Felicitations, one and all. Welcome to Microcosms 155.
As mentioned last week, there are no contest posts in the holiday period. This is the second of two ‘just for fun’ posts, bringing down the curtain on 2018. There is simply a photo prompt below; no character, setting and genre elements, and no slot machine. Let your imagination run wild – although not too wild, as the usual word count of 300 words maximum still applies, but the challenge is open for a whole week until midnight, Thursday, 03-JAN-2019 (EST).
*** PLEASE IGNORE THE COUNTDOWN CLOCK! ***
*** It will still show 24 hours , because it’s too much hassle to adjust it… ***
All being well, normal service will resume with a CONTEST post at 00:00, Friday, 04-JAN-2019 (EST).
Happy New Year, everyone!
Here’s looking at you.
Eyes that bore the alertness of the jungle; the endurance of the desert; the wisdom of age and the charm of childhood stared at me.
“What’s your problem?” I enquired…… “blimey I’m talking to a cat now” I informed myself of the flamin’ obvious.
I ignored this feline intruder for as long as I could, (roughly 8 seconds).
“Stare all you like pal, you’ll get nothing from me…. I’m a dog person” I said, convincing neither the cat or me.
I sat… she stared for as long as my patience endured.
“I can’t stay here playing stupid games with you, I’ve got things to do” I growled rising quickly, managing only two steps before the cat replaced me on my warm comfy haven.
You can’t help admiring these pesky cats can you, I don’t have to like them though!
A Sad Tale of Christmas Aflutter with Big Feet Creatures
I had a cousin. Family lore, eh! Cute little fur ball. Not as cute as me, of course, but damn cute nonetheless. Name of Butterball. Stupid name. Sort of a Christmas/Turkey/Cat name. Stupid name. But she was cute. You can call anything cute, give them whatever name you take a fancy to, Fluffy or Fandango or Flapdoodle, any of the feffs, or pheffs, and they are still cute as the dickens. Not Charles. He wasn’t cute…Human. Hairy. Not sleek cat hairy. Or Cheshire cat glossy. Sloppy Victorian man hairy. Lopsided hairy if you ask me.
I don’t mean to disparage the fellow. He wrote some fine books. And he is quite famous as the writer of A Christmas Carol…with Old Scrooge, Tiny Timothy and a passel of ghosts.
Anyway, Butterball got crushed. Size 12 boots got her on that last step going to the basement. Flatter than a penny on the track.
Sad.
Ghosts! Maybe she’s one, now? I don’t know.
I do know they walk like ghosts, my humans. Heavy, overweight ghosts. They think wherever they plunk their huge feet is just the right place. No wonder the old ones fall and break bones. That’s what I hear, anyways. My humans. They think they own the place.
And at Christmas, it’s the worst. Weighed down with rich food, unhealthy stuff if you ask me, but what do I know. I‘ll eat almost anything. Even some of their food.
Crazy humans. They like to feed me.
But my point. They’ve got huge feet. They don’t think so, but they do. And they don’t look where they walk. Fools. Of course, its up to us cats to stay out of their way.
It’s always up to us.
It gets tiring.
I’d rather sleep.
You know, somewhere safe.
Away from human feet.
Oh, and Geoff, and everyone one of you flash fanatics, happy new year…
Hallo!… Where is everyone.!
Looks like it’s just you and me Bill
Happy New Year, anyway.
Peace & Love
Ted
Happy New Year, Bill and Ted. I hope this year was an excellent adventure for the two of you! Tee Hee!
Jot peered out from her hiding place at the alien that had just come into the room. It was enormous! The feet alone were half as big as her whole body! She knew her kind had been on this planet for centuries but she had only recently arrived, and had yet to get used to the size of everything.
“Here kitty, kitty.” The alien’s voice boomed down. She flinched, bringing her paws up underneath her in case she had to run. But somehow, this one, which was the littlest one in this living space, sensed her trepidation and softened her voice.
“Here kitty.” The little girl said, almost whispering. Jot lowered her head, allowing her to see that the alien had prostrated herself on the floor in front of her niche. Trembling, she stretched her nose out to the frightening appendage the alien was holding out to her. Oh! It smelled good, like food, and she was so hungry! She stuck her tongue out and tasted the tip of the alien appendage. Mmmm! That was tasty! There was the tantalizing scent of blood just beneath the surface, but Jot instinctively knew not to bite it. These aliens were a bit overprotective of their offspring, and she thought this little one was not full grown. Then it grabbed her, and no matter how she hissed and spit, she was caught. Fear filled her heart and she could feel it pounding helplessly as she struggled, but to no avail. She closed her eyes as she felt herself swinging through mid-air, hoping the alien child would let her go without hurting her. Abruptly she was crushed gently against warmth and softness and she opened her eyes in surprise to find herself embraced. Relaxing, she snuggled into her new pet. She had been chosen.
Happy New Year, everyone! Can’t wait for Friday, I’m Jonesing to write!