My Pet Humans

by Samantha Grace Juengerman

Translated from Meaow to English by B. Leann Juengerman

“In ancient
times, cats were worshiped as gods; they have not forgotten this.”

– Terry Pratchett

Chapter One

“If cats could talk, they wouldn’t.”  – Nan Porter

Afternoon guard duty: today’s mission is patrolling the outer perimeter of the backyard in search of the enemy. 

Mice have moved into the woods behind the fence and must be kept from seeking food or shelter inside the house. It must be kept secure at all costs, and my sworn duty is to protect it. It’s the duty of any cat that has taken on the responsibility of raising pet humans.

There’s movement at the fenceline. I dart into the bushes nearest the gate. My black fur blends nicely into the darkening shadows of late afternoon. I breathe in the cool air and catch the scent of the little beasts. Creeping alongside the fence, I pick up the trail of the one mouse brave enough -or stupid enough -to wiggle under the wooden fence and into the yard. I will not have it roaming the house, scaring the humans, or stealing our food. 

I follow the scent through the grasses, only to discover the trail growing cold where the vermin must have snuck back to the woods. 

“Good,” I huff, mostly to myself. “You’d better not be on my property.” 

As I stand, considering the option of scaling the fence and going after it, I hear a new sound coming from the center of the grassy area. I whip around, and I see him. It’s that stupid bird. 

He gives one of those trilling, “wheet, wheet, wheet” sounds.

All thoughts of mice disappear. Now my target is that bird. I can’t prove it yet, but I highly suspect that he wants to take over the world. 

And if anyone is going to rule the world, it’s me. 

Under the cover of the shadowy bushes, I sit frozen, observing his every move. He turns his back to me, so he must not know I’m here. Paw by paw, I creep closer to an opening between two branches. I can see more clearly from here, and he still doesn’t seem to have noticed me. 

“Caq, caq, caq, caq,” I say quietly, imitating a bird’s chirping as I set my haunches into a launch position. A small breeze blows across my whiskers, and I hope it doesn’t carry my scent to the bird. If he thinks I’m still in the house, this could be my chance to catch him and take him in for interrogation. And possibly dinner.

Slowly, quietly, I place my front paws on the soft soil beneath the bushes and prepare to spring. I must be patient. Timing is everything. 

He cocks his head, a sure sign he’s listening for me. He looks at the house, pecks at something in the grass, and looks up again. He turns in circles a couple of times, still shrieking, then stops. He goes back to staring at the house. 

This is perfect! He thinks I’m inside. Surely, if I catch him off guard from this angle, he’ll be taken unaware. 

I remain in position for a small eternity. Making sure he feels safe, I finally inch my way out of the hiding spot. I’m careful not to move too quickly or snap a branch. Thankful for the soft grasses under my paws, I creep steadily, step by step, in silence. 

It’s time!

I pounce. 

“Ching, ching, ching ching!” I’m betrayed by the bells on my collar.  

He spins around, and we look each other in the eye. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to give him an advantage. With all my might, I push off my back legs into a giant leap for the attack, but he launches straight into the air and is off. 

I fall on solid ground and look up. He’s made it to the tree. 

“You think I can’t get up there?” I spit out. 

He just laughs. 

That makes my fur stand on edge. I muster every ounce of energy I have and race towards the tree, bells still jingling around my neck. Just before I reach the trunk, I’m swept up into Megan’s arms. 

“Samantha Grace!” she scolds. 

“No!” I meow. “What did you do that for? I almost had him.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to go chasing birds? They have families to take care of.” With that, she carries me toward the house. 

“No!” I mew, but she just keeps walking. Looking over her shoulder, I glare at the bird. “This isn’t over,” I hiss. 

“Ha ha ha,” he chirps back at me. The audacity. That must be why Megan calls him a “mocking” bird. 

I hate him. 

Megan slides the screen door open and carries me inside, gently dropping me onto the living room couch. She scratches my head, trying to make me feel better about the bird like that should make things all right. 

I scowl at her. “I can’t believe you let that jerk get away. He’s up to something, you know.”

