Echo the Reincarnated Cat God, Part II

It's a dog's life...

 

This series of short stories is partly inspired by the antics of Facebook feline legends, Felix and Willow, and partly by my totally insane, cat-like Great Dane, Echo Eloquence (yes, that's his actual name).

I am a cat in dog’s clothing, the reincarnation of godlike royalty in the body of a pony-sized dog.

I’m not impressed with this body. It produces enough slobber to rival Niagara Falls. Its rancid breath suggests a sky rat flew down its gullet and died midway between mouth and stomach. Truly heinous.

But I am a cat, and I will make this dog body work for me.

One of the few benefits of inhabiting this gross, gangly canine form is that its bark is worse than its saliva-drenched bite. It’s loud enough to raise Lazarus from his grave, crossing both time and space with the effectiveness of a supersonic jet.

Exhibit A: meal time.

Breakfast is 5:58AM sharp. Everyone knows this, even my servants. But my servants need time to caffeinate themselves sufficiently in order to serve me.

Fortunately, I’m a compassionate, benevolent dictator. I understand the effort required to wake up those puny little human brains. So I mercifully assist in the resurrection process.

I position myself strategically under my servants’ window, tip my dog-breath snout to the dark heavens, and howl. Not like a cat, because let’s be honest. A cat’s howl travels only so far.

No, gentle follower. I howl like a descendent of the wild wolves of Northern Canada, taking full advantage of the ginormous vocal cords of this new body of mine, and I let it roar.

Like the king of the beasts that I truly am, I announce my displeasure to the world. The sound explodes out of me and envelops the house, the garden and the entire city.

The results are deeply fulfilling. Lights flicker to life. A frizzy head that looks like it hasn’t seen the pointy side of a comb in months pokes out of the window, and the female servant mutters, “Echo, for God’s sake, shut up.”

I contemplate reminding her that she is, in fact, addressing a god, a feline god in canine form, but she isn’t caffeinated enough to comprehend, so I continue barking and howling.

Eventually, the servant stumbles to the kitchen, pours herself a cup of ambition, and feeds me.

As the wise ones say, it’s a dog’s life… as long as a cat is running the brain.

Who or what wakes you up in the morning? Let me know in the comments!

For more quirky stories, check out my story catalogue.