Clarissa, Cordelia and the Little Dog

[Today’s snippet came from a prompt give to us by Jean Grimsey at one of the Chudleigh Writers’ Circle meetings. I’m not going to tell you what the prompt was; let’s see how successful I was at writing to it.]


Clarissa the Cat, Clarrie to her friends, curled herself up on the sofa, tucked her tail neatly underneath her and grabbed the bottle of chocolate milk sitting cooling in the middle of the table. As she filled her glass, she threw a quick glance around the room.

“He’s not here,” she pouted. “But he promised we’d meet up for a drink tonight. I’ve run all the way from my violin lesson so I wouldn’t keep him waiting.” 

“So, who is he anyway, this new wonder of yours?” asked her friend Camilla, who’d been through this scenario with Clarissa many times before.

“Oh, he’s just one of the guys I met at the gym,” said Clarrie, examining her claws and trying but completely failing to look nonchalant. “He’s a high jumper from the local athletics club. They’re trying to build him up for the big one.”

“Not the Lunar Leap,” said Camilla, impressed in spite of her misgivings, “wow, he must be some kind of superstar to try that one.”
The two were so engrossed in their chat, they failed to notice the young beagle at the next table. Buster had been shopping. His back hurt, his paws hurt — and his wallet definitely hurt — but he was so excited about being out on the town on his own, he’d decided to end the day with a quick drink and a bone before bedtime.

Suddenly, the noise in the bar dropped and everyone looked towards the door. The lights dimmed as a bulky shape moved into the room.

“Oh,” squealed Carrie, “it’s him.”

“What do you mean, him?” hissed Camilla. “That’s not a he; that’s a she! Honestly Clarrie, you can be so dim at times.”
Cordelia the Cow took one look at the two cats drinking their milk, then turned on her hoof and headed for the door. As she did, her tail caught the table, sending all the china and cutlery to the floor. A battered spoon stuck to the encrusted tomato sauce in a used pasta dish, and the two rolled away together, into the darkest corner of the bar.

Oh, how Buster laughed. It really made his day.

[So what do you think the prompt was?]

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By Elizabeth Ducie

Elizabeth Ducie was a successful international manufacturing consultant, when she decided to give it all up and start telling lies for a living instead.

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