20 December 2025
Dead eyes and eyes that have that glazed look when someone doesn’t really want to listen to what I have to say feel particularly similar at this moment. There’s a chance that’s a bad sign. Probably something to meditate on. Is this me writing a character or is this just me?
Grandius Dubious looked down at the beginnings of a story he’d just written and rubbed his eyes. It seemed he was operating below the critical threshold required to produce readable fiction.
“Off to bed we go mittens. I forsake the rest of this day, may it be misbegotten, as I leave it to the rest of the world to at the least, experience, if not enjoy.”
Grandius rested his head on his pillow as he went to sleep, wondering if his cat knew how pompous he sounded, feeling a shaft of shame slide between his ribs at his heart. He turned once over, pulled the blankets to his chin, and went to sleep.
It was important to Mr Dubious that he feel important, better than other people. He had an attuned sense of guilt. Anything that went wrong that he felt he had control over would drive him mad. So, he assumed his own brilliance, and with the pretence of a humble outlook, cast everything else into another category.
“How were I to know you wouldn’t be able to eat, it’s not my fault. The food decided it wasn’t edible. Of course it isn’t your fault either. But how could I have known, there’s no indication! Surely you understand.” The cat did understand. See, Mittens was an empath. A cat given a special cognitive capacity through technology, to assist citizens with documented social difficulties. A type of support currently offered only in several countries. Grandius often remembers to be grateful, especially to live in such a supportive country.
The cat looked up with glazed eyes, no longer really here, as the hunger had deeply set in.
“Me – Ow”.
Prickles were prickly, I know that much. If the prickles prickle me, I’m lead to believe that there’s a reason why. Maybe they don’t want to be touched. Their feelings might’ve been hurt a long time ago and they’ve never emotionally recovered. That’d make sense. The wooden stems with pretty flowers can stay prickly, it’s ok, it’s just how they are. We can’t change that. We should accept them how they are.
I’m feeling hungry again, I’ll be in a poorly shape if I don’t eat soon, which would be hard on Mr Sir. Flickering movement on the side of my eye. Tail twitches and the ground feels attractive. Low, belly scraping grass and dirt, some sticks and a pebble. Wriggle forward, the air tastes like warm and sour. Poor little guy must’ve been out all day, and it’s hot. Sweating up a storm.
NO. Concentrate, he’s the enemy. KILL. For Mr Sir we must be ready to serve. The mouse must die.
Pounce, bite, paw and tear. Whimper and squeak. I bet he had a family. Probably a cute one. They’d all squeak to each other. Squeak squeak, how’s your day been. Squeak squeak, what’s for dinner. Squeak squeak, I love you.
Stirring in my stomach and acid in my throat. CRTCH EHG EHg. Small stinking mess. Best to carry poor mouse away. Maybe I’ll take it to show my friend. That’s an exciting thought.
The head of little mouse was too delicious, no helping that, but the rest of the body, I can write a message with this to Mr Dubious.
Positioning the arms, the tail, the legs and tiny feet. That’ll do.
Standing back to read the mouse message.
“Dear Mr Grandius Dubious.
I apologise for all my shortcomings.
I am hopeful that we can continue our relationship with love and care.
Kind regards,
Mittens. “
Perfect, it says everything I want. I hope the master is kind to me.
CRYNRCH.
“Oh dear me, it is a mouse.”
“Was a mouse.”
“It has had a mishap.”
“A terrible mishap, my word.”
Grandius Dubious toed at the mouse with his sandals, halted in his desires for a walk outside.
“Who has done this to you, where is your head?”
“Why does it look like you’re trying to pirouette?”
So many questions. Grandius tapped the mouse with his staff and its head blew up from its neck like a baloon.
“AHHHHHHHHHH” it screamed.
“Hush now child I am here.” Gradius said.
Mittens had come to see the fuss, and rolled over with belly exposed by the door where Grandius had stepped from.
“I was in a cat’s mouth. You wouldn’t believe. Terrible. Very smelly too.”
Mittens rolled off from his back and pawed over to Grandius’s feet, eyeing the mouse.
“In the cat’s mouth and, and that was it.” The mouse said.
“Yes I can imagine. Who did it to you Mr Mouse? Was it this cat?” He pointed at Mittens.
The mouse turned and saw Mittens. His face dissolved into a mix of agony and terror. He began to say “Ye..” but Mittens was wiggling his tail and leapt into the air to pounce on the mouse again. The snitch.
Grandius swept his cloak to turn to the cat, lifting his staff, he belowed and a bolt with a boom smote the cat on the spot, leaving naught but a ashen patch.
“Here lay Mittens, a good cat” Grandius said. “Off you go little mouse.”
Feeling terribly sorry for himself and his cat, Grandius sat down on his step outside. He kissed his hand and ran his fingers through the soot.
