Tasha
I jumped onto the bed and then to her stomach. She saw me coming so my surprise attack was useless; even so, her abdomen tensed, giving away her condition, telling me she had to go to the bathroom. I didn’t do all this to be mean, and as her hands moved over my fur and her fingers scratched my chin, my throat began to vibrate and my paws moved up and down.
It was so soothing to have Jessica pet me. She knew exactly where I loved to be petted and she would scratch behind my ears and at the tip of my chin with soft grace. She ran her hands down both sides of my body and up my tail without pulling the least little bit. Her hands were dry and didn’t stick to my fur she would kiss my nose lightly when I wanted her to and in return, I’d rub my face on her nose, making her giggle.
The other humans weren’t like Jessica. She had patience and saw things about me optimistically. She understood I was different, and I understood she was different. I didn’t like the other cats, and the other humans called me schizophrenic, but Jessica didn’t call me anything, except “Princess.” She also didn’t care what time of the night I came to her door. When I scratched, she’d get out of bed and open the door. She’d pet me once and lead me to the bed, sitting on the edge so I could get in her lap. When she got tired of sitting up, she’d carefully lie down, and I’d crawl onto her stomach.
Jessica had no objections to my kneading, not even when my claws caught her skin. She’d just adjust her blanket so that my claws dug into it and not her. Like the way she knew how I liked to be petted, I knew when she was ready to stop. After a few minutes of this “lovey session,” as the humans called it, I would lay on her stomach, her pillow, or the gap at the corner of her bed, between the wall and her pillows, and take a nap. She usually didn’t want me sleeping on her pillows because the scent of her shampoo made me attack her head in a frisky manner, but she’d laugh and sit up before laying her head off to the side of the pillows, allowing me full rights to the small fluffy bed. My favorite spot, between the pillows and wall, would sometimes have a notebook, pen, cell phone, or mp3 player lying there, but Jessica would graciously move it for me to lie down.
After she finished petting me, I went into my corner and curled up. I began to clean myself, and in a few minutes I was fast asleep.
It didn't hold my attention. I'll tell you that writing from a dog's point of view isn't an exactly original idea. I know this because I've done it. (And you've done it...ergo...). If you're going to write something, there needs to be a purpose. You have to say something of interest. You have to condense it, use words that suit your meaning only, and past that, cut it.
