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#Writever 2402.7 — Litter

Cats aren't necessarily cute, but kittens certainly were. My big sister held a basket of the squirming fuzzy creatures. Grey stripe tabbies, but one orange one with sparkling brown eyes. He liked to wrestle, then try to jump free to explore. Old enough to be taken into town and given away, it was why the footmen carried our two-seat litter so soon after the rain. Their playful mewing masked out the rustling of the forest, the slap of sandals on the wet road, and the splats and drips from tree branches on the canvas above us.

I tore off another sketch, balled up the paper, and tossed it out the curtains. I quickly drew the orange kitten again, roughing it in with charcoal, then filling in patches of color with orange, brown, and red chalk. I was well aware of Sister's eyes on me, but quickly forgot, caught up in the moment—

"What are you doing?"

I jerked the blue chalk I held, coloring the pillow under the kittens, slashing a dark line across the page, tearing the center. I growled in frustration, ripped out the page, and crumpled it angrily. "Drawing! You did that on purpose!"

She giggled.

Face warm, I threw the new paper wad, but hit the pink curtain. It bounced onto the tiny floor between us. The litter held two small chairs, with room enough for Father's and his bodyguard's knees between us. The bamboo construction was light enough for six to carry for a journey.

"No, that." She pointed at our feet as I bent over. I smelled her jasmine perfume, then got batted by the orange tabby on my forehead.

"Mew, maow!"

I touched my head, annoyed, thankful for finding no blood on my fingers. I could have stayed home, practicing my caligraphy, but no! Father had told Sister to bring me to the merchant's guild, today. I held up the paper.

"Yes, that."

I shook the ruined drawing. "This?" Orange followed it with his eyes. "Trash? I'm throwing it away. Not like we have room to leave it on the floor."

"Men are carrying us."

"So?" I asked. With a flourish, I pulled aside the drape and tossed it out.

"Ow," someone said, just as the kitten who'd been squaring and wriggling his hindquarters, pounced to follow his new cat toy.

The tabby sailed, or rather tumbled ungracefully, out into the open air—

Followed instantly by a thump and an, "Ow!"

Then by an outraged, "Rowrlll!"

Finally, following by slipping, and clunking and rattling the litter, and a final, "OW!"

Sis had jumped up, barely holding the kitten basket upright—as the litter tipped. Men shouted at each other, and we spun right as one after the other of the men lost balance and we fell. With a thump, I rolled through of the pink curtain, chalks flying, the fabric ripping as I slipped out. We missed the rock and mud road, but I tumbled onto the soggy late autumn leaves piled there. I soaked a moment later in a pool of cold water, essentially a dark tea steeped from yellow and brown oak leaves.

It stunk of rotting wood and algae.

The kitten batted his white cat toy until it hit my knee. He looked up, then jumped on my lap, making my pantaloons now both muddy with cat paws and wet. He gazed into my eyes with his caramel ones, as if saying, "Forgive me?"

I bit my lip. I may have snorted, not admitting it though.

Sister started laughing. Her long hair lay wet and limp on her shoulder. Mud streaked her blouse, but she grinned, then laughed some more. "I never thought I'd see it, but you look cute sitting there."

I growled.

[Litter of kittens, litter as in palanquin, litter as in littering, litter as in leaf litter. The kittens might be scratching the leaves at this point, so maybe also simply cat litter? 1hr. Author retains copyright (c)2024 RS.]

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