I know what it is like to be a cat. Because, I am a cat. I know what is like to eat dry cat food on the floor. I know what it is like to eat grass. I know what it is like to not have any thumbs and wait for someone to open the door or a can of food for me.
Why Writing From the Perspective of a Cat Will Help You Become a Better Writer
A story becomes alive in the details. Yet, often we take our own perspective for granted. We make assumptions about the worldview of the reader. I often forget the reader can not visualize what I am imagining, and I don't put in enough details to clearly describe what is happening in the story.
For a creative writing class I took at the University where I received my Bachelor of Mouse Hunting Degree, I wrote a story about a kitten I helped raise. In the story I said I carried the kitten everywhere I went. The other writers in my class thought the kitten was disabled because I carried it all the time.
The kitten wasn't disabled. It was however naughty and kept running towards the road.
Don't Forget Your Reader's Perspective When You Write
If you are writing a story about someone eating a meal, you may write. “He ate his dinner.” You assume the reader can visualize the person sitting at a table, sitting on a chair. Eating with a knife and fork with a napkin on their lap.
But what if I were to write, “He ate his dinner”? I would assume the reader knows I am talking about a cat, as I am a cat. A cat who writes. I would assume you can see what I visualize. A cat eating his dinner of dried kibble on a dinner plate on the floor. He doesn't use a knife and fork and there is no napkin to wipe his face with after he eats.
A good exercise to notice detail is to write from another species point of view.
Let's Write A Story From The Perspective Of An Animal
Writing from another species point of view will help our writing, as we have to notice detail. And it is in the details that our story comes alive. Did the person eat with their hands? Was the table a card table? An oak table? Was their only one chair at the table? Was the person eating alone or with friends? Did the cat eat all of his food?
As I am a cat. I will write for fifteen minutes as a human. And you will write for fifteen minutes as though you were an animal. You may be a dog if you wish, or a raccoon. Or any other species you would like to write about. However, I am curious, curious as a cat, to read your stories as though you were a cat.
Have you ever had a reader not understand what you were writing about in a story? Let us know in the comments.
PRACTICE
Write for fifteen minutes as though you an animal. Perhaps a cat? A dog? Or, if you prefer, another species. And see the world through their eyes. Let's notice details together. When you are finished, please post your practice in the comments section. I look forward to reading your stories.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
Hello, dearest Pooh
You have single-handedly inspired my competitive pup – Oreo – to start a blog! He really likes you, and has ordered me to let you know that he will connect with you as soon as possible….
Love you, sweet face
Kitto (Oreo’s poor, harassed mum and typist 😉 )
Kitto,
I would love to have Oreo star on my blog!
Edelweiss
A German Shepard.
PS I had a friend in Texas named Oreo.
My dearest Krithika,
Perhaps Oreo would like to write for fifteen minutes today. He can dictate his story to you and you can type.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
Why, oh why does she think I don’t know the meaning of going
for a little ride? I know exactly where
we are going, which happens to be that place where they start out by giving you
a doggie treat and end up by giving you a stab in the hind end with a sharp
object! If that is not upsetting enough,
just watching the expressions on all the other dogs’ faces as they come out of
that back room is enough to make me wish that I had never chewed on that shoe
instead of my squeaky bone. Because, no
pun intended, in hindsight, that is probably why she makes me come here.
To further upset matters, there also happen to be cats in
said waiting room, which I am not allowed to chase. I am told that I need to have proper manners
and sit by her feet while those cats go parading by unleashed and looking as if
they had just swallowed the proverbial canary.
To top that off, I think I am allergic to cats and my Mom doesn’t
understand that is the reason why I must chase them away.
You would think such an event would provide you the
opportunity of frolicking with other dogs and being petted by their humans – it
should be awesome right? Not!
After having to sit still for what seems like hours, she
gets up and tells me “come on, it’s our
turn”. Right, like I don’t know what
that means either. It means it is my
turn to get tortured by the lady in the white coat, but she does pet me and say
nice things about my coat and weight. I
knew I could stand to have a little more of the treats in the special cabinet.
I am quiet on the way home. No jumping from back seat to front seat for
me. I don’t feel like being happy to
have the wind in my ears as she lowers the window for me to enjoy the brisk
fall air. I am mad at her for letting
them stick me with that sharp thing – that hurt! Yep, I am mad and I am not going to let her
pet me. As a matter of fact, when we get
home I ignore her attempt to help me out of the car and head straight inside,
oblivious to all of my favorite sniffing spots along the way.
