After all the chaos of recent days, the car ride, the abduction, the strange lady poking at my belly - I decided that today would be different. Peaceful. Civilised. A day of quiet recovery for a cat of my stature. My revenge could wait. I’m not saying I hold grudges… I just file them alphabetically. Forever.
I began with a long nap on the sofa, stretched luxuriously across the cushions like a furry emperor on his throne. The morning sun hit just the right spot - warm enough to toast my fur, not so bright that it dared wake me. Perfection.
When the light shifted, I relocated to Ben’s office, to my other throne: the windowsill blanket. A fine gift, graciously provided by Ben, who (for once) had demonstrated proper understanding of feline comfort. From there, I drifted into a deep, rewarding sleep filled with visions of a glorious land made entirely of roasted chicken. Mountains of drumsticks. Rivers of gravy. Paradise.
Some hours later, I awoke refreshed, stretched every muscle in slow satisfaction, and set off on my daily inspection of the kingdom. Everything appeared to be in order. The food bowl, sadly empty, the carpet, delightfully shredded. The humans call it “damage.” I call it “texture.”
Then I noticed Ben heading toward the small room - the one with the cold floor, the big bowl, and a mysterious purpose. I’d often wondered what the humans did there. I’d seen them vanish for minutes at a time, sometimes humming, sometimes muttering, always emerging looking strangely pleased with themselves. Very suspicious.
If he’s hiding treats in there, I swear…
Naturally, I followed.
Ben stepped up to the smaller white bowl and pressed a button on top. There was a sudden, dramatic whoosh… like a thunderstorm. I leapt back, fur bristling, as water began swirling around in circles, vanishing into the depths.
Oh good, indoor hurricanes. Perfectly normal behaviour, Benjamin. Perfectly normal.
I stared, wide-eyed.
What sorcery was this?
A portal? A water monster? Some kind of indoor whirlpool for human rituals?
Ben chuckled and left the room, as if summoning whirlwinds from bowls was completely normal behaviour.
I crept closer, curiosity outweighing caution. The bowl was silent now, calm, still, pretending to be innocent. I rose up on my back legs, resting my paws on the edge, and peered inside. Smooth, shiny, filled with still water that reflected my very handsome face.
“Huh,” I thought. “Maybe it’s safe now. Perhaps it’s… drinkable?”
The rim looked sturdy enough, and I am, after all, an athlete. So, naturally, I jumped up onto the edge to inspect it properly.
Balancing there, I did a cautious lap around the bowl, sniffing at everything like a seasoned investigator. The porcelain was cool under my paws, the air damp and oddly echoey. Each step made a tiny click as my claws met the smooth surface.
I peered inside again… the water stared back, perfectly still, as if mocking me. “I see how it is,” I thought. “Trying to lure me in with calmness. Classic trap.”
Still, I had questions. Was it a drinking fountain? A tiny bathtub for humans? A portal to a wetter, stupider dimension? The world deserved answers, and I, Mittens, would provide them.
I leaned a little closer. The reflection rippled. I leaned closer still. My tail twitched. I squinted, sniffed and the seat shifted just slightly.
My back paw slipped.
For one glorious half-second, I performed what might have been a very graceful pirouette. Ten out of ten form, zero out of ten landing.
SPLASH.
Cold. Shocking. Immediate regret.
I flailed, yowled, and attempted a dignified exit, which mostly involved flapping like a damp towel. Thankfully (or insultingly), Ben appeared just in time, scooping me out with a startled shout.
“Oh, Mittens! You fell in, didn’t you?” he said, trying not to laugh.
I shot him a glare through dripping whiskers. “Yes, yes, very heroic,” I thought. “Next time maybe warn me about your indoor water traps.”
He wrapped me in a towel, muttering apologies while I shivered and plotted how best to pretend this hadn’t happened. He rubbed me dry, ruffling my fur into what could generously be described as “creative chaos.”
I endured it with the patience of a saint, or at least of a cat who knows he’ll be fed soon.
When it was finally over, I shook myself free and stalked away, tail high. My dignity was waterlogged but intact.
I followed Ben to the kitchen - clearly, after such an ordeal, I was owed compensation. He opened a cupboard and, to my delight, pulled out a new tin. One I’ve never seen before. The scent that drifted through the air was rich and salty, making my whiskers tremble like antenna tuned to pure joy.
As the tin cracked open with a satisfying click and my siblings appeared out of nowhere, drawn by the sound like little furry magnets. We circled Ben’s legs in formation, three sharks patrolling their prey.
He divided the contents into three bowls - mine, and my siblings - while we paced between his feet in anticipation. It was new. It was glistening. It was… tuna.
Still, I wasn’t about to trust him blindly. Not after the recent betrayals. I leaned in and gave the bowl a cautious sniff, eyes narrowed. No tricks.Just… food.
I took one small, deliberate bite - for safety testing purposes. The taste hit instantly: heavenly, rich, and perfectly tender. A flavour so divine it could only have descended from the highest kitchen shelf.
Meanwhile, my siblings were already nose-deep in their portions, devouring theirs like savages. I sighed, dignity restored, and joined them, this time, with enthusiasm.
Finally, a dish befitting my greatness.
When the last morsel vanished and the bowls gleamed clean, the three of us exchanged satisfied looks - the universal signal for nap time. Bellies full, tails twitching lazily, we padded back to the living room. My sister curled up on the rug, my brother flopped dramatically on the armchair, and I, naturally, reclaimed the best spot: the middle of the sofa. Within minutes, the house was filled with the soft rhythm of purring.
One thing was certain, though: I had discovered the truth about the mysterious bowl.
It was dangerous. Deceptive. Possibly sentient.
And I would never go near it again.