The Cat, Elena and The Towel

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.

The Daily Post

Warning: To all readers, don’t judge this post upon its accuracy or sense-making; for the 1st thing to come to my mind when reading the word ‘Trio’ was Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

It was a hot summer day in the land of Weirdogrounds. Victoria Kit, the black Egyptian Mau cat, was perched on the dewy grass of the Green Hills. She never liked the Summer. Nor did she the sun. But as hard as it was to escape the grip of her loving owner, she managed to take refuge on the—for what ever reason—always cool Green Hills.

Suddenly, a beautiful but sad melody sounded from somewhere not far away:

Oh, the sadness on these hills
Oh, the precious tears
Growing colder by the day
Growing older, and heat fades away
To be punished for no bad deed
To be exiled for being me
Was it my fault? To be made in a none-preservative pot
They left me here, because I wasn’t hot
The humans walked away from me
And now they left me be
I cry my tears
Is it all my fault?
That I want them to eat me

Victoria, annoyed by the sound, walked about the hills looking for its source. And then, a flash of light ran across the grass at Victoria front paws. Unconsciously, she jumped the light, and although she knew it wasn’t physically touchable, she couldn’t resist the urge to catch it. And after a few minutes of jumping, chasing and excited tail wiggling, Victoria hit something with her paw.

Hey, what the sun you cat?”

Victoria looked at the talker questioningly. What the what? She thought.

“You could have spilled me!”

Victoria came close to the talker, and she realized who it was. Well, more precisely, what it was.

It was, The Bawling Bowl.

Victoria toke a few steps away. She wouldn’t want to get mixed with these kind of creepy crawlers.

“You’re a black, orphan and infertile cat. So don’t you even think about looking down at me.” Bawling Bowl said. “I’m Elena, also known as The Bawling Bowl. But you can call me BB.”

Victoria looked at her as if she was a mental defective.

“Yeah, right. You’re a cat, you can’t talk.” BB said. “Sorry.”

Victoria walked to BB, and and patted her mouth with her paw. And shook her head.

“No, I’ll sing Kit. I’ll sing as much as I want. I was left here, to die.”

Victoria smacked the top of her own head with her paw. Elena (Bawling Bowl) was not left to die, she was simply a part of a picnic meal, and she went cold because it’s always cold at Green Hills. So her owners just didn’t eat her, and forgot her, which was shitty. But what can you do. (Most certainly not spend the rest of your life lamenting what could have been.)

“We need a towel. There’s a drop of me on the side of me.”

With Victoria’s piercing vision, she spotted a towel, a beach towel, on the beach. She nodded towards the beach behind the hills.


She licked her and ran towards the beach. BB followed.

And they started the quest to find the beach towel.


The Horrible, Sad, Overdramatically Told yet Lesson Teaching, Wisening Stories Of Death In My Not So Miserable Life #1

So hard to not cry, I wasn’t even there, he just died on me! I hated him for it. But I couldn’t stop crying.

On the way home, I changed my phone’s wallpaper to a photo of him, laying in the bed, extending his hands like his dead. He is now.

I’d edited the words “Shh, an angel sleeping” onto the photo in pale pink font, my sister looked over my shoulder, and saw I was passing my thumb over the screen, itching to touch him. She told me to stop. She acted like she wasn’t sad, but she’d already cried with me earlier.

I hated myself more that I hated the whole thing, back then. Because, while I was in another city, eating in Hardee’s, taking walks. He just got poisoned and died. Not entirely alone, but still, he was alone, he was dying.

And I was probably having fun. When he spent the whole night choking on the disinfectant. Why did he do that?

All of my family cried, my eldest sister cried all night, while we were asleep, my mom wept a little, and I went in a wailing spree in the morning, I knew he was going to die; we’d got the news late in the night before, but I prayed to God he wouldn’t. And when he did, I acted like it wasn’t that big of a deal for the first 2 minutes, but the following 20 minutes were an undisturbed series of maniac howling noises. And my other sister cried too. I even bet my brother did, he was with him when it happened. But we never talked about it.

