Senior Year

I

It was six AM on a humid September morning. The sun was just barely rising, its radiant light trying to make its way through the folds in the window's blinds. The cats were sleeping soundly; Gizmo, the dark orange tabby, lying at the foot of the bed; Snuggles, the pitch black cat, lying in his window-hung bed; Frankie, the youngest cat, with a coat of the prettiest gray and white, sleeping soundly in the dirty clothes hamper. The world was at peace.

Gizmo was the first to awaken from his deep sleep. He was on the older side, being somewhere around the ages of twelve or thirteen at this point. He didn't do much; he slept most of the day and only left the bed to eat, drink and use his litter box; he was fairly overweight too, for a cat, which most likely was why he rarely moved from his resting spot. He stopped running and being playful with the other animals once the old age settled in, too. He was, more or less, a lonesome little creature, and he was perfectly fine with that. Although, he did enjoy when people gave him affection. There was one specific spot behind his ear and on his belly that would make him roll around and rub his head against your hand if you ever stimulated them enough. He also loved to lay in the nook of a person lying on their side while sleeping to be close to someone. He was a pure and beautiful old soul.

After taking a moment to fully stretch himself out, Gizmo jumped off the bed and made his way to the kitchen where his breakfast would be served. In here, Snuggles was still sound asleep in his hanging bed. He was the middle child of the three cats. He was around the age of eight by this point in time, and spent most of his days alone in one of the two kitchen windows, sitting and staring out at the world he'd never be able to visit. After his twin sister, Demon, had gotten out through someone leaving the backdoor open for too long, he was never really the same.

You could say that Demon was more "feral" in nature and would always try and get out any chance she got. She was also a much more anxious cat than the others; she hated strangers and would hide in the basement ceiling any chance she got. Getting out must have been her one chance at freedom and getting away from humans and their hold on her.

After she left, Snuggles never did anything besides sleep, eat, and use the litter box, much like Gizmo. The only difference between the two, however, was that, unlike Gizmo, who didn't care if you showed him affection or not, Snuggles begged for attention. If he came into contact with you or someone he liked, he would meow and climb all over your legs to try and get affection. Sometimes he would become an extreme annoyance if you ignored his cries, in which case you would most likely either a) leave the room or b) push him away. He wasn't necessarily neglected, but that might have been how he himself felt from time to time.

Snuggles awoke to the sound of Gizmo's paws walking on the hardwood flooring of the kitchen. After stretching, he as well jumped down from the hanging-bed. Upon impact with the floor, he made a loud thud which woke up Frankie, who was still sleeping in the hamper, and the newest edition to the animal kingdom, Stitch, the nine month old puppy. Frankie had just turned two over the summer, so his young and youthful energy was still very much with him. He came from a group of fifty (not all born at once; That'd be absurd.) that all lived in a hollowed out wall in an abandoned building somewhere in North Jersey. He had to fend for himself from a young age until the litter was actually found; he never got to truly experience a nurturing or loving environment until he was placed in a PetSmart where he was eventually adopted. There's no telling what he truly experienced during those few months in that wall.

Stitch on the other hand was just your average puppy. He was very, very young and full of energy. He loved people and would always whine whenever he didn't receive any attention. One thing to note is that he would jump and climb up people's legs, a lot more than Snuggles ever did, until he was given the attention he believed that he so rightfully deserved. He had no concept of what was good behavior and what was bad; he could poop or pee on the floor and still expect you to show him the same affection and attention as if he had used his puppy pad properly. These actions led to many, many beatings done not by the person who chose him, but by the parent of said person. From these beatings he began to feel a growing sensation of neglect within his core. However, he never showed this feeling when people were around, and still insisted on doing his mindless whines for attention. When people weren't around, he would either lie in the recliner in a small ball, or lie in his bed and pretend to sleep. He wasn't old enough to fully understand his emotions; the most he could understand was that a beating was a bad thing, and soft pats and rubs were a good thing.

Both Frankie and Stitch made their way to the kitchen. Stitch, being the playful puppy that he is, saw the cats and started running toward them. Frankie, being the youngest and not having a great liking for stitch, ran away and stationed himself in front of the backdoor. When Stitch had made it to the kitchen and gotten close to him, he swatted at the dog's forehead, signaling for Stitch to back off and calm down. Stitch, however, took this as an invite to play (as he always did) and proceeded to jump and walk back and forth toward the cat, standing on his hind legs from time to time trying to put his paw on Frankie's head.

This continued for several minutes, until the bathroom door opened and caused the "fighting" animals to divert their attention to the sound that found its way to their ears. Out from the bathroom came their feeder, a white towel wrapped around his waist and his body dripping with water. He made his way through the kitchen, stopping only for a few seconds to say, "Just a few minutes, guys."

He then made his way to the pantry and down the basement stairs to his living quarters, which he used as both a place to sleep and as a place to work. Soon he would be dried and changed into clothing depending on what type of day it was: a work day, or a non-work day. That day, he wore a pair of grey khakis and a navy blue polo shirt. He had multiple meetings to attend throughout the day, and needed to look as clean and polished as possible. Not a hair could be out of place nor could a part of his shirt be too loosely tucked. If something didn't look right, he would take the time to fix it and make it flawless.

After making sure everything about him was perfect and suitable for a meeting environment, he made his way back upstairs to feed the animals, who were now all pestering him for their breakfast.

"All right, all right guys! Just give me a minute," he said as he opened the container of dry cat food. He reached for the plastic cup that was used to scoop the food, filled it to the brim, then made his way to the bowls. Here he made sure to lift them all off of the ground and place them on the counter so that he would be able to pour the food without the animals trying to eat while he was filling the bowls. For a perfectionist, he never cared nor bothered to measure how much food went into each bowl.

After pouring all of the food, he placed the bowls down in a random order; first came Stitch (yes, he actually ate cat food. He didn't seem to care, as long as he was eating.) who was always fed first regardless, as he would constantly pester the cats if he wasn't occupied with his bowl first. Next came Frankie, followed by Gizmo, then finally Snuggles. The animals were now taken care of, and their feeder could now spend time in the living room watching television and scrolling through his Facebook feed, emails, and text messages he'd received while he was asleep.

The time was now six fifth-teen AM. Stitch and Frankie had finished their food before Snuggles and Gizmo and had decided to move into the living room with the feeder. Snuggles finished about half of his serving before he left his bowl; he went and jumped into the window adjacent to the one with his bed hanging in it and gazed off into breathtaking beauty of the outside world. That left Gizmo, who was always last to finish. He tended to eat his serving and would usually start working on whatever was left of Snuggles' food. It didn't come off as wrong to him, but the feeder would yell at him from time to time if he caught him eating other's servings. He has yet to grow out of that habit.

After finishing both his and Snuggles' servings he headed back to the bed. He used all of the force he could muster to jump back up, and positioned himself in the same spot he had previously been sleeping in; at the very foot of my bed, right on the side of my legs.

The time was now six twenty-nine, and he was slowly falling back into a peaceful sleep. Meanwhile, I had been awake since six, and was dreading the day ahead. The clock struck six thirty, and my phone's alarm went off; it was the signaling of the end of my last summer days as a child, and the beginning of the final year of my adolescence. It was the first day of Senior year, and my world was no longer at peace.