The folks over at Fiction Friday have given us the following prompt.'Don't sit there' she commanded 'that's the cat's chair'
I once had an ancient aunt. Great Aunt Maud she was called. Fortunately we didn’t often see her because she lived in an old folks home in the north of England several hundred miles away. Just her and her big round tabby cat called Moucher.
Now don’t ask me where she got that name from. I investigated it once and I found out that to moucher means to blow a child’s nose in French. But more interestingly it is also the name given to someone who smokes other people cannabis. I remember Great Aunt Maud used to smoke, and Moucher was probably a passive smoker, but weed? Not so sure. Mummy used to call it Mousetrap!
When I was a kid I was terrified of her. She was a little deaf but refused to use a hearing aid. She was clearly unaware of how loudly she spoke. Did I say spoke? Bellowed would be a better word to use!
I was, believe it or not a shy child, particularly when I was in the company of my Aunt. She would yell a question at me and I would start to answer, but as I spoke she would glare at me and my voice began to tail off! ‘Speak up gal!’ she would scream.
I suppose I was about twelve when I last saw her. It was our yearly visit and I can still see my parents and me filing into her room for our annual audience. There she sat, arms folded over her ample bosom and dressed in a blue and yellow floral dress the size of a tent! Her hair was skillfully sculpted and tinted in her favourite lilac colour. Wisteria she called it. ‘Sit child’ she boomed ‘you are making the place look untidy’
I backed toward a chair and started to sit down. ‘Don’t sit there,’ she commanded. ‘That’s the cat’s chair’. Unfortunately it was too late and I felt a soft lump of something under my bum. I jumped up again, turned round a there was Moucher, motionless,looking somewhat flatter than usual with its mouth open and two glassy eyes peering up into space.
I was mortified, and began crying uncontrollably. ‘Stop grizzling child’ she yelled. ‘Just plump him up then go and sit over there. I paid good money to have him stuffed when he passed over , but I didn’t intend him to be a cushion’.
When I told her I thought I’d killed Moucher she actually smiled. I’d never seen her smile before and I never did since. She also passed over. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s still sitting there in her chair next to Moucher, both of them comfortably stuffed!
My friend Keith asked me to remind you about Carry on Tuesday. The new prompt will be up on Sunday to give you plenty of time to compose your piece!