Young Writers Society

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm Knight Hardy here on a mission to ensure that all works on YWS has at least two reviews. You will probably never see this but....Imma do this anyway.

First Impression: So this was a really interesting take on this. It was definitely very light story with a simple premise. And that was executed really well and in a way that I think we all would imagine such a situation to play out. The flow of the story itself is slightly off because that ending doesn't seem to correlate all that well to the beginning.

Anyway let's get right to it,

Of Men and Mice

I woke one morning and the sun shone bright and hot across my black hair. Oh! the morning light is glorious. I rolled around in the warmth and fell back asleep. Unfortunately, my nap didn’t last long because my boy, Richard, came in and began to tickle me. I sat up and smacked him across his face but he only laughed and buried his face in my stomach. I struggled to get out from under him so I could scurry away and look back at him reproachfully but his head was heavy and he wouldn’t let me go. I cried out and he giggled and picked me up. I hate it when he picks me up; I am not a toy. He snuggled me close and held me on his lap. It is not so bad when he just holds me. Sometimes I just want to roll in the sun away from people but I don’t mind sitting with him so long as he doesn't pick me up. I really love it when he strokes my hair and tells me that I am pretty.

Then one day, as I lay in my patch of sun, Richard came to me and stroked me like he usually does. “Oh, Mary. You’re such a pretty girl. Won’t you come away with me?” I looked at him blankly like I do when I ignore him and began to preen myself. He giggled again then swooped a burlap sack over my head. I kicked and screamed and scratched and howled as loud as I could but no help came. “I’m sorry, my pretty,” he cooed through the bag, but I was not consoled. I felt him move, swinging my bag ever so gently, as he walked. I noticed after some time that I could smell salt and I wondered what he had gotten himself into. He was young, I could tell, younger than he seemed to know himself. Nevertheless, I refused to stop screaming, despite his desperate pleas. “Shh…please, my pretty. It will be over soon. Oh, please be quiet!” No.

Soon however, like he said, it was over. I felt something hard and flat beneath me and I saw the puckered top of the sack widen and open, though no light shone through. I stood, but my steps were unsteady, and I glared at him as I crawled, disheveled, from the loose mouth of the sack. We were surrounded in darkness and my sack was set on top of a crate. Gracefully, I jumped down, but was toppled as the rocking compartment heaved. “Oh, Mary,” he whispered, pleading, “don’t be angry with me. I couldn't’t live without you.” That’s probably true, I thought, and began preening again. I may have been miserable, lost and unbalanced, but I was not going to be seen as untidy while being so.

Once I got used to what Richard called “the hold”, life was much easier. I was allowed to go above and lay in the sun. The men, hairy and smelly and fixated though they were with picking me up, were, for the most part, very nice, though they did make annoying catcalls at me every time I passed. But then they’d stroke my hair and tell me how pretty I was and I forgave them their gruffness.

No one on deck does anything right. It is clearly my duty to tell them what they need to do or else nothing will get done. If I see one slacking, I go right up to him and let him know that I am displeased. He will look at me sheepishly and get back to work. I am constantly climbing the ropes because these incompetent men can never stay on task. It does not do for Richard to spend so much time with them; even he must be reminded. My job is a thankless and tiring one, but someone has to do it.

Now, after a long, hard day of chasing mice, gracing the men with my presence, charming them out of their fish, keeping them on task, and napping, I will curl up on Richard’s pillow, wrap my tail neatly around my paws, and drift into sleep.

Tag

Wow. Thank you so so much for critiquing my story. There are a few things that I think I cannot change.
1) I have to leave the actions as if they were human because I don't want the reader to know that the main character is a cat until the very last sentence. I'm a big fan of end twists like that; see "Kelpie".
2) Richard is not so much the owner, as he is her "boy". His character is one of the many young boys who ran away from home seeking adventure. He just took his cat with him. He is roughly twelve but age does not seem to be something with which cats often occupy themselves, so I made no note of it except that "He was young, I could tell, younger than he seemed to know himself".
3) As for the historical evidence, I could definitely add some details; remember I wrote this in an hour. Historical fiction is my favorite genre and I am no stranger to laborious research. I mostly have avoided the costume descriptions because I wasn't entirely sure yet what profession these men had; be that navy, merchant or pirate, though I do know an awful lot about pirate life, but that's neither here nor there. Thanks for your notes, though. I appreciate the help.
4) The title struck me as funny. It would have been "Of Mice and Men", seeing as she's a cat and that is what her life revolves around, but I thought that there might be a few protests so I tweaked it.
The grammar was inexcusable; I must have been typing too fast and I can change the dialogue structure.
Thanks again so much for your suggestions. Every little bit helps.

Hi! Welcome to YWS! Hope you enjoy yourself here.

Couple things I noticed right way that should be changed. One, 'doesn't’t' is spelled doesn't. That goes for couldn't.

Two, the dialogue should be adjusted. Every time someone is talking, their should be a new line. Such as:

Then one day, as I lay in my patch of sun, Richard came to me and stroked me like he usually does.

“Oh, Mary. You’re such a pretty girl. Won’t you come away with me?”

I looked at him blankly like I do when I ignore him and began to preen myself. He giggled again then swooped a burlap sack over my head. I kicked and screamed and scratched and howled as loud as I could but no help came.

“I’m sorry, my pretty,” he cooed through the bag, but I was not consoled.

I felt him move, swinging my bag ever so gently, as he walked. I noticed after some time that I could smell salt and I wondered what he had gotten himself into. He was young, I could tell, younger than he seemed to know himself. Nevertheless, I refused to stop screaming, despite his desperate pleas.

“Shh…please, my pretty. It will be over soon. Oh, please be quiet!”

No.

Then one day, as I lay in my patch of sun, Richard came to me and stroked me like he usually does. “Oh, Mary. You’re such a pretty girl. Won’t you come away with me?” I looked at him blankly like I do when I ignore him and began to preen myself. He giggled again then swooped a burlap sack over my head. I kicked and screamed and scratched and howled as loud as I could but no help came. “I’m sorry, my pretty,” he cooed through the bag, but I was not consoled. I felt him move, swinging my bag ever so gently, as he walked. I noticed after some time that I could smell salt and I wondered what he had gotten himself into. He was young, I could tell, younger than he seemed to know himself. Nevertheless, I refused to stop screaming, despite his desperate pleas. “Shh…please, my pretty. It will be over soon. Oh, please be quiet!” No.