Been a while since I posted a short story, poem, or snippet. Here’s something I’m entering for a submission! Enjoy!
Watch What You Eat
Hunger makes you do dumb things.
I headed to my kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Nothing. I closed the door in disgust. I frowned and opened my cupboard. It was equally bare. My stomach growled angrily but my eyes suddenly widened as I spotted a can of tuna fish. I grabbed it, opened the lid and dug in with a fork.
I chomped away at the salty fish. It might give me high blood pressure but I quickly gobbled it anyway.
Naturally I choked.
I dropped the tuna can to the floor and coughed repeatedly. I caught a glimpse of a cat trotting into the kitchen. Since when did I have a cat?
Who cares I was dying?!
I laced my hands together and rammed them into my stomach then chest but still no success. Why didn’t I study the Heimlich maneuver?
I dropped to my knees, grabbing at my neck as I saw the cat come closer to me, this time followed by two cats. I fell back to the floor, withering in horror as I choked on the food in my air passage.
I glanced in horror at the cats- five now- descending upon me and then looked over at the offending food. My last thought was that I hadn’t actually eaten tuna fish, at least not the one made for humans, for the image on the can was of a cat’s head; its tongue licking its whiskers.
As the cats walked closer to me, meowing in unison, eyes glowing with hunger; I closed my eyes and died.
Denise held her fork midway to her mouth, a frozen look on her face. “Wow; that’s a seriously sad story, Shiela. Ooh, say that three times fast!”
“Ha-ha. You are not a friend.”“Hey, maybe those dreams mean you need a cat.”
“So she can chow down on my body because I died eating all her cat food?! I hate cats.”
“Maybe the dream was about you feeling unsafe living by yourself. Get a roommate who can account for you so your dead body isn’t stinking up the apartment building.”
“Thanks, Denise, that’s what was bothering me so much. I’ll be dead, screw my neighbors breathing comfort!” I cut into my salmon and realized it smelled like tuna. I put my fork down. “Maybe it means I should stop watching that Animal Hoarders show before bed.”