Week 7 Word: GIFT
Word Count 325
By Michael S. Jones
I do so hate the equinox. Yeah yeah, it’s a holy day and all that. Thousands jostle to see the snake shadow “descend” a big pyramid and witchy wannabes pound drums at Stonehenge.
But I’m not religious.
Nor am I a white witch, though my skin is exceeding pale.
My hat is broad, white and floppy, not tall, black and pointy.
I hide in plain sight, my home surrounded by a dozen flower beds. These flowers always bloom, feeding on special fertilizer. But that’s another story. Suffice it to say I disposed of an old threat.
I do not appear to be what I am. Neighbors consider me odd, but never weird in the ancient sense, though I remember when the word was spelled with a Y. They leave me alone, which is optimal for me.
Call me Calpurnia. My name contains a purr and I named my familiar Catigula. He is a calico cat. By coincidence my calico sundress is forget-me-not blue.
Some cats bring a fat mouse as a gift for their significant others. Not Catigula…oh no. He put a Thingie in my shoe at the exact moment the equinox began.
I’d describe the Thingy but it would be a waste of words. It’s a witchy thing.
But here’s my problem. Catigula is special. One in three thousand calico cats is male. Odds of his having a harmonic relationship with a creature like me are infinitesimal.
Catigula senses my needs. But I did not need a Thingie so I tossed it out the window.
He replaced it in my shoe at exactly the last moment of the equinox. I was missing something.
“What?” I demanded
“You’re being enigmatic,” I said.
“Go to hell,” I said. He didn’t.
“Do I brew it? Eat it? Shake it like a wand?”
“Will it wait until the next equinox?”
He stood, turned tail and left.
Most cats are optimists.
Catigula is droll.