Yep, mad I am. I am
going straight to bed. See how bad she
feels about that. And then I hear
it. I hear that cabinet door being
opened and I hear the sound of the treat pouch.
I hear her call my name, and there in her hand is two treats instead of
one.
Maybe being mad is overrated…
I loved that! Especially the ending!
Thank you AB! It was fun writing.
Yes AB, the ending is delightful. The dog hears the treat pouch being opened. And perhaps he is not really mad.
Cindy, your dog really does tell his story well. He has a very captivating story.
All my best,
xo
love Pooh
Dear Pooh,
AS I am a doggie.
I write every day and on my blog once a week.
I dont really watch the clock. That is moms job.
Love you,
Edelweiss.
Hello Edelweiss,
And you are a kind doggie as well. You never miss an opportunity to help La by eating any papers she leaves out.
Yes, watching a clock isn’t necessary. You can write for as long as you want to Edelweiss.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
This is so inspireing
His paws tread almost silently as he moved along the garbage strewn alley. Aware of every scent, and there were many, every movement, every noise. His brilliant gold eyes scanned the area. There was no place called home, only frequently visited food bins, the nice woman at the butchers, the aged and dilapidated church pew that kept him from the rain in the landfill. He had seen the kept felines before, a collar around their neck, the scent of fresh shampoo in their fur, always food when you needed it. He envied the love they received from their humans, but enjoyed his freedoms just the same.
There was a thud up ahead and he froze, the shadows of the night swallowing him as he searched for the cause. The scent of a human, not well groomed, filled his nostrils and he huffed slightly, turning up his nose as he hunched and crept along the ground to a more well hid location. It was him, the human that smelled of garlic, fish and human sweat. He did things to stray felines and left the mess in the alley for his neighbors to find. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he passed by, very aware of the man and his stench. He’d killed a lovely grey female that had been a friend of sorts, part of him wished that he were bigger, like the wild cats he’d heard of, big enough to kill.
Good job of putting yourself in the cat’s point of view, Hanna! I love his “brilliant gold eyes” and knowing about the “kept felines” (love that term) but appreciating his freedom instead.
A couple of little edits would make this stronger, in my opinion. “His paws tread…” is present tense, while the rest of your post is past tense. Try the past tense, “trod.” The next sentence needs a subject: “He was aware of every scent–and there were many–every movement, every noise.” The phrase “and there were many” needs to be set off by dashes or parentheses. As you are describing the kept felines, change “you” to “they” as in “their neck…their fur…food when they needed it.”
“A more hidden location” works better than “well hid location.” And finally, “He’d killed…a friend of sorts” needs a semi-colon rather than a comma: “He’d killed a lovely grey female that had been a friend of sorts; part of him wished..”
And I really like the way you ended that – big enough to kill!
Oh dear Hanna,
I was sitting on the edge of my seat. Wondering if your hero would be able to escape the smelly human. I felt like I was right there walking with your cat with the gold eyes.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
Did my post not show up?
I see it now AB. I will read it right now.
xo
Love Pooh
Dear Pooh,
I am so happy to hear from another cat who writes. My human
has been very slow to understand feline creativity. When I sidle up to the
computer keyboard, she shoos me away, instead of asking me what I would like to
say today. I have so many stories to tell—maybe now she will be willing to
listen.
I am an adult male cat, 9 years old, with a svelte athletic
build, despite my indoor life. Even indoors, I’ve had my challenges and met
them head on. For instance, I have always been fascinated by things that dangle
from the ceiling. But I’ve had to search for unique ways of investigating them.
I once rode a rolling clothes rod across the room so that I could play with the
ceiling fan chains. My human was amused and awed at my prowess, but I noticed
she never left the clothes rod handy for me to use that way again.
I love the trees and mountains – or what passes for them
here in our little cottage. You can usually find me on the top of the highest
shelf or cabinet, and I used to climb the curtains so I could see out of the
upper windows, but my human discouraged that. I also readily admit that I am a
comfort-seeker. My human knows that as soon as she vacates her chair or
recliner, I will be ensconced there to reap the remaining warmth.
I do have a harem – or maybe it’s a pride? – not sure on the
terminology of the day concerning my female following. One is a lovely dark
tortie, with dark eyes and long, luscious, fluffy fur, aptly named Shadow. She
is always close to me. Another is Misty Mae – ah, her name is a delight to the
tongue! I can almost say it myself in human language. Misty is a lovely
smoke-gray and very playful, which makes for some good times, I can tell you.
