Meat or Magick?

The neighborhood cat lady's cats found the mess on their daily stroll. At first, they didn't know what to make of it. It smelled of meat, but was not meat. It looked like a magick, but it wasn't a magick either. The cats arranged themselves on a lawn a few blocks down, to discuss.

If you ask me, it is unsightly, said a well-meaning grey tabby.

Perhaps we should dispose of it amongst ourselves, said the tortoiseshell. She was feeling particularly bloodthirsty that day, and would have been quite amenable to getting rid of the mess by herself--if it was decided that the mess was meat.

We should decide what it is first, a small voice chimed in. It was the little Russian blue that nobody liked, but it's always politic to be polite.

You may have a point, said the yellow tabby, begrudgingly. How should we know what to do if we cannot decide what it is? Perhaps it will go away on its own, he said, and thought hopefully that they forget the whole thing, since the sun was especially nice that day. He eyed a dandelion and swatted it lazily.

A large white cat had been rolling about to relieve an itch and had missed the first part of the conversation. Is it edible? she asked.

Let us have a vote, said the gray tabby. Whomever believes it is meat, twitch your tail. The tortoiseshell and the white twitched furiously because they were hungry and indiscriminate. Whomever believes it is a magick, wash your face. The grey and the yellow tabby both washed their faces.

Why do you not vote? the yellow asked the blue. The other cats had become cross and their ears had begun to twitch. Sitting on the fence simply wasn't done or at least, it hadn't been until the blue joined them. And who was she anyway, to come in and never take sides? One must always take a side, or go away and be miffed. But she did neither of these things. The gray tabby found it unsettling.

What if it is neither of those things? Aren't any of you interested in how it got there? asked the blue.

The cats did not understand. These ideas did not occur. Things were either meat or magick. It was determined by vote, and then the spoils divided and disposed of. How things got anywhere was of no consequence. The blue had been upsetting from the beginning. Something would have to be done to re-balance the equation.


...


The neighborhood cat lady found the remains of the little blue a few weeks later. She had rather liked that cat; it had been unprepossessing and didn't require much. It must have been that yard boy. She never did like the way he looked at the cats.





For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Stefan challenged me with "I blamed it on the kids. " and I challenged Diane with "I don't feel sorry about what I did to you. "