Pegasus2002

The Unwanted Guest
Alison Hennessee
First Place, Prose
North Springs High School

Periwinkle yawned and stretched lazily on the Oriental rug in the living room of her house. Darkness had descended, and the pool of sunlight she had been lying in all afternoon had evaporated, leaving her stranded on the rapidly cooling floor. Periwinkle supposed she would have to get up.
        This, however, was not a simple process. Before she could abandon her spot on the rug, Periwinkle stretched several more times, twisting her lithe body into elaborate contortions to work out the kinks that resulted from an afternoon of napping. Then there was a long and thorough bath. She started with her delicate, white toes, licking each one meticulously, moved on to her mottled gray back, then cleaned the length of her dark gray-striped tail. Just to get her energy up, she furiously clawed the arm of her favorite chair.
        Finally, with one more gaping yawn, Periwinkle stood up and walked leisurely around her house. She had an odd sense that something was missing. Perhaps it was her favorite catnip-filled mouse. She quickly trotted back to the living room and peered under the floral, chintz couch. No, the mouse was still there, along with several balls of tin foil, some rally yarn and a plush rabbit. Maybe her morning amusement, the birdfeeder hanging outside the kitchen window, was gone. No, when Periwinkle looked through the dusk, she could see the feeder swinging crazily in the strong March wind. So what was missing?        
        Periwinkle shrugged. It was probably nothing. After all, she was no longer a young cat, over eight years old, and her memory was not quite as acute as it used to be. She often found herself in embarrassing situations due to this loss. Just yesterday, she had been climbing the dogwood in the backyard in stealthy pursuit of a small rodent, when she completely forgot what it was she was stalking. To her utter mortification, she was forced to retreat back down the tree amid the raucous laughs of the nearby blue jays.
        Consequently, Pen chalked up the sense of missing something to the quirks of an aging mind and settled on a dining room chair for an evening doze. She curled her tail around her, thinking sleepily how quiet the house was. Quiet! Periwinkle was alert in an instant. Her house, she realized, was far too quiet. This could only mean one thing. Peri ran around through the house, poking her striped head into each room. Then she sat at the back door and mewed. When the door was not opened, Periwinkle was certain; her human was out.
        Peri breathed a sigh of relief at discovering the cause of the deep quiet. Whenever Shelley—that was her human’s name—was home, there was always some kind of noise. Sometimes it was the blaring of the bright, loud box Shelley so enjoyed staring at, sometimes the distracting rumbling of the black machine Shelley frequently pushed over the carpets, and often it was the incessant chatter of those other humans that Shelley insisted on dragging into the house. But now Shelley was out, and a pervasive, almost unnerving hush had fallen over the house. Periwinkle jumped gracefully up on the windowsill in the dining room, seating herself next to a small potted fern, and feeling very put out. It irked her to no end when her human went out without following the appropriate procedure. Peri had tried to train her human well, conditioning her to say where she was going and when she'd be back, leave out an ample supply of treats for the cat, and open the bedroom door so Periwinkle could burrow under the comforter. However, Shelley, like all humans, differed from a cat in that she fell far short of perfection and occasionally forgot these rules of conduct. Peri reviewed the events of the day before she had fallen asleep. Shelley had been home all morning, because Pen distinctly remembered being yelled at—and rather loudly, too—for shredding the lace curtains in the sunroom. Miffed at being addressed in such a discourteous tone, she had stalked outside for several hours. Shelley, feeling guilty for her ranting earlier in the day, had coaxed Peri inside with tender, apologetic strokes and a small piece of leftover salmon. Periwinkle had grudgingly accepted the apology and not so grudgingly accepted the fish, then sauntered into the living room for a nap.
        Then what had happened? When had Shelley left? Peri thought hard. Shelley must have mentioned the fad that she was going out or at least issued a passing farewell. The cat sat motionless for a moment, her furry brows creased in concentration. Aha! She vaguely remembered being woken late in the afternoon by the sound of drawers opening and shutting. Curious as to what that funny Shelley creature could be doing, Periwinkle had crept into her humans bedroom to investigate. There she found Shelley trying on seemingly endless combinations of shirts, sweaters, skirts, slacks and shoes, then staring, befuddled, into the full-length mirror. Periwinkle watched with waning interest as this strange custom continued for what felt like a very long time. She tried batting around some sandals, but was reprimanded with such ferocity that she soon stopped.
        Peri had tired of this display of indecision and frustration long before Shelley had and had been trotting back to her spot on the living room rug, when the doorbell chimed and Shelley flew down the stairs. Stopping to give Peri a quick scratch behind the ears, she had informed the cat that she was going out. She opened the door and left, giggling nervously and batting her eyes in what Peri had thought was a very silly fashion.
        Periwinkle’s reverie was interrupted by the rumbling of her stomach. She walked, her tail making an elegant question mark, to where her blue, porcelain food bowl sat, woefully empty. Shelley should have been home by now. Pen thought, peeved. It was very dark and long past dinnertime. She settled on the couch to pity her poor, hungry self. How could Shelley forget her intelligent, loving, not to mention irresistibly cute, cat, who brought her human presents of mice and chipmunks? Periwinkle sniffed disconsolately and fell asleep.
