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The Calico

Grandma's little thieves

By M. A. Mehan Published 3 years ago 1 min read
The Calico
Photo by Patrizia Berta on Unsplash

The soft glow of a nightlight stretched across the warm wood floor.

Tranquility wrapped the house like a blanket.

Silent footsteps tread the hall. Shadows slunk across the walls.

"Gently," the calico purred, placing one paw primly where the floor would not squeak, "we are in no rush."

The orange tabby, hardly out of kittenhood, followed gingerly. The calico couldn't be sure, but she suspected he was holding his breath; so desperate was he to be included.

The pair, like wraiths, slipped into the kitchen. The tabby quietly congratulated himself on remembering the last loud board. The calico rolled her eyes. He was losing focus.

"Watch and learn, youngster."

Nimbly, she scaled the cabinets. Five... six... seven steps from the sink to the fridge. A quick leap and she was atop. She licked her chops. Bingo.

A bag of treats, left slightly unsealed. She pawed it open and divvyed out the spoils. No enough to be missed, of course, but enough to make working with the youngster worth it.

She swiped his share onto the floor. He trilled with pleasure.

A light in the bedroom.

They scattered.

The tabby smiled a toothy grin. "Tomorrow, same time?"

The calico grinned back.

AdventurefamilyHumorMicrofictionSatireShort Story

About the Creator

M. A. Mehan

"It simply isn't an adventure worth telling if there aren't any dragons." ~ J. R. R. Tolkien

storyteller // vampire // arizona desert rat

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