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Not Your Average Pet

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts.

A friend knocks on your door. Her father has had a heart attack and she must leave town immediately to visit—only problem is she needs someone to watch over her very unusual pet.

Post your response (500 words or less) in the comments below.

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3 Responses to Not Your Average Pet

  1. maria.n says:

    The doorbell rings. I look at the clock. The neon-green numbers stare back at me: 3:45 a.m. I stretch, reaching for my glasses. I stumble over to the door, pressing the small grey intercom button. “Hello,” I ask, still half asleep. “Kasey,” the familiar voice asks, “It’s me, Irene.” I sigh, and unlock the door. A second later, a red eyed frantic young blond is standing in front of me. She gives me a hug, “I’m so glad you’re here. I was worried you’d still be out of town.” “No, I just got back yesterday,” I say, heading into the kitchen. “Oh,” she says, following me inside. “Do you want anything to drink,” I ask, pouring myself a cup. “No. Kasey, my father’s in the hospital!” I cough, nearly choking on my orange juice. “That’s….horrible,” I say, trying to sound sympathetic. I do feel bad, really, but all I can think is this means one thing. A favor. And I’m still trying to get over the last one. “Do you want to talk about it,” I ask. Irene shakes her head. “No, I have to run to the airport. I’m taking the next flight to Denver.” “Oh,” I say. There is a moment of silence, and I take a deep breath as I wait for those dreaded words. “Kasey, I need you to do me a favor,” Irene pleads, “I know you’re busy but could you please watch Spaetzel for me?” In her hands Irene is holding a small pet carrier. How could I not have noticed? “Irene, you know I’m not good with pets,” I begin, as I rummage through the pantry. “Come on, please,” she begs. I don’t have to turn my head to see the look on her face. I sigh. “Fine.” “Oh, you’re the best Kasey,” Irene says, giving me a hug, “now, here’s a special list for him: his favorite foods, his bed time, oh and remember don’t put him under too much sunlight, don’t get him wet – oh and don’t feed him after midnight.” The last request seems a bit odd, but after all, it is four o clock in the morning. “Ok, fly carefully,” I say, walking Irene back to the front door. Irene gives me one last hug. “Thanks, Kasey. Don’t worry,” she says, closing the door, “you won’t regret it, I promise.” I open the cage, and watch as a strange, fuzzy creature waddles out. Somehow, I think I will.

  2. imherslug says:

    Can the pet be a normal pet who does something weird, like a dog literally talking or does the animal have to be something odd like a gremlin or something.

  3. The phone fell from Gretchen’s hand and landed in its pastel-green cradle.

    “I told him so.”

    Baker mewed from the foot of the bed, leapt upon the duvet, and padded into Gretchen’s lap. She cupped the tabby’s upturned face in her hands, making his furry cheeks bunch.

    “You heard me didn’t you? You heard me tell him to be careful. That he’d end up busting another leg, another arm, or finally break his neck.”

    He purred in reply and when Gretchen pressed her forehead against his, the rumble intensified, reminding her of a car’s engine.

    The thought draped her shoulders and Gretchen fought an easy slump into her dented sheets and downy pillow. Instead, she sighed, hefted Baker from her lap, and swung her feet from beneath the covers. Her toes found her slippers like opposing magnets. They embraced her in fluffy clouds and her nightgown swayed around her ankles as they carried her to her walk-in closet. A pull on the string illuminated the clothes hanging at attention beneath the double-decker shelves and her dresser positioned against the far wall.

    A hiss erupted from her rows of shoes.

    “Sorry, Leopold.”

    His bright green eyes blinked between her tennis shoes and mules, a silent chastisement for the midnight disruption. He disappeared deeper into the shadows no doubt resuming his nightly stalk of the most stubborn dust bunnies.

    Standing on her toes, Gretchen wiggled her suitcase from the upper shelf. The baggage nearly pulled her to the ground, but she caught her balance and unzipping the lid. Into the gaping maw, she arranged her first prim outfit in a pile stacked with outer layers on the bottom, inner ones on top. She filled the suitcase with two more crisp piles and then added matching earrings and a set of pearls.

    “They go with everything,” she said to Baker, sitting at the closet’s threshold. “Even hospitals.”

    Shaking her head, she dispelled her destination, zipped the bag, and changed out of her nightgown.

    With her blouse buttoned, slacks belted, and matching flats on her feet, she extended the suitcase’s handle. Wheeling it into the bathroom, she harvested her vanity kit, slipping it into its waiting pouch. She navigated to her bedroom door, plucked her purse from its hook, double-checked her wallet and her keys as well as her phone, and started for the living room.

    The gleam from the gurgling aquarium detoured her march toward the front door.

    “You’ll survive, won’t you?”

    The clown fish darted around the submerged castle and to the surface when she sprinkled a pinch of flakes. The sucker fish adhered to the glass swished its tail and the angelfish swam on, undistracted in their graceful circle through the plastic seaweed. Dissolving flakes dropped to the turquoise pebbles and Gretchen added an extra three pinches. She tapped the burbling filter, recalling two more weeks before it needed changing. With faith they’d manage without her, she reclaimed the handle of her suitcase.

    Despite her firm grasp and meticulous actions, the sense of forgetting something irked.

    …. Click here to read the rest and feel free to leave a comment.

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