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Second Kitten Narrative

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The Second Kitten I slowly opened my eyes. I was almost blinded by the sunlight that came through the window of my bedroom and travelled right into my exposed retina. I closed my eyes again. It was Saturday, so I could sleep in for as long as I wanted. I dozed off into a light sleep. Even though it didn’t seem as if I had slept very long, I woke up, and saw it was two in the afternoon. I thought that was weird. Why didn’t Mom wake me up? Even if it’s accidentally, Mom seemed to always wake me up on the weekends—my alarm clock did that job for me on weekdays. My mom vacuums, yells at my dad, and plays her eighties’ pop cassettes most mornings—loudly. Then I realized something: Mom told me last night that she and Dad were driving a few hours …show more content…

That’s what woke me up. It was five p.m. I looked up and saw something nudging my leg. It was moving under my covers. I thought it was our kitten, Ringo. He was born three months ago. He kept gently rubbing up against me. I couldn’t believe how long I’d slept—far too long. I decided to get up. I sat up, and then I felt a sharp jab in my leg. “Ringo!” I shouted. “Don’t bite me!” My eyes closed in pain. When I opened them again, I could not find the small, moving lump that I thought must be my kitten. I turned the sheets over; no sign of him. “Ringo,” I called out. No sound of the soft pitter-patter of Ringo galloping across the hardwood floor. In my window, I saw the family mini-van pull up into our driveway and knew my parents were back. In a few moments, I heard my parents come in through the door. “Shane, we’re home!” my dad called out. I finally got out of bed, went to the bathroom (my bladder had been really hurting), and walked down the stairs in my underwear, which I always wore as my “nighttime clothes.” I saw my mom holding a large, plastic case with holes in it. I instantly recognized it as the carrier used to transport Ringo around. “What’s that doing here?” I …show more content…

“No,” I said. I was really confused. Why does she have that case? The cat was upstairs in my sheets a few minutes ago! “I wrote that your aunt really wanted to see our new kitten, so we took him along,” she said. “Aunt Sue loved him!” exclaimed my dad. My mom opened the cage and little Ringo jumped out. “How does it feel to be back home? You’ve been gone for eight hours!” This last line really stuck with me. If my kitten had been gone all day, what on God’s green earth had been crawling under my sheets and biting me? I looked down at my leg. The spot where I thought my kitten had bitten me was trickling blood. My mom noticed it clearly too. “Ohh! That’s a nasty cut! How did you get that?” How do I answer that? “I-I don’t know.” I felt very weird. I felt deeply afraid—far too afraid to sleep at all, never mind in that bed. For two nights straight after that, I got zero sleep. After those two sleepless nights, I resorted to sleeping on the couch in the living room permanently. Was I just crazy? No, because I had the terrible cut on my leg to prove it. I know my story has left far more questions than answers, and I apologize. To this day, I have no idea what was under my sheets, and that may be for the

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