MISCHIEF

The adventures (of misadventures) of a kitten...

Marissa called her new kitten Zoey at first, but as it grew older, she changed its name to Mischief, because that’s what it was in all the time. Tiny as she was, she could knock over a wastebasket, and then happily scatter papers all over the floor. She couldn’t resist the dangling cord on the mini-blind and leaped at it. Naturally the whole thing came down, overturning a flower vase. Mischief got wet, but that was all right, because now she had some roses to play with. A thorn got stuck in her tender paw, and she let out a plaintive “Mew!”

 

 Marissa comforted the kitten and couldn’t be mad at it. “What are we going to do with that little cat?” Mother asked. “She’s destroying the house.” Each morning Mother would come into the living room and see the mess Mischief had made during the night. The kitten would be peacefully asleep, exhausted after a night of playing. But Mother couldn’t be mad either.

 

“Soon she’ll be able to go out the pet door,” Marissa said. “Maybe she’ll be more interested in playing outside than inside then.”

 

But Mischief didn’t seem interested in going through the pet door. She liked to stand and bat at it, but preferred staying inside where it was safe, and there was food, and toys…

 She had many of her own--balls that rattled, mice that squeaked, feathery things and furry things--but Mischief much preferred human toys. They could be shredded and the shreds chased, and never had any kitten had so much fun.

 

One night an intruder came into the kitchen through the pet door. Mischief knew it wasn’t a cat. For one thing, it was much too large. She watched it waddle over to her food dish and calmly begin eating. “Hello,” Mischief said (for all animals can communicate with each other). “What are you?”

 

 “I’m a raccoon.”

 

 “Where do you live?”

 

 “Outside.” Mischief had never spoken to anyone who lived Outside before.

 

 “What’s it like?” she asked.

 

     He raccoon glanced around. “Bigger than this. There are trees, grass, room to run. You’d like it.”

 

 “Maybe I would…”

 

 “Of course, it’s cold and wet sometimes, but you always have a way back in.” Mischief hadn’t thought about that before.  What led out could also lead back in.

 

The next morning she looked at the pet door thoughtfully. Then, daringly, she went out and came right back in again. It worked! Mischief spent an ecstatic half hour, going out the pet door, in the pet door, out, in, out, in--each time getting further and further away. Then she found a tree. This was a lot more fun to climb than the drapes. It was sturdier, and her claws didn’t get caught. A squirrel barked “Hi!” to her. There were things to chase, and, as the raccoon had promised, room to run.

 

Then Mischief’s internal clock said something about supper. She raced to the pet door and went inside, consumed with guilt. Her humans depended on her for amusement and entertainment, and she’d spent the afternoon thinking only of her own fun. She went zooming around the house, knocking over all the wastebaskets. Then she upset a lamp. Finally she leaped on the table, where Marissa was setting it for supper, and attacked a napkin. “Mischief, what am I going to do with you?” Marissa lifted the kitten off the table, sighed, and began to straighten out the napkin. Then she heard her mother scream.

 

 Marissa ran into the kitchen. She saw her mother standing in a corner, and in the middle of the floor was the biggest rat she had ever seen. She picked up the broom and started toward it, but Mother said “Keep away from it! I’m afraid it’s ready to attack. And it may have rabies.” Marissa backed away carefully. The rat just stood there, glaring at them with its red eyes.

 

 To Mischief the rat was just another toy--though it was almost as big as she was. She leaped on its back and sank her needle sharp teeth into its neck. It let out a horrible squeal and began to run, as she clung to it. “Mischief--no!-- Marissa shrieked. “You might get hurt!”

 

Now the kitten sensed that this was not a toy but an enemy intent on harming her beloved humans. She bit down harder, savaging the creature with her tiny paws, using all the hunting skills she’d been born with. At last the rat lay still. Marissa rushed forward and picked Mischief up. “Good kitty,” she crooned. “You saved us.”

 

 Mother got the broom and the dustpan. “I’m going to put this thing in a plastic bag,” she said, “and call Animal Control. They need to find out if there’s a plague of rats in the neighborhood"and if they’re  dangerous.” Then she began stroking the kitten’s silky head.” We won’t call you Mischief any more. From now on your name is Miss Chief.”

 

Reviews

[Delilah Heart]

This is darling! I love how you bring the cat to life!

[Marie]

Thank you.

[Taylor]

Being a cat lover, I thoroughly enjoyed this -- having been on the receiving end of my own Mischief. I also loved the twist at the end with the kitty's identity. The dialog was fun between the raccoon and the kitty. Good job.

[Marie]

Thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed it. I have three cats myself, and a raccoon occasionally comes in through the pet door. I feed him cookies. That kind of made the story.

[Taylor]

Gosh, cookies for a raccoon. You'll have a stampede when that raccoon gets the word out.

[Chris M. Monks]

I love the changing of the name. Appropriate and cute.

[Marie]

Thank you.

[Samaira]

Its a great story. I like how you bring out the exasperation humans sometimes feel when it comes to animals and happily forget all that when they prove their loyalty.

[Marie]

Thank you. I meant this as a childrens' story, but I think adults can relate too.

[Woody]

I'm sure we retain something of the little child in us no matter how old we get and that's why we enjoy stories of naughty animals, particularly talking ones.
this is a cute one, Marie. nice change of the name, too.

[Marie]

Thank you. This was published in "Passion for Cats."