The Fire-Tipped Cat

Hello! I'm Flame, a pure blooded Fire Tip. I suppose I'm getting quite old. 300, if you will, in cat years. I'm not quite sure how old I am in your time system. I'm sure however, that most cats do not live to be this old. I still feel very young. It would, undoubtedly, be entertaining for you to hear my stories. Would you like to? Well, if you wouldn't, I suggest you leave right now. Otherwise, make yourself comfortable so that I may continue.

The first story of mine that you might have any interest in is from when I was just a kitten. I remember it well. I was trotting along with my mother as well as my siblings, when all of the sudden, I saw no one. I was even unable to detect any scent of them. Needless to say I was scared, no, not just scared, I was afraid. Afraid, not only for the lack of them, but also for my own life. So I went all through the city, looking for a home and food. More the food than the home. I dreaded the day my stomach would become too empty. One day, however, I got the sense that I had found home.

It was a modest home. I would call it a cottage. It was fairly old as well. I was pleased with the smoke coming from the chimney, ensuring warmth. I was made even happier by the smell of fresh meat. There would undoubtedly be food there. The question was how to get in. You rarely get let into a house simply by being a hungry kitten. I thought I'd probably just have to scam them. Yeah, scam 'em. That's the perfect plan, right? Wrong. What kind of plan is that, or really, what was I thinking? I blame it on being at such a young age. I would never do that now. Really, I'm not that dumb.

So anyway, I'm acting like a poor lost soul, like I'm near death, and I come to their door. I get my hopes up, I think I have an Oscar winning performance. Only they see right through it. So they're trying to decide how to kick my fuzzy tail out of there. The woman there seems real nice, and I think she would have let me in. But her husband, or whoever that was, wasn't about to let one of my paws touch his floor. He steps on my tail. I'm out of there so fast, I'm not even sure I left. But sure enough, I've already crossed the street. I'm thinking I should wait, and when the woman is home alone, come by again, but I'm wondering if I can wait that long.

I wait. I'm too tired to keep looking. My luck must have been with me that day, because the man left before dark. I went back up to the door, and I dropped my act. I just acted like a tired, hungry kitten, because that's what I was. As soon as she heard me meow, she looked at me through her screen door. I looked up at her, still meowing. There was a pause as she looked at me, longingly. I looked back in just the same way. I could tell she was wondering what the man would do if he found me here when he got back.

She pauses again, before she opens the screen door. I'm all ready to run in, but instead she steps outside. I get a disappointed look on my face. She picks me up. It was almost like she was inspecting me. She dusts me off, and carries me inside. I'm delighted. She shows me to the kitchen, and makes me a big meal, she even gives me milk. At this point, I'm beaming. As much as a cat can, anyway. When I'm through with my meal I sit in her lap and purr my heart out. She gets a real warm look on her face, and then the front door opens. The man is back, and he's not happy.

He looks at the woman, expecting her to explain. So she does. "Darling," she says, "this poor cat needs a place to stay, so I'm going to keep him. I know how you dislike cats, but-" The man cuts her off. "But what, woman?! Do you think you're keeping that fleabag? Guess again."