Stories For Thing

Unfinished

girl

Today on the bus called Back Home
I dangled my legs and wrote a pome
About when I’d be a lady and all,
Jiggly chest, lipstick and tall.

I should like to marry a millionaire
And own a bookshop, one here, two there.
Or I’ll marry a bookshop and turn it out
With tea and scones and an orange cat stout

I would butter my cats and pet my scones
And pour tea down red tellyphones.
I’d knead and bake old Rumpelstiltskin
Top him with Playdoh, sprinkle him with mint.

I’d stand on fat books to trap the fairy (tales) in
Order them to stop being so pretty, and pull out a wing.
I’d tell rude old women, who came in for tea
Exactly what I think of them completely for free.

That’ll show them for pinching my cheeks
Or crushing my face to their pudding chest of fleece.
I’d run far away if I was asked to be polite
Disappear to secret places and give my folks a fright.

I’d empty the refrigerator and leave open the door
For my polar bears to climb in, to slumber and snore
My flamingo would be my sceptre, my staff
Or would I need something taller, maybe a giraffe?

I’d make a thing, all shiny and clean
that goes around call it the More and More Machine.
what would it make more of i don’t quite know
more and more rubbish maybe, a lot more than before

i could tell you about my teachers in school
wearing a man’s shoes, missing a toe, keeping the rule
but the Back Home Bus has brought me home
where I’ll be too busy to finish this poem

By Sandhya Menon

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Lola tells Frisbee a story

shutterstock_134015546

Now then, sit up and pay attention. Or, I don’t know, lie back and relax. Whatever works? You remember me, don’t you? It’s Frisbee the cat. I thought I’d tell you a story about a story. It’s called being postmodern. Postmodern is when a storyteller winks at the reader (or the listener), and the reader (or the listener) winks back.

It’s all very intellectual.

Let’s see, it was a Saturday morning I think. My human was wearing her pajamas and eating cereal, and watching TV, and talking on her cell phone. I was trying to take a nap, but my human was being too noisy.

“Meoowshut up!!” I said.

“What you want baby, what you want sugar, huh huh?” My human said, cooing at me like a dove. She could be really annoying sometimes, you know.

“Meoowwould you stop talking like that please! I’m not in the mood. Keep it down. I’m having my third nap of the morning, okay!”

“Ooh! Come here and let me eat you up you cutie little thing! Come here snuggums!” sang my human, between mouthfuls of cereal.

“Ugh! That’s it, I’m going to Lola’s,” I said. You remember Lola, right? That’s right: my friend the Bulldog.

My human opened the door for me, and I left my apartment and walked over to Lola’s house. It was quiet this morning. The birds were tweeting in the trees and on the power lines, insects hummed in the bushes, and traffic whizzed along on the large road nearby.

Okay, so I guess it wasn’t really that quiet.

Lola’s house is large and cozy, but my favorite part is how I can simply walk in by going through the pet door. No having to wait for humans to get off their lazy bums.

“Oh hi Frisbee!” Lola said as I came in. Lola was with her younger humans. For some reason, Lola called her humans Mama and Papa, and Brother and Sister. Weird.

“Wanna play Storytime?” Lola asked.

“Uh, how do you play Storytime?” I asked.

“I tell a story and you get to listen.” Lola said.

I thought about it. This didn’t sound like there would be a lot of fun running around and jumping involved. “Uh, sure I guess.” I decided.

“Great! I’ve got a good one! Let’s go outside.”

I followed Lola into her backyard, where she began to tell me a story about a little Indian princess who took her best men out on a dangerous shark hunting expedition.

“Everything had started off fine,” Lola said. “The little princess took her best ship, the H.M.S. Bookshelf; and her best men, the Jolly Pirates; and her finest sword, the magical Big Bad Mum. — No matter what dangers awaited, the princess was sure to be ready.”

I nodded in agreement. The princess sure did sound prepared.

“But,” Lola trilled, “The monstrous shark our intrepid crew was hunting wasn’t the only dangers they had to worry about. For not long after they set sail, the sky began to darken, and a terrible storm arose out of nowhere.”

I shivered a little when Lola mentioned the storm. Just a little.

“The little princess held on tight, as huge waves crashed against her ship, rocking it back and forth like a yellow rubber ducky in a kid’s bathtub.”

I must admit I was starting to find this all rather exciting.

“’Your Highness! The waves are too strong! We’ll never make it through!’ One of the little princess’ Jolly Pirates shouted. He started to cry.”