I wanted to know where he was buried, but they wouldn’t tell me. I picked a nice place under the shade of some bushes and claimed this was where he was buried though. It was in front of my house so I could visit him daily. I don’t anymore.

When we reached home, I ran to his sister, and I just hugged her and kissed her. I ran my hands through her dark, short fur. and squeezed her to my chest, hearing her rapid heart beat. Not caring about her claws digging into my arms. I scratched behind her ears and she purred, and I promised I’d never let her go. I never did.

Now, I’ve got a new cat with the sister. And they’re very happy together. And I learned that what ever happens, is already written, and we just can’t OCD our loved ones into a padded room and hug them safe. I still fear the loss of my beloved Victoria. But I know I must live my life.

A Soul’s Treasure

While walking on the beach you stumble on a valuable object buried in the sand — say, a piece of jewelry or an envelope full of cash. What do you do with it? Under what circumstances would you keep it?

The Daily Post

I was wandering on the beach the other day, my pants’ legs rolled to my mid-calf, my shoes dangling from my right hand.

It was a sunny summer day, the sun was a little hot against my skin, the air was salty and droplets of sea water landed on my face every now and then. Children were running around me and tackling each other, pinning each other to the ground. The smooth sand tickling my feet, and slipping in between my toes.

I walked slowly, blankly staring ahead of me. I winced; something hard and round poked the inside of my right foot. I dropped my shoes and grabbed my foot. Below my hurt foot, I saw something glittering in the sun, I looked hard, it was a yellow bell.

Down on my knees, I picked it up, and as I carried it off the ground, it pulled a pink collar from under the sand. It rang as I dangled it between my eyes. I inspected the collar, it had KITTY written on it in dark pink letters.

I shook it, and the bells rang rather violently. A little cat ran towards me, meowing ever so softly. She rubbed on my legs, her fur tickling my bare skin. I tickled her head. She had an abnormally large head, big round yellow eyes, bow-shaped ears and a short bronze coat. From all the Cats 101 I’d watched, I decided she was an Exotic Shorthair.

I carried her, and she purred. I looked around the beach all day, no one knew anything about Kitty. But I’d known so; the collar had been way too submerged in the sand to have been there for only a couple of hours.

And I can’t say I hadn’t been happy about it.

I posted a newspaper ad. And prayed no one would call.

Two months later, no one called. I ran to the newspaper once I got up, almost forgetting to change. And I took down the ad.

Two years later, I’m in my bed, with Kitty,on my lap, reading with me.

I might have not found any treasure that day on the beach, but the little 5 pounds collar led me to what is more valuable to me than all the treasures in the world.


(Disclaimer: This is completely a work of fiction. I do not claim this is a true story. Any correspondence to similar real-life events is not the authors responsibility.)

Cats Are Humans Too

Whether a person, a pet, an object, or a place, write about something or someone you connected with from the very first second.

The Daily Post asked to reply to their Prompt, and here I am.

Two years ago, a pregnant female cat came in front of our apartment and delivered, and deiced she’d stay. She gave birth to four little sweethearts,  whom I fell in love with almost immediately. And I couldn’t help but name them: Tubai, Roth, Meshmesh and Victoria.

They moved slowly, first sneaking out of the nest, then trying to go down the stairs, then up them.

One suddenly disappeared, and they were 3-month old, the mother would leave them soon, so I had to intervene.

Unfortunately, my mom, allowed two inside the house only, so I made up my mind, I took Victoria, and Tubai inside.

Two month later, Tubai died. And I was crushed, I felt like someone ripped out my heart and stepped on it, shattering it to a million, noncollectable, irreparable pieces.

Victoria, Chillin’ on the bed, with my 11 years of art on the wall behind her, on the wall. Yeah.

Now, Victoria, is asleep in the bedroom. Safe and sound, she’s is a part of my life that could never be replaced. Love at first sight isn’t for humans only.