Rufus

Rufus was a noble yet ordinary cat.
Though his fur wasn’t what it used to be, it would soon grow back, everywhere. In every other way, his stride, face, intellect, or size, he was the epitome of feline pride.
He shared a flat with a human who had the privilege of feeding him and, occasionally, petting him.

While the human wasn’t bad at petting, he was far too slow when it came to meals. Rufus pawed at his tragically empty bowl, his only solace being that his human had gone into the outside world to fetch more nourishment. Rufus had to wait. Licking the last remaining traces of food in it, with his pink nose, he nudged it to the middle of the kitchen doorway.

Rufus leapt onto the counter, searching for signs of his human return. Finding none, he prowled around, nibbled a cord, and watched as it snapped, sending a rolling pin to the edge of the counter. A pile of pizza boxes and newspapers blocked his path, left there to keep him from raiding the rice cooker. Frustrated, he hissed, scratched a newspaper, and stalked out. In the bedroom, Rufus spotted his prey—a red ball. Perfect timing for some exercise. He pounced, sending it flying into the main room. After an intense five-minute chase around his territory, Rufus triumphed, leaving the ball defeated in the entry near his bowl.

To celebrate he sang loudly. His performance wasn’t to the taste of the neighbour, who grumpily banged on the wall to make Rufus stop. The singer only stopped when the golf clubs laying against the designated wall fell against the cabinet.

He jumped on the shoe storage and from there onto the library shelf. It emitted a loud crack. Maybe his human was right and Rufus was indeed a little too voluminous for it. He quickly abandoned it for the cabinet under it.

His human had left a half-empty glass of water on it. Rufus had to do his job. It was necessary. So, he knocked the container over that spilled the lukewarm liquid all over the top of the cabinet. The majestic cat enjoyed the amusing light reflections. Then he rubbed his back against the immovable three-holes big green ball next to him.

That’s when he heard the metallic keys chain near the main door. He went back down to the floor and ran toward the sound. He was there, waiting when the door open.

His human had a brown paper back under his arm. The smell was clear. Food. Rufus meow of excitement for his return. He aggressively rubbed his legs. His human arbored a happily dumb smile but couldn’t walk properly.

Inevitably, he stepped on Rufus’s red ball. He wobbled for two unsteady paces before tripping over his golf clubs. Grasping for the cabinet to steady himself, his hand found only a slick, wet surface. His head abruptly met the kitchen wall, and he collapsed onto the floor, grocery goods scattered everywhere. Nevertheless, he was not done. The chock against the wall signed the end of the faulty library. The books on it slid, falling one after the other. The last book toppled, knocking the green bowling ball loose. It rolled through the spilled water, ricocheted off the golf clubs, and landed perfectly in Rufus’s bowl. The impact sent the red plastic circle flying, tipping the rolling pin off the counter. The tumbling pin caught a loose newspaper, which dragged the pizza boxes and, finally, the rice cooker’s electric cord.

His human stared, dumbfounded, until the rice cooker’s electric cord smashed into his family jewels.

Rufus swayed beside his crying human.

Now he, too, understood the pain of losing them.