I felt bad for this fellow. Being a cat, I know what it’s like to be terribly afrai—I mean—deeply respectful of water.

“’Bloody heck, man!’” Lola said the princess bellowed. “’Don’t tell me we’re done for until you see a bright shining sign that reads: LITTLE PRINCESS WHOSE NAME RHYMES WITH SING, YOU’RE MOST DEFINITELY DONE FOR, SIGNED, YOUR FRIEND, THE PERSON WHO IS IN CHARGE OF KNOWING WHEN LITTLE SHARK HUNTING PRINCESS’ ARE DONE FOR!’”

I admired the little princess’ feistiness. She was very brave.

“Do you mean to say, Lola, that even with this terrible storm, the little princess still wanted to find Billy the Meaniebutt Shark?” Oh. That was the name of the shark the little princess was hunting, by the way. He sounded gruesome.

“Yup, she sure did!” Lola said, “She told her crew: ‘You boys batten down the hatches! Hoist up the main sail! Hold the course for Shark Island! By gum, I’ll make any lad here walk the plank if he doesn’t pull his own weight! I’m a fair princess indeed, but tough as nails, as sure as my name rhymes with pudding!’” Lola made a pretend slash in the air, acting like she was the princess shouting orders and swinging her magic sword around for emphasis.

“’Aye! Aye! Captain Princess!’ the Jolly Pirates shouted,” Lola said. “The men always got braver whenever the little princess threatened to make them walk the plank.”

“It’s called the carrot and the stick,” I nodded. I didn’t tell Lola that I wasn’t 100% sure about that, though.

“’Don’t worry men! I’ll stand at the prow of the ship and hack and slash away at this fearsome storm with my magical sword Big Bad Mum!’”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Are you telling me the little princess’ sword can cut water?”

“It sure can!” Lola nodded.

I considered this. “Wow! The little princess whose name rhymes with king is awesome!”

“She sure is,” Lola agreed. “She hacked and slashed at the waves all night, as the storm punched and kicked at the H.M.S. Bookshelf, while the princess’ loyal but sometimes scaredy and naughty crew struggled to keep the ship from sinking and falling apart.”

“And even though it was touch and go there for awhile, the little princess’ bravery won the day, and the storm finally gave up and went home.” Lola said.

“‘You make me sick little princess!’ The storm cried. ‘I’m telling my mommy on you!’ The princess stuck her tongue out at the storm. ‘Nyah! Nyah!’ She taunted. ‘Big baby gonna go run to mommy! Waah!!!’ The Jolly Pirates roared with laughter at their funny little captain princess!”

“Whew!” I said, relieved. “I was starting to worry that they weren’t going to make it.”

“Thanks to the princess, they all made it through that awful storm safe and sound,” Lola said, “Oh. Except for the two Jolly Pirates the little princess gave as snacks to a sea dragon, as payment for a pretty new dress the sea dragon was selling.”

“Well, that turned dark rather quickly.” I observed.

“Oh no! It was a bright light blue dress, and it sparkled and shimmered all over. Like calm blue waves in the sunlight…to be continued.”

“Um, uh, okay…So then what happened?” I asked.

“Ah. Ah. Ah.” Lola said, shaking her head. “You’ll have to find out next time.”

“Next time!” I said, annoyed with Lola the same way I get with my human when she does something really annoying. “That’s not the way you’re supposed to tell a story!”

“You can tell a story all sorts of ways,” Lola said. “And my story has parts. Today was Part One. Next time will be Part Two.”

“Part One? Part Two?” I said. I was stymied. It didn’t seem fair somehow, to start an exciting story and then make the listener wait to hear the rest of it.

“Sure,” Lola said. “Didn’t anyone tell you that about stories, Frisbee?”

I shook my head unhappily at a sudden realization. Not only are cats bad at storytelling, we’re also pretty bad at storylistening.

By Saladinho

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Frisbee’s Nine Lives

tuxedo

My name is Mraomeowkookow, but my human calls me Frisbee. Now everyone calls me Frisbee. Even Lola, who ought to know better. I’m a black cat with bits of white patiently and delicately painted on my paws, and about my face and throat; right around where my Vishudda resides. Everybody agrees that I’m quite handsome. Actually, they say I’m “beautiful”, or “cute”, even though I’m a boy. Oh well, I don’t complain. My human feeds me often enough (sometimes she ignores me when I demand special treats—I let her get away with it because I’m from a noble lineage, and it would not due to make unseemly outbursts).

