with one gentle tug.
With a frozen lasagna meal in hand, the kid shut the door and climbed off the chair, hitting the ground with an 'oomph!' While the box was spinning in the microwave, he went to toss away the extra packaging. When he opened the lid, however, the trash can was full to the brim.
I've got this, he thought. He'd seen his mother take out the trash a thousand times. And luckily, they'd gotten that fancy trash compactor a few weeks ago. Petey yanked the heavy trash bag out of the bin and lugged it over to the rectangular machine, which was only slightly bigger that the trash can. He opened the lid and shoved the bag into the big compartment, proud that he was figuring it all out all by himself. Scanning over the peeling instructional sticker on the inside of the lid, he didn't notice his tail flicking curiously.
There was a song playing on the little radio the family kept above the fridge, a song Petey liked. He danced with the beat, making sure he knew which buttons to press once he closed the lid.
The big finish was coming. The chorus had repeated three times already, and Petey could hear the music starting to swell.
He swayed back and forth, pressing the trash bag farther in. His eyes were closed when the final beat came. The orange tabby slammed the lid shut with the music, in perfect time, right on beat, right on his fuzzy, white and orange tail.
The kitten yelped, stumbling and unfortunately planting his foot right on the big black pedal labeled START as he turned around. The lid locked shut. Desperately trying to pull his tail from the machine, he heard it lurch and groan, and the stinging pain in his tail suddenly turned to a stabbing pain as the compactor started to crush it's contents.
Petey was screaming before the pain got any worse, but soon enough it did.
"HELP, DADDY, HELP ME."
Crunch, he heard from the machine, and fire shot up his spine. He wailed.
When his father came stomping into the room, he immediately ran up and tried to tug his son away, not having fully realized the situation. No words were uttered, but there was a look of urgency and concern on Arthur's face. Of course, Petey's vision was obstructed by tears. He didn't even realize his dad had found the outlet and unplugged the machine. He yanked the lid open and scooped his sobbing son into his arms.
"There we go, you're out..." He stroked the kitten's head for just a moment. Blood dripped onto the floor. When Petey didn't stop crying, he muttered, "You're out, you goof, calm down,"
He held his kid out in front of his, finally looking down at his tail. The only thing Petey saw was a look of horror, just for a split second.
His dad sat him on the counter by the kitchen sink, turning on the tap and beginning to rummage through the medicine cabinet. Petey, hiccupping, finally looked at his tail as well.
It was a mangled mess. A good three inches of the end was torn to shreds, a mix of orange, white, black, and red. Petey's head spun as he planted his little paws down on the counter. His dad, rushing, grabbed the tail and dunked it under the stream of water. Petey winced but didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. He didn't think words could come out of his mouth if he tried. There was a dull ache in his tail and he wondered why it didn't hurt more. Still, when his dad toweled off the area, it hurt like nothing else. The kitten wailed again.
"Oh, hush. You'll be alright. Who said you could go messing with that thing anyway?"
You did, thought Petey, last week. But he didn't dare say it.
After wrapping up his tail, the bandages bunching up and far too loose, his father pat his shoulder and motioned for the cat to get down. All the way down from the tall countertop. Petey looked up at his dad with big wet eyes and the man sighed, resigning to setting his son down on the floor for him.
But it hurt, god, it hurt even to stand. The pressure flooded his whole body and pain tunneled down his spine. The kid grinned and bore it.
"Go to your room, I'll finish making dinner. Oh, and, uh, don't tell your mother I asked you to do it. Drama queen, that one is."
-
2 days later, the pain had only gotten worse. He was bleeding through his bandages every couple of hours and no amount of his mother holding him or playing him songs or sleep medication could help. Soon, he was feverish and shaking, sweating, crying.
When his mom had first found out, she'd yelled at Arthur for hours. She later explained to her son that she was just worried about him and understood that it had been an accident. But Petey didn't believe her. Grace, when she thought he was sleeping, sat at his bedside for hours, just watching him. Sometimes, the cat would open his eyes to see that hers were red from crying. He felt terrible.
This was his fault. He was reckless and irresponsible, and he'd made his own mother cry.
When his fever reached 104°, she said they were taking him to the hospital. He begged her not to; he hated the doctors, but she explained that they had no choice.
He was admitted soon after they got there. Usually, they'd take the bus, but Grace had called for a taxi, so they arrived pretty quickly. He was falling in and out of something like sleep, but different in a way he didn't know, and at one point he woke up in a white bed and funny gown.
Petey had been to the hospital before for a broken wrist. But this was different. No one had been upset that time. Now, everyone was rushing around him, shouting stuff and touching him and he couldn't see his mom or dad anywhere. The bed under him started moving, ceiling tiles sped past above him, and he felt like throwing up.
He fell "asleep" again when someone put something on his face and counted down backwards.
When he woke up again, it was quiet except for a soft beeping beside his bed. His mom was sitting at the foot of the bed with her head in her hands. When she noticed that he was awake, a smile quickly stretched across her face as she leaned towards him.
"Good morning! How is your tail feeling?"
-
Petey woke up sweating.
It was dark. He was in his own bed. In his own lab.
A dream. A nightmare. He didn't know. The memories haunted him one way or another.
He reached down and pulled his tail out from under the covers, holding it against his chest. The flat end was scarred where hair couldn't grow back. He'd had a big splotch of white capping his tail from his mom.
The doctors said they'd saved as much as they could. He'd had a few white hairs over the years still growing.
There was just one left now, staring him in the face in the moonlight. Her voice, it was the same. He'd never forgotten. Petey brushed over the area and the white hair fell onto his bedspread.