        A few hours later, she was woken by laughter at the back of the house. Shelley’ She thought happily. This thought was closely followed by another happy prospect—dinner. Stretching briefly, she leapt from the couch and sprinted to the kitchen. She could hear Shelley’s warm, bubbly voice, holding in it the promise of much-deserved attention and food. She walked confidently into the kitchen and was about to greet Shelley in the usual manner of rubbing her small, striated body around. her human’s ankles, when she stopped short. There was another voice in the kitchen, a deep unfamiliar baritone.
        Peri marched in the room and yowled indignantly upon seeing the two humans laughing and talking and showing no signs of getting her dinner. When her first address was ignored, Pen meowed again, more loudly and approached her human.
        Hey, Peri.” All right, enough chitchat, how about some food, Periwinkle thought. She mewed insistently. “Hush, sweetie. Go away and leave Gary and I alone.” Shelley looked at Gary and giggled.
        “Oh, you have a cat, Gary said. “I’m really more of a dog person myself.”        
        “I’ve been wanting to get a dog, but this one would never stand for it,” Shelley replied, roughly picking Periwinkle up. She carried her into the sunroom and ignoring all proper protocol, deposited Peri unceremoniously on the couch. “Now, you stay here, kitty.” Then she returned to Gary.
        Go away and leave us alone? Stay here kitty? Wanting to get a dog? What was going on? Peri wondered. Was the world as she knew it crumbling about her in one single evening? They had not bothered to serve Peri her dinner, and to top it off, they had dismissed her from their company. And that intruder had dared to reveal that he preferred those slobbering, simpering, stupid dogs to the elegant grace of cats!
        This kind of behavior—thoughtless, rude, typically human—would simply not do, Peri fumed. She decided that if she were to be given her rightful dinner, she would have to take action.
        Shelley, Peri concluded, would never give her dinner as long as the ridiculous Gary was around. She was too busy laughing at his trite jokes and his pointless stories. That meant Gary would have to go. But how? Periwinkle pondered this for a moment, then realized that Gary had unwittingly given her the ammunition she needed to fight him.
        Spreading a sweet, innocent look across her face, she pranced in the living room where Shelley and Gary were sitting, drinking wine and eating pate. She jumped onto the coffee table, then into Gary’s lap. Purring loudly, she rubbed affectionately against his face.
        “Well, well. Umm, friendly cat.” Gary said uneasily. “OK, bye, bye, kitty.” He pushed he onto the floor. Peri, however, was not so easily discouraged, and she immediately leapt back into his lap, her purring amplified to a tremendous rumbling.
        “I guess she just likes you, Gary. She’s not like this with anyone else. Now, Peri,” Shelley admonished. “Get down and go away.” She set the cat firmly on the floor.
        Determined to triumph, Peri jumped again to the table. Though, if she were being careful, she could have walked on eggshells without breaking one, tonight she knocked over both wineglasses with a swish of her tail and hopped mischievously back onto Gary.
        “Shelley! Get this cat—” Gary paused, then exploded. “ACHOO! Get this cat off before I start—ACHOO!” Periwinkle rolled happily in his lap. “Get it down before I start to snee—ACHOO’ ACHOO! ACHOO!"
        Shelley was on her knees, frantically trying to sop up the wine before it soaked into the rug. “Oh Gary, are you allergic?” she asked with concern.
        Yes—ACHOO! Very—ACHOO!” Periwinkle rubbed fine white fur all over Gary’s clothes. “You know, Shelley,—ACHOO—I think I should—ACHOO—--go before—ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO!”
        Shelley interrupted. “I understand, Gary. I had a nice time,” she said getting his coat. Next time we’ll meet at your place. Good night!”
        “Good night, Shelley,” Gary called as he pulled out of her driveway. “ACHOO!”
        As Shelley shut the door, Periwinkle began to rejoice. She had done it. Al,, sweet victory! She congratulated herself. The dog-lover was gone, and dinner was imminent. But what was Shelley doing? Her human was leaning against the door, her head on her arms, shoulders shaking. Perhaps I overdid it, Peri thought with dismay. Shelley’s miserable, and it’s all because of me.
        Mewing softly, she rubbed against her human’s ankles, trying to tell her in her own feline way that she was sorry.
        Just then Shelley turned around and scooped Periwinkle up in her arms.        
        “You are amazing, Periwinkle!” she exclaimed, laughing. “How did you know I wanted Gary to go home? What a jerk! And he likes dogs, too.” So Shelley hadn’t been crying! “Oh,” she continued, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” Peri purred and brushed against her human’s face. Then she remembered the dinner that had been her goal, and she mewed quizzically.
        “What do you want Pen?” The cat meowed again. “Oh my goodness!” Shelley smacked her forehead. “I forgot all about your dinner.” She put Pen down and walked to the coffee table. “Here you go. You deserve a treat” She set the plate of pate down in front of Periwinkle.
        Peri meowed her thanks and began to fastidiously devour her dinner. Then licking her whiskers self-contentedly, she curled up next to Shelley and fell asleep purring.