My Kitty Mango

It was a drizzly, rainy day. There were hardly any people walking on the street. My sister was in her room, singing a pre-school song. My mom huddled in her bed, reading a book. My cat Baboo was, of course, sleeping. My dad was on the couch, doing something with his iPad. And I was on the dining room chair, feeling bored.

I wondered where my other fat cat Mango was. I looked everywhere. On the table, the couch, and finally, in the closet. And there she was. Slowly blinking at me innocently.

I crawled into the closet. I squished and pulled away all the old pillows. I settled in the blankets. As I scratched her under the chin she began to purr. It made me feel warm and sweet, even though the day was cold and wet. Mango seemed very happy, as if it was her who led me into the closet. For a second our eyes locked. For a second Mango seemed more than an overweight cat. For a second Mango gave me a look that I think I could remember for my whole life. But then Mango looked away. And the spell was broken. It was like a baseball shattering glass.

After that I left. It was still a drizzly, rainy day. There were hardly any people walking on the street. My sister was tucked away in her room, singing pre-school songs. My mom was huddled in her bed, reading a book. My cat Baboo was, of course, sleeping. My dad was on the couch, doing something with his iPad. And I was on the dining room chair, not feeling bored, but feeling happy.