I have a friend—I guess she’s a friend—named Lola. Did I tell you about Lola? Get this: She’s a dog. A Bulldog, in fact. And they call her beautiful too! I shouldn’t be mean. I like Lola (don’t tell her I said that). I can overlook the fact that her face looks like it’s been flattened in by one of those frying pans my human uses to cook fish for me. Okay, okay, I’ll stop…Lola is a good egg. She’s even shaped like one—if an egg had four legs.

I suppose I should tell you a story. It isn’t going to be a good story, but don’t blame me. For me, to my mind, the best stories are short. Like this: “Once there was a little princess in a faraway land called India. Her name rhymed with string, wing, and ring-a-ding-ding. She liked to wrestle sharks, bookshelves, and wits with her Mum.” The end. Now, if I were the one who had told such an exciting, heart-wrenching story, I’d take a nap right after.

Mm! Fish! I’m hungry. And sleepy. I think I’ll take a nap after all. Don’t go away! I’ll be right back! SNOOOOORRRREEEEE!!! PUUURRRRR!!! Yawn! Stretch! Eat fish!!

I’m back. I had such a great nap. And when I awoke, my human gave me a fish burger. With ice cream and cake…and wine! Okay: I lied about the wine.  My human drinks wine, though. A lot. I remember one day not long ago, my human was drinking wine and eating chocolate, and telling me I was her only friend, when some man human came to visit, with a whole armful of flowers.

My human was so angry at the man. You should have seen her. I guess she doesn’t like flowers. She started yelling and screaming. The man kept stammering “But-but-but—honey I’m sorry! Please don’t be mad!” Not having it, my human chased him away with a frying pan. My fish frying pan. Humans make me shake my head.

With all the yelling, I decided to slip outside my apartment—which is on the second floor of a large complex of neat little boxes stacked side by side— and go downstairs to walk over to Lola’s house, just across the street. I stopped at the sidewalk and looked both ways before crossing. I had to make sure that there were no cars coming, because I’m such a sensible lad.

“Hey Frisbee!” said Whaump-whaump the squirrel. He was in the middle of the street, and he waved at me to come over.

“Get out of the street, Whaump,” I told him.

“Humans don’t own the street!” Whaump said. He liked to think of himself as a rebel.

“That won’t stop them from running you over if you get in their way,” I said. Conversations with Whaump-whaump had a tendency to turn political.

“Come here a second.” The squirrel said. He was holding something in his tiny paws. I was curious, but an ancient proverb came to mind, and I decided to wave him off.

“Pff!” I said. I was busy. I had better things to do.

“C’mon, dude!” Whaump-whaump said “You can go see your girlfriend later!” He giggled at me. He liked to tease me about Lola.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” I sniffed. It was a new tactic I’d learned from my human. Pretend that something doesn’t bother you, even when it does. It was called Massive Suggestion, I think.

“You always act like you’re better than everybody,” the squirrel sneered.

“I do not act like I’m better than everybody,” I stiffened. “I am better than everybody.” Perhaps that was a bit uncalled for, being so brutally honest, but the squirrel was getting my back up.

“Scaredy cat! Scaredy cat!” Whaump-whaump taunted.

I started to cross the street, ignoring the idiot squirrel.

“Hey, Frisbee!” He shouted at me, “What’s the use of having nine lives if cats are so afraid to do anything with them?”

I stopped.

I think now would be a good time to tell you the moral of my story. I know you’re supposed to wait until your story’s actually finished to tell it, but it occurs to me how often in life we already know a lesson before we foolishly put ourselves through all the trouble of having to learn it.

Anyway, the moral of my story is this: don’t let silly squirrels shame you into standing in the middle of the street with them.

Okay, now back to the story: I walked over to Whaump-whaump. “What are you holding” I asked, nonchalantly. Nonchalantly. That’s another word for pretending not to care about something.

“It’s an almond,” Whaump said. “Want to play ‘Hurry Up and Catch It’?”

“What’s ‘Hurry Up and Catch It’?” I asked, forgetting to be annoyed that the only thing the squirrel was holding was his lunch.

“It’s a game. You take an almond—or an acorn if you have one—and you put it in the middle of the street, and then you run to the sidewalk and wait until you hear a human’s metal monster coming. Then you spring into the street, grab the almond-or acorn-and run back to the sidewalk before the metal monster catches you!”

I  stared at Whaump-whaump while he beamed at me like a lunatic.

“Do squirrels have something like catnip, only it’s for squirrels,” I asked. “Because it looks like you’re taking it.”

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“You can stay in the middle of the street if you want, but my Spider-Sense is tingling, and I’m going to get out of —HOLY TUNA FISH!!!”