We also have another cat, who mostly sleeps, and a small dog
we have to keep an eye on. But it’s a
good life, a good life for the most part, although there are times when the
outdoors calls to me and I feel restless and unsatisfied. Perhaps now that I
have an outlet for my creativity, I will be able to find fulfillment.
Your catty friend,
The Buff Man
My dearest Buff Man,
I am delighted to meet you.
Well, you certainly have a name that female cats will like. It is hard to meet female cats when your name is “Pooh.” However, after they meet me, and we discuss quotes by Marcus Aurelius, they forgive my name.
How do you keep your build svelte? I am an outdoor and an indoor cat and I have put on a few pounds. Dignified pounds, but more than is necessary.
Please give my best to Shadow and Misty Mae and the sleepy cat and small dog.
Perhaps the dog can clean out your litter boxes?
I hope your typist stops shooing you away from the computer. You have many adventures to share.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
I had a story critiqued where my character, angry, got out and “stomped across the hood of the car.” I meant that the character walked in front of the car but my instructor thought the character literally stomped across the actual car! I am learning (much to my chagrin) more and more that I am not as clear a communicator as I thought. This is an interesting exercise, thanks for the suggestion.
Hello Janelle,
Isn’t language tricky? I thought your character was a cat who knew how to drive. And that it was the cat who was stomping across the hood of the car.
Because I am a cat who stomps on hoods of cars.
I think a reader always reads a story from their own perspective and world view. Your teacher may have misunderstood where the stomper stomped, but you made it very clear your character was mad.
What would you write now about the stomper? So I know he wasn’t wrecking the hood of his car?
All my best,
xo
Love POOh
I unfortunately have readers all too often ask about the meaning of my writings. But some of that is not my fault. My granddad the other day read a short story that I had just finished typing, and hadn’t gotten to edit yet. When he finished, he started complaining that my theme wasn’t clear all the way through the story. I got indignant because I knew that the story wasn’t very good yet, because it still needed editing. For whatever reason he assumed that because it was printed out that it was perfect in every way…which for me is not always the case. Anyway here is today’s writing sample.
It is a warm day in Australia,
with low humidity and beautiful sunbeams that stream through the leaves of my
favorite eucalyptus trees. The sun woke me up today, as it does most days.
While I will only be awake for a few of what humans call “hours” I will be
busier than they are with the trucks and machinery that cruises through my
patch of forest. Can they not smell MY scent on the trees? These are my trees,
my food. I may not live in each tree for the same amount of time, but I still
feast on the leaves of each one.
We koalas are special creatures,
among the few creatures that can eat eucalyptus. We eat with finesse like
humans at the buffet. Each tree has a different flavor to the leaves and twigs,
so to get a proper meal; I must go from tree to tree to gather the various
flavors. Some of the leaves are juicy and sweet, while others are more brittle
and provide a wonderful crunch.
Carefully getting out of the little
niche that I slept in, I climb up my favorite tree to find a selection on the
juicy leaves that grow near the top. Using my sharp claws I am able to climb
all the way to the top where my leaves are growing. I sit myself down on a
branch facing the tree and slowly pick the leaves of the closest branch. I eat
one leaf at a time so as to savor each one. Unlike humans, I never rush my
meal.
Just the other day a group of three
of them stopped under one of my trees to eat. They simply stuffed their faces,
dropping more food than they ate! It was appalling. Even though they used some
sort of metal utensil to convey the food to their mouths, they acted like the
uncivilized apes that they resemble.
But why spoil my day thinking about brutes? I
have better things to do like get a snack at the next tree over…and take a nap.
I move to another tree to continue my meal, hopping the short distance between
branches. After my snack, I decide that it is time for a nap. Finding a nice
and snug fork in the tree, I curl up in the shade and fall fast asleep.
Wow, I learned a lot from your selection today, Helaine! Do you actually live in Australia? Koalas are very interesting animals. Whoever would have thought that they eat slowly and savor the different flavors of each leaf?
As much as I would like to say that I live in Australia, saying so would be a lie. I however love koalas and have done a lot of research on them over the years. They are truly extraordinary creatures. The are only awake for 2-4 hours daily and are extremely picky eaters. They will only eat from a few different types of the 600+ species of eucalyptus and only will eat from those few if the trees grow in areas with good soil.