Unfortunately, Megan doesn’t speak Meaow, so she grins, rubs my head and ears, and calls me “Good Kitty.” She strokes my fur, and sits next to me and rubs my back, and then looks at me with those big, green eyes. As usual, my heart melts. I want to stay mad at her, but I can’t. She’s just so darn cute. 

I sigh, giving in, and reach up to kiss her nose. We rub our heads together. I guess, being a human, she just doesn’t understand how dangerous birds can be. 

Even though I take care of four humans, Megan is my favorite. I allow the others to stay so they can keep her company any time I’m on guard duty. Megan is fourteen in human years, and she’s pretty tall for her age. At least, she appears to be compared to the other females who come over to play with her. The fur on her head is long, brown, and curly, and it smells like strawberries. The claws on her hands and feet are red. They were green, but she changed them to red a couple of weeks ago. 

She’s such a pretty human, but sometimes I worry that she’s not all that bright. She doesn’t chase her food, she runs away from spiders, and she obviously doesn’t understand the dangers of birds. On the other paw, she’s a lot of fun, and she likes to play a lot. Her favorite game is where she takes a paper, a pencil, and this little toy that she likes to tap on, and she draws these ridiculous little drawings. I think she calls it Advanced Algebra. Sometimes, her playmate, Karlie, comes over, and they’ll play it together. They can sit and play that for hours if I let them. Then they take their game to someone named School, but I’ve never met her. She’s never once come to visit Megan.

Megan gives me a nose-to-nose kiss and rubs my head. “You know what? I might just get you a little sister or brother to keep you company while I’m at school,” she says. “How would you like that?”

“Uhm, no,” I mew. “I’m good enough on my own. I don’t need help.”

“Everyone needs a friend; isn’t that right, kitty?” she asks.

“No,” I say again, quite adamant about not having another cat in the house. “Now pet me.” So she does.

We sit there for several minutes. I’m purring and enjoying life when I notice something odd. The back of Megan’s hand is covered with small, blotchy spots; it’s like a bunch of tiny bruises.

“Where did that come from?” I ask, but she gets up and goes to the kitchen. I follow her and see Mom is cutting up some vegetables, and Dad is cooking human food. The smell is spicy and sweet, and something is bubbling on the stove.

Mom and Dad are the adult humans I allow to stay in the house. They’re alright. They talk nice to me and pet me sometimes, but they don’t do anything fun. They do things like making human food together, but they only make enough for the humans. They never make my food for me. Megan does. Other than that, they mostly just sit in the living room watching the TV box.

 “It looked like a pretty fancy piano,” Mom was saying. 

“What piano?” Megan asks. 

Dad makes that “ha ha” sound of laughing. “Your mom’s been spying on the new neighbors next door.”

Mom pops him with the towel and makes the laughing sound, too. “I was not spying!”

“There’s a new family next door?” Megan asks. “The Schneiders finally sold their house?”

“Yeah,” Dad says, draining something into the sink. “I haven’t seen them yet, but your mom says they have expensive taste.”

I sit next to my food bowl and wait, twitching my tail with impatience

“I just went to meet the new neighbors,” Mom explains as she tosses the salad, “but the furniture movers said they’d gone out somewhere and wouldn’t be back until later this evening. But yeah, some of their stuff is very high-end. They have a beautiful baby grand piano.” She pauses for a moment and adds, “I hope they aren’t wealthy snobs.”

“I hope they’re totally wealthy and have a cute son my age!” Megan says, and the adults laugh again. I like that sound. It means they’re happy.

I go over to talk to Megan. Since she’s wearing shorts, I’m careful not to claw her as I reach up and place my paws on her leg to get her attention. “I’m ready to eat now,” I tell her. She looks at me and grins. 

“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she says. “Be patient.”

I smile. She’s such a good pet. 

Pulling my paw away from her leg, I can see where my paw was. How did I do that? How did I leave a slight paw-print on Megan’s leg?

I check my paw. There’s no dirt or ink or anything that could have rubbed off on her. That’s weird. 

“Hey, dinner’s almost ready,” Dad says. “Can you get the plates down, Megs?”