Suddenly, out of the parking lot of my apartment complex, my human’s man came speeding out in his huge red metal monster, headed right for us.

“AAAAHHHH! WE DIDN’T START THE GAME YET!” Whaump-whaump screamed.

I couldn’t move. Neither of us could move. We were frozen in terror.

Just before it was too late, the metal monster screeched to a stop. It was standing nearly on top of us. It smelled of burning rubber, fish pans, and sad roses. It made a large blaring roar.

This time I moved. I ran over to Lola’s side of the street, Whaump-whaump right on my tail, and sighed in relief once I made it away from the huge ugly thing safely.

It took us a few minutes to catch our breaths.

“Hi guys,” a voice chirped happily at us, making us jump.

It was only Lola.

“Hey Lola! We were playing a game!”

I looked at Whaump-whaump. I couldn’t tell if he was lying to preserve our dignity, or if he really thought our terrible ordeal had all just been some exciting lark.

“I want to play!” Lola said excitedly.

“I propose a new game,” I said calmly.

Lola and Whaump-whaump were both intrigued.

“Let’s play “What Do Squirrels Taste Like?”

“What *do* squirrels taste like?” Lola said.

“How do you play that game?” Whaump-whaump asked, suddenly showing signs of self preservation.

I gave him a pointed look. “Oh. I think you know how you play that game. You eat a squirrel.” I narrowed my eyes and slowly advanced on him. “What part would you like to try first, Lola?”

“THAT’S NOT FUNNY FRISBEE!” Whaump-whaump squealed, running away and up into a tree and out of sight.

“Were you really going to eat him?” Lola asked.

I shrugged. Cats know best when to keep their own counsel.

“What happened out here anyway?” Lola asked. “I saw you two running from the street. It didn’t look like you were having fun.”

“It was nothing,” I said.

Cats may have nine lives, but we’re not the best storytellers.

By Saladinho

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Little Lulu and Betty, the Kitty

Little Lulu was playing outside when she heard a soft meow. She thought it was nothing and continued to play when she heard the sound again. “Was that a kitty?” she thought and looked around. A few minutes of searching later, Little Lulu found a little kitten, the tiniest she had ever seen, hidden carefully, in the bushes.

“Why do you meow, Little kitty?” Lulu asked, gently stroking the soft fur. The kitten rolled over, it seemed to be ticklish. Lulu giggled and ran inside to fetch her Mama.

“You must come with me.” she said. “What is it? I am busy, can this wait?” Mama asked. “No, you have to come now” Lulu said, dragging Mama along. “Look what I found!”

Off they went and Lulu showed Mama the little kitty. They played with the kitten for a few minutes and Mama said, “She looks hungry. Let me get her something”. A few minutes later, she returned with a little baby-bottle of milk. “This bottle used to be yours, when you were a baby”, Mama told Lulu, as they fed the kitty. The kitten happily drank away all the milk. “Learn from the little kitty, Lulu. You throw tantrums to finish your glass of milk”, Mama said. “I’ll be a good girl and finish my milk, Mama. Can we please keep him?” Lulu asked with eager eyes.

Cat Clipart Images

“We can. But let’s not tell Dada. He doesn’t like cats very much. She’ll be our little secret” Mama said with a smile. They decided to name her Betty.

Lulu and Mama then found a little basket in the house, stuffed it with a soft blanket and placed Betty inside. They hid the basket in the laundry room where they were sure Dada would never go.

Later at dinner that night, Dada asked Lulu, “How was your day, sweetie?” And Lulu replied, “I made a new friend. Her name is Betty!” and gave Mama a tiny wink. They were all having soup when they all heard a soft meow.

“What is that sound”, Dada asked.

“That was me!”, Lulu said.

“Why are you meow-ing?” Dada asked.

“I am learning cat language”, Little Lulu said giggling.

And as she was saying so, they heard a meow again!

“The sound is coming from the laundry room” said Dada. And since there was no denying it this time, Little Lulu and Mama followed him sheepishly.

“What is this cute little kitty doing in our laundry room”, Dada asked them both, grinning.

“We found her outside and we couldn’t leave her there. We didn’t tell you because you don’t like cats.”, Lulu and Mama said.

“I like anything that makes you both happy. So promise to take good care of her and never keep any secrets from me”, Dada said and gave Lulu and Mama a hug.

“So, Lulu, is this your new friend Betty?” Dada asked and Little Lulu gave him the widest smile he had ever seen.

By Raindroprose

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