“He’s into the towels again,” Melinda said. She looked over at her husband where he sat next to her in the living room, listening to the cat noises emanating from the kitchen with a bemused expression on his face. She envisioned the kitchen as she listened to her pet’s murmurings. The open cabinet door and the cat scrabbling through her neatly piled kitchen towels. She’d just have to refold them, yet again.
“Yup,” Mike answered with a sage nod.
The great sumo hunter gradually tripped his way into the living room, and over to where Melinda relaxed in her wing-back recliner. Dragging his prey, he carried himself and his trailing scrap of pink towel as proudly as if he were a lion, king of beasts on the plains of Africa. He came to a stop beside her chair and looked up at her entreatingly, pink towel hanging from either side of his mouth.
“Brrrrrroooowwwwww! Brrrr… brrerr….”
“He’s inviting us to share in his kill.” She said, and heard her husband chuckle.
“Big hunter,” she said affectionately, looking down at her cat, and reaching to stroke his orange-striped head. The tabby paused to enjoy the petting, raising his head to meet her hand and arching his back. As he did so he dropped the towel, and gave himself up to the delight of having his chin scratched. Then, evidently deciding that he had received his due, he turned away and trotted back into the kitchen. His round sides jiggling up and down somewhat detracting from the image of fierce hunter and provider.
“Brrrrroooowwwwww…. Brrrrooooowwwww…” came the muffled voice of the cat as he wrestled yet another towel from the deepest, darkest recesses of the kitchen cabinet.
Melinda just sighed, her lips twitching upward.
Every so often a children's story comes knocking at the door of my heart and asks, like Pinocchio, to be made real, taking on form and life in our world.