[Critique Group 1] Leonard's comments on Martia's sub

[tuchyner5 at aol.com]

The story is keeping my interest and I’mempathetic to the characters.  




 


I’m not sure what the relationship betweenthe cat Mom and the barn lady is. I suspect that she is more than just afriend.   




 



 


If you don’t explain  why the woman is on the move, you are goingto get lynched. 




 


I suspect there is a domestic problembehind all of this.   




 


There is a story to be told about herfamily relationships. And why shhe chose to stay with a friend rather than herfamily in the first stages of her greiving and/or recovery from some trauma.



I trust that all will become clear intime. 




 


TheUgly Barn Cat



MarciaJ. Wick, the Write Sisters



May2019



WordCount:  1135



 



 



 



Bornin a barn, my cat mom abandoned our messy brood when we arrived early into theworld. Orphaned, we were likely to die without warmth or food or protection.Fortunately, when the barn lady brought oats to the horses, she spotted ourperilous lot. 



 



“Ohmy, kittens. I wonder where the mother is…



Idon’t think they’re being fed.”



 



Oneby one, she lifted us into a slippery box. We scrambled over each other,half-blind and shivering. Premature, our pink skin wasn’t yet covered with fur.



 



Thebarn lady carried us into her home and helped us feel our way to a water bowl.Then, she placed us in a laundry basket heaped with warm towels from a nearbydryer. The next morning, the lady returned with a milky substance in a bottle.The enticing aroma created a frenzy of squealing and squeaking until each oneof us had nibbled the nipple. Our faces were splattered with crusty residuesince we didn’t have a mom cat to lick us clean.



 



Shortlyafter we moved into the laundry room, a sad lady came to stay in the sparebedroom in the basement near us. She slept and cried a lot like us; she seemedto need nurturing as much as we did. From a distance, she watched as the barnlady fed us, but she was reluctant to touch our matted fur or boney bodies.



 



“Theylook more like rats than cats,” I heard her say. At that point, I didn’t carewhat I looked like; I was happy to be alive.



 



Itseemed I was always last to suck the bottle, so I learned to count to seven.Then, a funny thing began to happen. Each day, my turn to eat came sooner andmore often. I moved up from the seventh spot to the sixth, then the third, thensecond. I didn’t mind getting fed more but I wondered where my siblings hadgone. 



 



Slowly,I grew stronger although my legs were still spindly, my hairless ears twitchedin the cold, and my green eyeballs bulged out of my malnourished face. Becausemy brother was stronger and looked more like a cat than a rat every day, hepushed me around. He rubbed his new fur against the sad lady’s ankle, vying forattention. 



 



Thesad lady also was growing stronger. She laughed on occasion and began talkingto the barn lady about moving on. The barn lady suggested her friend take oneof us kittens with her.



 



“Ican’t take care of myself, let alone a sick cat,” she protested. 



 



Thatnight, I slept in the laundry basket alone. I suspected my brother had sneakedinto the lady’s luggage so he could leave with her.  The runt, I dreamedof changing from an ugly barn cat into a beautiful feline with soft fur aswhite as an elegant swan – then, the sad lady might love me. 



 



Mypink ears trembled in the morning when I heard the barn lady tell the sad lady,“There’s only the runt now. Why couldn’t the one who was starting to look likea kitten be the one to survive? The way this one’s eyes bug out and her earsare too big, she looks like Yoda from Star Wars.” 




 


I’m a little confused here. Did the older,healthier cat die? The talk about who was going to survive or not is what Ifind confusing.  I had assumed that thelitter mates were being given away to new homes, one by one. 



 



“Maybeshe’s a Jedi,” the sad lady joked. 



 



So, that’show I got my unusual name. 



 



“I’llhave to take Yoda with me,” my new mom announced. “No one else would want her.She’s so messed up … pretty much the way I feel.” 



 



Mythin hair prickled in excitement at her words. Only weeks old, I knew my new momneeded me as much as I needed her.



 



Thenight before our departure, the barn lady decided I shouldn’t sleep alone, soshe selected three of the older barn cats to have a slumber party with me inthe laundry room. Smothered by a pack of unruly mousers, I didn’t get muchsleep.



 



Thenext morning, my new mom deftly rearranged luggage in the back of her hatchbackto make room for my cat box lined with towels. We headed south the first travelday for a rest stop with family before our long journey west. When my new momlifted me out of the box to introduce me to her favorite aunt, she screamed anddropped me back into the box like a hot potato.



I guess the sad lady prefered to stay witha friend rather than her favorite aunt. So in her family  blood is not thickerthan water it would seem



 



“She’scrawling with fleas! Oooo! That wasn’t a good



 idea to have her spend last night with thebarn cats. Now, what am I going to do?”



 



Mymom’s quick-thinking relative grabbed an old box of 2-in-1 flea and tick powderfor cats. Holding me in her palm, Mom peppered me with powder. For a moment,the fleas stopped biting then my skin began burning like I was in a frying pan.The fleas, reactivated, crawled desperately over my eyes and ears, as anxiousto escape the fire as me.



I don’t want to sound ju judgemental, butit seems to me these people are not the brightest bulbs.



“Ohmy gosh, the label says ‘Not for use on cats under six months…’” They screamed,“oh, no!” 



 If it weren’t for bad luck, she’d haveno luck at all.



Nextthing I knew, we were in the car again, racing to an emergency vet who could“dip” me while Mom’s aunt bombed her house for fleas. Why had I thought lifewith a lady would be safer than hanging out with feral cats and huge horses ina cold barn?



 



Aftermy bath, my soft skin began to feel fuzzy, then furry. By the time we reachedMom’s Coloradohome for the holidays, I resembled a Christmas kitten, all white except for ablack smudge on my forehead which Mom said “looks cute!”



 



Mymom’s mom was allergic to cats, so I was relegated to Mom’s bedroom. Too earlyfor me to learn potty manners or clean myself after falling into the food orfeces, Mom washed me clean with a damp cloth and let me into the bed with herat night. I didn’t talk much since there weren’t other cats in the house toteach me. I adopted a chirping sound to indicate my excitement whenever I sawmy Mom.



 



Althoughmy life was getting off to a rough start, I wasn’t alone. My new mom spent mostof her time sleeping and crying in the bedroom with me. She didn’t go outoften. That suited me fine. 



 



Asthe days grew longer, Mom perked up and played with me like a real kitten. Iwas climbing out of the litter box one spring day when she announced to hermom, “I think it’s time for me and Yoda to move on.” 



 



Ifell on my head and rolled over to hear more. “They’ve offered me a job in California and I’dbetter take it. I’ve been moping around here for three months, long enough.”



 



(Tobe continued.)



I assume you are going to get aroundexplaining what is going on with this vagabond woman. 




 


Are you purposefully setting us up with  a need to read on?



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