Hi Pooh,
I’m Jetboy Greene but you can call me Jet. I’m a black lab dog who would like to start a blog. I don’t usually like cats that much, but since you are a writer
like me, I think you must be an exceptional cat. We share other things in common too. I don’t have thumbs, I eat dry food, and I need to convince my human, Sharon, to be my typist.
Do you have any tips for beginning a blog when you can’t do your own typing? Do you have to bribe your human to type for you? Does she get your jokes, feel your pain, and share your passions? Does she take you for walks and car rides? Or does she just type?
I really want to know.
Jetboy Greene
Hello my dearest Jetboy Greene,
Your mother is a very capable woman, and understands what you want to say. She did a nice job typing your comment so I think you can trust her to type a blog for you.
She does understand my jokes and she shares my passion of taking naps in sunbeams.
I never have to bribe Mrs. Hodges to type for me. In the morning I sit on her chest and wait for her to wake up. I am better than an alarm clock.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
Hi Pooh,
Thanks for the feline advice!
There are many times where my boyfriend, after hearing my stories, would ask questions to connect the dots together. Dots whose relationships with one another I had taken for granted. Thanks for the reminder that details are all there is help connect them for the reader.
Hello my dear Harvey,
I am delighted my article helped you with your writing. Yes, details help connect the dots.
I wish you and your boyfriend all my best,
xo
Love Pooh
hi, my name is rudy and you can see that i am a pretty downright handsome. this tricks most people because my alter ego is a thief, who longs for someone to chase me whenever possible. rudy rule #1 is if it hits the floor, it’s mine! i don’t have a hateful bone in my body (ummm, did i just say bone?) i have a playful personality and mean no one harm. my new people adopted me (it’s about time i got some normal foster parents) and i live with them in south st. pete. they aren’t that difficult to train and often feed me “the good stuff”. what i mean by the good stuff is the very stuff they eat! i’m really unsure why they put this dry, hard stuff on the floor in my bowl when that fabulous turkey fresh out of the oven is all i can smell! you can just imagine, right? thanksgiving must have been created for dogs because all those people did was eat and lay around all day. just my kinda party!
Rudy the wonder-ful dog!
Hello my dearest Rudy, the wonder-ful dog!
Yes, who would want to ear dry hard food when there is a turkey in the oven. You are so right my dear fellow.
The family who adopted you must be so kind, they let you have whatever hits the floor, and they share their table food with you.
You did a great job training your family Rudy, they even typed exactly what you dictated to them.
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
They’re stomping, in a hurry, careless. The ground ripples beneath me. Each footstep a drum beat on the composting earth skin beneath my belly. I slither on beyond the rhythm of human feet. My belly slides through secret caves of undergrowth and composting logs. The beat dims. Relief. I feel my tail lick the path I’ve cast. I seek solitude. A warm space in undisturbed sunlight where my long silky body can warm and I can coil into a dreaming.
The snap of twigs bellows through the dirt. An unsteady beat of multiple rhythms creates an arpeggio of fear. Onward I glide: moving again I can feel the tiredness of constant escaping blur my senses. As I unwrap and slide from the cacophony of humans the sun slides ever deeper casting long black shadows and inviting night. I am tired. I seek the long willowy grasslands of home. Lands where only the jittery Roo’s roam and I am left to tend my belly with inattentive field mice and young chuditch whose parents have nestled them in comfy nests while they roam and hunt for nighttime delights of roots and weeds. I seldom stay to watch their dismay when they return to an empty nest. Though slipping away with an oblong belly full of un-digested meats is a mighty task after spending the day darting from human feet and woodland shadows.
Tonight I will coil by the river, catch frogs by surprise and watch the silver moon drink black water, while my dinner slowly digests. Soon it will be time to change my skin, pick a new deeper colour and find a mate. I curl into a silvery smile. My long yellow belly gurgles it’s catch. And soggy sedge cradles my retreat into the dark of a summer night.
Wow, Dawn! You DO have a way with words!
Thanksssssssss…
My dearest Dawn,
You vivid use of words cast a spell on me. I am so glad you let me see who you were by showing not telling. Love the images you created”Catch frogs by surprise, watch the silver moon drink black water.”
Thank you Dawn,
I am so pleased to meet you.
xo
Love Pooh
Fabulous piece.
Thanks Diane, that’s wry generous and encouraging.
Regards Dawn
Dawn … So good to see you. I’ve been a less consistent visitor to TWP lately (although I had a great chat with delightful Pooh Hodges in a recent post). I have to tell you that my internal story listener still cherishes your story about Rosie and book and their other friends in a house where the light “honeys into the hall”. Have you developed that story further? I can see the lush illustrations it deserves. Do you have a blog or some other website where I can visit your words?