“Sure,” Megan says. I huff at Dad. Half the time, he can’t say Megan’s name correctly. Sometimes he gets it right, but sometimes he says, “Megs,” or “Honey,” or even “Snickerdoodle.” I have no idea where he gets those from. They don’t even sound like the word “Megan,” but for some reason, she responds to him.

Megan takes out the flat food bowls and places them on the table, then switches on the TV box on the other side of the room. I watch her go to the food room door, and I can’t help smiling. Megan pulls out a small can. Lifting the lid on it, she uses a fork to scoop my dinner into my bowl, and I purr with pride. Megan is one of the best-trained humans I’ve ever seen, and I’m the one who trained her. 

“Jake’s at practice,” Mom says as Megan goes to get her own food, “so save some for him.”

“It doesn’t matter how much we save for him,” Megan says. “He’ll still eat a sandwich before he goes to bed.”

Mom chuckles. “Probably, but be polite. Save some spaghetti for your brother.”

Megan rolls her eyes.

Jake is Megan’s total opposite. Since they’re littermates, that means he’s also fourteen in human years, but he is big and rough. He never feeds me, never gives me tummy rubs, and eats all the time. One of his favorite toys is a brown ball-thing with white strings on it. It doesn’t look like a real ball. It isn’t round and doesn’t roll much when I swat at it, but he likes to throw it and catch it. His other favorite toys are the ones in the basement. They are bright, silver things. He’ll pick one up, play with it, count to eight or so, and then put it back on the floor. They make a loud clanking sound when he puts them down. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that adult humans have such an unnatural attachment to their offspring, I’d have given Jake away years ago. 

Actually, we did try that. His parents gave him to a place called Summer Camp a few times, but they must not have liked him either. They brought him back a week later. The same thing happened when we sent him to Football Camp.

Megan places my food bowl on my food mat, and I sniff it. 

Oh, good. It’s tuna. I love tuna.

The humans place food on their flat food bowls and sit down at the table. We all enjoy our dinners for a few minutes, and I listen to the human conversations. 

“Oh, Honey,” Dad says, and I notice he doesn’t always get Mom’s name right, either. “I went to pick up that jacket today at the dry cleaners, but they were already closed. And I was there fifteen minutes early!”

“Oh, well, that’s alright,” she says, waving her hand in the air like that would take care of the problem. “I can pick it up tomorrow afternoon on the way to my meeting. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m just saying that the customer service there is awful. We need to get a new dry cleaner.”

“Gee,” Megan says with a sly drawl in her voice, “I’m going to be driving soon, and if I had a car, I could have gone to pick stuff up at the cleaner for you, ya know.”

Mom stifles a laugh, and Dad looks over at Megan. “You’re in eighth grade! It’ll be two more years before you can drive.”

“But Dad, I can get a hardship license,” she says.

I stop eating for a moment and wash my paws. I’m pretty sure that she’s just kidding because Dad is way over-protective when it comes to Megan, and she likes to tease him.

“The mere idea of having you or your brother on the road absolutely terrifies me,” he tells her. 

“Da-ad!” Megan says with a mock wail. “Steven drives.” 

“Yeah, and Steven’s in college,” he says. Then he adds, “Plus, I’ve seen Steven drive. He terrifies me, too!” Mom laughs at that.

Steven is Megan’s other brother. He’s from Dad’s first marriage, and he doesn’t come to visit us that often. He lives in a place called College. I’ve thought about getting Jake to go there, too.

“Besides,” Mom adds, “you don’t need a license now. You have enough to do with honors classes and dance practice.”

“Well, yes,” Megan says, but then she changes tactics. “But if I got a hardship license, I could drive home after dance practice all by myself!”

“Even if we had a hardship that allowed you to get a restricted license,” Dad says, “you still can’t get one until you’re fifteen. You’re barely fourteen.”

Megan does a giggle-snort, and Dad stops. He knows he’s been teased.  

“What are we ever going to do with these twins?” Mom asks Dad.

“We could put them up for adoption,” he says with a tease of his own, “but I don’t think anyone will take them.”

“Very funny,” Megan says, pretending to be offended. I, on the other paw, am extremely offended. They can give Jake away, but I get to keep my Megan.

