I wanted to write you a poem. I wanted to sound like I was a master of words. I wanted them to flow and dance for you and have them come alive! I’m not sure whether I planned to let you read it or if I would recite it myself. Maybe I could’ve bought myself some kind of frilly shirt and struck a tragic pose as I did so. It doesn’t matter now of course. I didn’t write a poem, so there’s none of that to consider. So now I’m not sure what to do. Is this little writing good enough? I’m not sure if it shows off any kind of mastery of language or literary form, but it’s honest. Or at least I think it’s meant to be. I find it so hard sometimes to know if I’m being honest or just convincing myself of the legitimacy of my facade. Whatever I’m doing, here it is. It’s here on this little page and you can read it however you like. Though probably not backwards, as I doubt that would make much sense. I think I’m losing myself slightly. What I’m trying to say is, I think I may have killed your cat.

-Alice

She sat there, absent-mindedly stroking the kitten as it lay sleeping on her lap. She thought about the day. She wasn’t sure if it had been a good one. In review, it should have been, as things had ended up the way she wanted, but the journey there had been somewhat unfortunate. There had been certain complications that had hindered progress and she’d acted in ways that she thought were rather unbecoming of her, not to mention a little embarrassing. She listened to the cat purring and ran the events of the meeting back and forth in her mind. She wanted to remember it all as clearly as she could for as long as would be possible. She reflected on how her memory wasn’t at all what it used to be. Even now she was missing bits. She couldn’t quite remember his exact replies to certain questions she’d asked. The cat fidgeted in its sleep, contorting its body into some other strange shape that she couldn’t believe could be comfortable. She scratched behind its ear and listened to it purr. The memories were fading quicker now. She scratched around in her head for the details. They escaped her and she gave up. It was time to start from scratch again. Now, what was her name?

-Alice

Kitten, Kitty, oh so pretty
I see you’re dressed in white
I see you’ve found
Below the ground
Another source of light

I like your taste
But there’s no haste
To bring things to an end
We’ve all been there and we’ve all done things
That should never have been said

Kitten, kitty, oh so witty
The joke’s on you, my friend
Tip them once
They’ll come once more
And play their tricks again

A duck, a dive
That tall beehive
You wore back in the day
Pretty kitty, how’s it fitting?
Now you wear it the other way

These words, they say
Could be sold for almost anything
Although, I think
You’d much rather have a dream

Kitten, kitty, leave the pity
To the ones who’ve practised so
They toss and turn
Each time they learn
A new way for them to show

That Kitten Kitty
Though she’s pretty
Will lose her tall admirer
He’ll step down and fade away
Just like all those behind her

We hum and we moan
About the telephone
And the bad news that it brings
We complain and get so riled
From saying such bad things

So Kitten, so kitty
So unlike what we always hear
So smitten, so pretty
So tiptoe, so softly
For Kitten Kitty’s always near

-Alice

Flicker light in dead of night, the candle and the grue. The click, the clack, the thunder-crack of a well-heeled shoe. A step in haste, with hand on waist, could this be very clear? The steps and cries and free-range eyes are drawing ever near. A step back, forever on track, would never take me home. I feel and kneel just at your heels that you are all alone. “What is this nonsense?” you could declare and I would feel so prudish. That you would not, shows some little care that the hour approaches soonest. A lick of rhyme could be unkind as pushing comes to shove. The harsh old words that they unearth, make up the world above. I counter-step and you correct my grace and flourish. I find my niche and so unleash a love so under-nourished. The throat of one so kind that, would I dine, I would feel still so ill. A liar and an ugly one at that. I have come to feed your cat. I step inside and try to hide the vomit on my lapel. The cat is gone, its made its home in some other stable.

-Alice

I could hear it just outside the window. A small, soft, scratching sound. It was intermittent and random. There was no pattern to the sound, but it kept going. Each scratch was a try. An attempt at getting what it wanted. Each scratch more desperate than the last. Each scratch removing a tiny shave of the wood of the door. The scratching carried on, audible above the sound of the wind in the trees outside. If you listened closely, you could hear the soft, tiny, voice that accompanied the scratching. Hear it calling. Hear it carried away by the wind. The scratching was louder though. The scratching was what demanded your attention.The scratching was what called to you. If you imagined hard enough, you could hear words in it. Couldn’t you? You could hear a tiny voice in those scratches. Working in harmony with the creature’s real voice. Begging you. Begging for your attention. Begging to break your will. At that moment, I gave in. I got to my feet and went and opened the door and the small grey shape shot its way into the house. It hurried its way to the lounge and took up its residence. Damn cat took my seat!

-Alice