Nice crossing paths again.
Great post, Pooh.
Hi Susan
Yes I’ve been away a while as well.
I do have a new blog but there’s not much up on it yet.
The words I pop on TWP are just in the moment responses to the posts and not part of any other story or project. They’re just a bit of playtime. 🙂
Looking forward to reading some more of your work… Regards Dawn
http://www.dawncaval.com
Hi Pooh,
I am Jaco, an african grey parrot.
My owner locked me in my cage again, but the latch is so easy to bypass its only a matter of seconds when i’m out again.
I fly to my owners desk and feeling mischievous, start to chew on his favorite pen.
When i’m halfway done, my cat neighbour Spot strolls into the room and lies down on my owners bed. Sometimes he gives me rides on his back but today he isn’t in the mood
I drop the pen and fly over to him, he lazily takes a swipe at me with his paw, but soon gives up knowing that I am well out of his range.
I shout at him once for fun, and head over to the kitchen to check on my owner.
Onwers are like babies, they need all your attention, there’s no telling what they can do if left to themselves.
My owner is reading a book, with a plate of grapes sitting next to him on the table.
I grab one grape and eat it, splattering the insides on the tablecloth.
Then I climb up his sleeve and sit on his shoulder, murmuring something in appology for his pen.
Then Spot comes and jumps on his lap, and we three spend the rest of the day reading.
I’ve never been owned by a parrot – only cats and dogs. But Jaco and you have the best of all worlds – spending a day reading. Bliss!
Hello Jaco,
I am pleased to meet you. Thank you for telling me about your day. Your owner is so kind to share his grapes and his favorite pen with you.
Hello to Spot and your human. Isn’t it nice to have humans to type for us?
All my best,
xo
Love Pooh
I crept through the slightly open door, returning from my walk. The warmth from the fireplace covered me like a blanket; I loved the outdoors, but home was even better. Something was missing. I realized that there was no barking which usually welcomed me each morning. Where could Lucy be? She was a labrador and my friend since childhood. I looked around the room and sniffed the air. Still no sign of the dog.
I was getting a little worried, when my ears caught an unusual noise. It sounded like someone crying. Curious as all cats are, I headed towards the sound, my soft paws making no noise on the wooden floor. As I came closer, and the sound became louder, I could make out that it wasn’t one voice, but several. And so, I cautiously entered the room.
Right away I noticed Lucy, lying on the carpet. She wagged her tail in greeting, but didn’t stand up to come closer and nuzzle me with her big nose as she liked to do. “What’s wrong?” I asked her, although I knew she couldn’t understand me. The dog barked softly and looked down at her paws. Only now I noticed there was something between them, moving and making that quiet crying noise. Carefully, I stepped closer, and stared in disbelief as I saw the three little balls of fur. Lucy gently licked one of them, and looked at me again, as if trying to say, “Come closer, Archie, they won’t hurt you.” I still couldn’t believe it – puppies! Once the initial shock was over, I carefully, trying to not step on the babies, laid down near them. I started to purr, and it was the happiest day of my life.
Hello my dearest Dragon in a hat,
A delightful story of true friendship. It does sound like a happy day. Thank you for sharing your writing. “The warmth from the fireplace covered me like a blanket,” very vivid imagery.
All my best
xo
Love Pooh
p.s. What did Lucy name her children?
Thank you Pooh, I enjoyed writing it. 🙂
p. s. Lucy called them Max, Finn and Molly. 🙂
Hi every one ,
I’m Merlin Emrys named after Merlin From Merlin series of BBC1 because of my golden eyes or it is what that annoying human calls me , just between the two of us I only answer to it when she has food with her !
in fact I don’t have a real name it’s not like our kind are really interested in names there are more intrested things than names in streets that I live , like lying around and doing nothing useful or seducing woman to give us more food with famous innocent looks or even fighting with rude bully cats and other things that I think it is better if I don’t mention ! I was just reading the other comments And thought, I am more intersting that any of that fat guys can ever be .( no defense ) Really ,I am sure non of them can save their owners if an other cat decides to annoy them !
