Doors

I've combined two prompts.  Again.

StoryDam Writing Prompt

Prompt:

Free write for ten to fifteen minutes about what is inside of you whether it is metaphorically or physically. Or… write a story about the above choice, will you find the key to open the door to your past, present, or future?

Word Prompt: Key

Sentence Prompt:

I held the key but didn’t know where it would lead…

Did she really want to know what was behind the door…

Of course this may lead you in a completely different direction. Follow your heart and write what you think, feel, know!

Trifecta; Week Sixty-seven

JUGGLE (transitive verb)
1a : to practice deceit or trickery on : beguile
  b : to manipulate or rearrange especially in order to achieve a desired end
2a : to toss in the manner of a juggler
  b : to hold or balance precariously
3: to handle or deal with usually several things (as obligations) at one time so as to satisfy often competing requirements <juggle the responsibilities of family life and full-time job — Jane S. Gould>
Please remember: 

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words. 
• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. 
• The word itself needs to be included in your response. 
• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 
• Only one entry per writer. 
• Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 

There is a door inside my head.  Or rather, there are doors.

One is the door of responsibility, the one that opens on orderly shelves. Where bills are paid on time and promises are kept.  The one that has my time scheduled minute to minute. Everything is tidy and perfectly spaced.

Around the corner is the door of dreams, where I have a whirlpool bathtub, and I can sleep until I feel like waking up. A place where I can all my own food, spin my own yarn, and make my own soap.

The door of imagination.  Packed behind that door are the voices of the page. The immortals that have a book for me to write. Or the stories of the widow and her late husband's dog.  And the tales of cats with more than mice on their minds.  

I want to unlock all the doors at once, let their contents loose.  I want to juggle it all into a manageable, glorious adventure.  

I just want it all.

Crashing

Today we’re trying a little something different. Are you ready? Your word is below. Take the next ten minutes to write about the first single memory that word calls up. Focus on the emotions and the experience, spend ten minutes really exploring that memory. Then wrap it up, publish, and come back to link up.

Crash.

I felt it in my stomach.

The two younger cats were showing undue curiosity about the space on the other side of my end table.  I got up to see what had grabbed their attention.

My oldest, Cat, Herself, Mistress of All She Surveys, was lying on the floor on her side.  Her front legs outstretched, claws scrabbling for purchase on the wood floor.  Her hind legs drawn against her body, not moving.

I touched her gently, she made no sound, didn't acknowledge my presence.  I carefully picked her up, something she despises.  I sat with her in my lap.  She finally looked at me, stood and leapt lightly to the floor again.

She stayed on her feet, though her backside swayed  with each step.  I followed her to the next room.  She jumped to the kitchen counter easily.

Crisis averted?

I don't know.  She is fifteen years old.  I know our time left is short.

I'll be watching her closely.

The next crash will be the breaking of my heart...

Three Textures

For this week’s memoir prompt, we’re going to let narrative take a backseat. Choose a moment from your personal history and mine it for sensory detail. Describe it to us in rich, evocative details. Let us breath the air, hear the heartbeat, the songs, feel the fabric and the touch of that moment.




Cat; Herself; Mistress of All She Surveys, at 14, the eldest of the three.  Steps into my lap with feather lightness.  She settles in before I know she's there. 
Black fur with bits of white now, smooth, sleek, and silky under my fingers.  As I move along her back, I feel the bones that have begun to protrude at her hips, showing her age. 
She rolls to her back in the crook of my arm for a belly rub.  Her purrs vibrate with pleasure, warm dampness against my arm where she's has drooled a bit.

Sir, my pretty boy, long haired silver tabby. Fifteen pounds of muscle and fur.  Fur so soft my work worn hands can hardly feel it.  I use my face to feel the cottony texture, he sniffs at my mouth, perhaps to make sure of who I am. 
His step is not light, he rocks the chair we share.  He revels in the scratching of my fingers.  Bites ever so gently with saber fangs when I rub his belly. 
Then he drops onto my lap.  He hides his head under his paws and heaves a sigh.  Soon he sleeps, his deep rumble of purrs dissolve into snores.  His weight puts my legs to sleep as well.  The warmth of his body transfers to my thighs as he gets heavier in sleep.

Wee, youngest, smallest, and most wary of the three.  Also black, but a deeper shade.  Fur that is full and coarser than the others. I bury my fingers in it, feeling the coolness of the fur against the heat of her small body.
She climbs full clawed to my lap.  Or leaps from somewhere, her speed and gravity making up for her lack of weight.  Insistent that her presence be known.  With needled feet she kneads my lap to her specifications. 
She sits tense, a bundle of action, looking for the next target.  She purrs and mews, stands to tap my face. Soft paws punctuated with claws.  Her nose to my nose, her sandpaper tongue scrapes my skin. 
As sudden and violently as she appears, so does she depart.  A parting mew, a loud thump as she uses speed and gravity once again.

The three takes their turns.  When one leaves, another soon takes their place.  I know each one with my eyes closed.  Their presence brings comfort, warmth, and the unconditional love that pets have in abundance. 




My cats grace both of my blogs.  Cat is on the button for Random Rants.  Sir and Wee share space on the button of this blog, Elsetime & Otherwhen.

Once Upon a Purr

Flash Fiction can be fun and a real challenge. This week focus on the words and the strength of each to contribute to your story. Write a 300 word piece using the following word for inspiration: LIFE.



The door opened with only small sound. Six ears perked with curiosity. 
The intruder stepped carefully over the threshold. Twelve velvet paws padded silently from their naps.
The mini flashlight played over someone's belongings. Six incandescent eyes followed the beam. 
The stranger's hand turned the bedroom doorknob. Three tails became exclamation points of shock at the audacity. 
Three growling voices were the last thing the intruder heard before the uncountable talons and teeth began. 

She awoke the next morning to find the back door ajar. How odd.  But, everything seemed in order. 
She opened the cupboard and randomly chose a can. 
"Here kitties, time for breakfast!"
People made fun of her affection for her cats. They didn't get it.  Her cats were her life.