The talk changes to something else, and I decide I’ll save the rest of my dinner for later. I stroll over to lie down next to Megan’s feet and enjoy listening to them talk and joke with each other. The TV box is going on in the background, but the humans barely acknowledge it. There is a story on the box about some humans who can’t seem to get their business working, but the male and female are falling in love. I have no idea why they even turned it on.

I yawn and stretch, but a tiny little sound makes my ears turn. It’s coming from the living room. I trot in and see nothing amiss, then go to the window to look outside. It’s a human couple walking their dogs. They’re on leashes, but I watch as the two dogs jump and nip at each other, playing games and talking. They laugh and tease each other, and then the humans start laughing, too.

For a few moments, and only a few moments, I wonder if Megan is right. What if we did get another cat?

No, that’s not a good idea. I’m a loner. I’ve been protecting Megan since I was a kitten, and I’ve done that all by myself. I don’t need any help. Maybe dogs and humans need to be in groups, but I’m fine. I have Megan, and she’s all the family I need.

I flick my tail and return to the kitchen to finish dinner, but I don’t even reach my bowl before another noise catches my attention. Through the window in the back door, I see them! 

There are birds on my grass!

“We’re being attacked!” I yowl to my humans as I sprint to the door. “Wait here for me! I’ll protect you!”

Being the well-behaved pets they are, they sit calmly and carry on with dinner like nothing’s wrong. 

I stick my head out of the kitty door, then one paw, then another, and another.

Thankfully, they’re talking and chirping so much that none of them have yelled out any alarms. Pulling my last foot out, I set my sights, I get my rear in gear, and I’m ready to pounce. I run, and take a flying leap, and just as I enter the middle of the yard, a flash of black and white fur zips past me, almost tossing me to the ground.

Birds are flying, my bells are jingling, and someone is yelling. I don’t have time to see the dog attacking me, or if it’s attacking birds, or what is going on. I turn and run back towards the house, jumping onto the safety of the picnic table on the back patio before I stop to look around.

What the rat was that?

Chapter Two

“One cat just leads to another.”- Earnest Hemingway 

From the top of the picnic table, I can hear laughter. Startled, I look around and am amazed to see that it’s not a dog at all. It’s another cat!

“Ha ha ha ha ha! That’s right, you stupid birds,” says the other cat–the one standing in the middle of my yard. “You’d better leave!”

For a moment, I’m frozen in place. But when he turns and looks at me, I explode. Jumping off the table, I march over to him.

“And just who are you?”

He cocks his head to the side and stares at me. He doesn’t apologize, or explain himself, or even get mad at me. Instead, he smiles at me. He actually smiles at me!

“You must be the cat I saw here last night,” he says. 

“Most likely,” I hiss at him. “After all, I’m here because this is my yard!”

“Maybe, but this is part of my yard now,” he hisses back with a bit of an attitude. 

“How is this part of your yard when this is my house?” I snap.

He stands up to his full height, and I take a step back. Like me, he’s a tuxedo cat: black and white only. He has a mostly white face except for the black, human-looking goatee beard on his chin. That is intimidating enough, but what’s worse is the fact he’s also twice my size.

I look at my house, then back at him, then back to the house. On the one paw, I want to go in, but on the other paw, this is my property, and I’m not going to simply let him have it.

Slowly, I gather my courage, take a step closer, and ask, “Who are you?”

His bright smile returns. “My name’s Ninja,” he mews. “I just moved in next door.”

“Then stay next door.” I say through gritted teeth. “This is my house and my yard, so get out, and don’t come back!”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I turn and bolt back to the kitty door, jumping clear through it in one leap, landing in the middle of the kitchen, and sliding across the floor almost straight into the water dish. I turn, but he’s not following me. 

“Are you alright?” Megan asks, and she comes over to check on me.

“What are you doing, you dumb puppy?” says a voice. Jake’s voice.

Oh, great. Jake’s home, and he’s laughing at me.

“Hey, don’t call her that,” she says as she heads to the sink.

“Yeah,” I mew.

Stupid human. How can he compare me to one of those bone-chewing, tongue-wagging, saliva-drooling canines? Humph …

I glare at him, flick my tail with all the swagger I can show, and walk back to the kitty door. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of getting upset, thank you very much.