Back to the human I can’t understand what’s wrong with that human of mine , not that she is really mine .first time I meet her I was just napping under a car and suddenly there was a head in front of me ,and it was a surprise I always had the humans legs to visit my poor back but then she start meowing and I decides “ohhh an other Idiot ” but you know I still likes her somehow ! And she sometimes talks to me like when some idiot driver kill that ginger friend of mine this morning , saying how much she wished she could bring me home but I am not a big fan of a place with walls ! And baths she always talks about .
Anyway It was fun typing here but I am bord now ,want to go find some where warm to sleep you can go and do whatever Spoilt cats like you do !and you know I am not the only moody cat alive .
In the end Just for your infomation I am persian ( no no not a Persian cat I am better than them!they are fat !!!!) I am just living in Tehran and not good enough at English , i will deny this later because I am good at everything and I did not tell you this to make you forgive my mistakes it was just for your information !!
” Vanishing in dark without goodbye “
My dearest Merlin,
You are a clever cat as you were able to have your friend Sahba type your story for you. And living in Tehran must be so exciting.
I hope you have a wonderful day finding many interesting things to eat.
Please accept my condolences for the death of your ginger friend.
Stay safe and warm,
All my best,
xo
love Pooh
Me: Who is Pooh?! They took my idea of writing from the perspective of a cat!
Joe: But Pooh is an actual cat.
(Pooh drops mic in the background)
I slowly become aware that noises are disturbing the delicious darkness I’d lost myself in during the night. Now I open my eyes and lift my head from the sweet smelling straw. The honey-like brightness of dawn spills through dust into my stable. Inside it is still, but there is chaos outside. People shouting, metal clanking.
Leaning back I stretch my forelegs in front of me then lean forwards, pulling the rest of me up. I walk to my stall door and poke my head out curiously. I gaze at the barn door. Whats going on?
Suddenly the wooden doors are thrown open, sagging on their hinges A man rushes in, along with more of the morning sunlight. He comes to my stall, wearing shiny metal armor. He murmurs to me in a kind voice as he saddles me. He is my master, a knight from a humble family.
Although he is gentle I feel the urgency of his touch. I stand still as he buckles the worn leather of my bridal in place. He finishes quickly and efficiently, no movements spared. He leads me outside where the rest of his family is waiting. His wife and two daughters, all brown haired and pretty. Tears streaked their freckled cheeks. His wife hands him his sword and pats my chestnut hair. Her touch is soft but her hand is trembling. I know what’s happening. I swish my black tail in excitement and prance impatiently. My master taps me with his heels and I trot forwards to join the other mounted warriors traveling east. Snorting, I proudly dance forwards on the dirt road. My master trusts me, I trust my master. We will protect each other. We will survive this battle and return to our country home victorious!
I’m hungry, very hungry. The sun has risen, lightening the bedroom yet my owner is still dead asleep on his bed, still making that hideous snore. He doesn’t know that I’ve waited for nearly ten minutes for him to prepare my breakfast. And that I’m sitting next to his pillow, which he hates. What an unpredictable fellow. Will he ever wake up at a specific time?
Now it’s been fifteen minutes. I start to meow, moan, and scratch the bed sheet. He doesn’t wake up. Now I’ve had it. I lunge at his head, smacking him with my paw, letting him know I shall not wait any longer for my Fancy Feast.
“Ah, for the love of God!” He yells, throwing his arm towards me. Well, He’s awake now.
Very true.I also believe that any type of writing must be done
according to the perspective of the reader.Looking forward to read your more
posts on writing essay on your blog!All d best:)
Mondays were my favorite days.
I got to sprawl out on the couch without worrying about being sprayed. I
could roam the rooms freely without having to get my tail pulled by a kid. Oh, those immature apes. I despise them.
I much preferred life when it was just me and my owner. Back in those days,
every day was a Monday. I didn’t have the stress of being sprayed by a container of water every so often. I had the ability to climb on anything I wanted, but if I make one small move now I’ll have to wipe water out of my eyes later.
My Mondays were shortened to one day a week instead of seven once my owner brought a new man home. I felt a strong hatred for him ever since he got here. His strong masculine scent of cinnamon would drive any feline up the walls.
It got worse when new offspring came along. They were as disgusting as that young man who resided in my home. Everyday was a series tail tugs, smothering kisses, and soggy fingers pounding on my back like it was an African drum. They’ll never become mature apes like my owner.
Before, no one laid a finger on me. I liked those days much better.
Now laying in the sunlight, I had no anxieties. It was just me and the sun, with no one else around. You could hear a pebble of catnip drop on the carpet, or a pin drop as humans like to put it. I never understood them, those apes.