Prompt Response: Asking nicely
My response to the second Flash Lit June prompt of 2025.
Flash Lit June Prompt #2: Asking nicely
It’s 3am and Mowgli is done asking nicely. He’s about to misbehave. The shock might kill her (because he is a well-mannered, older gentleman Siamese cat), but at least then he’d have something to eat.
It’s 3am and Mowgli can see the bottom of his food bowl. Has she stopped loving him?
He changes the pitch of his yowl to a higher note of desperation. It’s Oscar-worthy but she’s used to it. Dammit.
She mumbles something incoherent and reaches out to pat him blindly in her sleep. He sidesteps her effort. As if affection could fill his stomach!
Sometimes affection takes the edge off. But not tonight.
He yowls again. This time, she says his name and he does not like her tone.
It’s 3am and damn the consequences! He stomps his way across the pillows, stepping on her face twice before climbing on the nightstand where she keeps her stupid phone. It lands on the floor with a smack-bang and she rolls over, levers herself over the edge of the bed just enough to retrieve it, and pulls herself back up to drop back to sleep with it in her hand.
Mowgli huffs. Now what?
He gets up and systematically clears the nightstand. The lip balm, the cough drops, her book, and three pens go flying and skidding across the floor.
She grunts and rolls onto her back.
He trots across her chest with pinpoint accuracy. She screams and flails wildly.
He ducks and flies to a spot just out of arm shot, ready to run with her to his food bowl.
But she just rolls over again and goes back to sleep. Of all the fucking nerve!
They have been together 16 years. When did she stop caring?
They used to be perfect for each other. She used to know when to cuddle, when to give space. When to practice leaps and twists with string, when to read in the sun. When to top up the fucking kibble.
His chin drops to his paws. Is the magic gone?
Finally, he rises and walks the length of her body.
“Last chance, lady. Wake up and feed me.” He meows demurely and throws in a few hard rubs on her cheek with his head, just for luck.
Nothing.
He places a paw on her closed eyelid. “Don’t make me do this.”
She twitches him away.
Okay, then. No more Mr. Nice Guy. He angles his backside to the headboard and starts the wiggle.
She jerks bolt upright. “MOWGLI! Don’t you dare spray in here.”
They stare at each other in the dark. She blinks first.
“FINE” She doesn’t sound fine. But she’s up and she’s moving in the direction of his food bowl.
He trots happily beside her, tail at full mast.
“You’re a little shit, you know that?” She says, stroking his back as he settles in for his post-midnight snack.
His purr is deep and full-throated. They are still perfect for each other, after all.
