So, posting this short story took a lot of overcoming my self-consciousness and doubts. I’m going to give it a shot and post a short story I wrote a while back. I actually come from a journalism and creative writing background professionally, so writing is my art.
I’m not vain or arrogant enough to say I’m a flawless and uber talented writer, but I do try my best to get creative with words. If you’re up for a short story, please read mine and let me know any feedback you have for me. 🙂
Word: Ailurophile- A Cat Lover
She is a proud ailurophile, but afraid to show it publicly. She’s been keeping this cat-lover thing under wraps, proud but ashamed at the same time. She wanted to show off her love for cats, her knowledge of the different breeds, how she created a baby-pink cat sanctuary out of a room for her pets Cookie, a domestic American Shorthair, and Belle, her Persian princess. But she knew better- what was that thing they all said? Woman-cat lover-frigid-lonely-frumpy- yada yada yada. But to her, being an ailurophile symbolized femininity, independence, mysterious and high standards. Cats aren’t the easiest beings to please, and they can function well on their own.
These traits of an ailurophile she conjured up in her mind; they didn’t seem to apply to her. She was feminine, alright, but she couldn’t ever imagine dolling herself up with much makeup. Just a touch of pale lipstick and a hint of mascara for her. No siree, she didn’t want to look like a fake doll sold in the toys aisle of a supermarket. As for being independent- sure, she stayed alone in a two-bedroom apartment in the city. She worked in a respectable career in a publishing house and brought home enough money for everyday necessities and occasionally indulging her whims. But she needed her cats to keep her company on quiet Saturday and Sunday mornings.
When she came home from work and looked at the sunset from her window every day, she wished to share a cup of tea with someone. Her cats mewed reassuringly as if to tell her that she would always have her feline friends around. A silken rub against her ankle, a soft 10-second stay on her lap… fleetingly good but fleeting. She was picky about who she let into her life and her space, which was almost nobody. Didn’t this just mean that she had high standards, emotionally and physically?
“There I go again,” she thinks. Recently, her moods swing around like a wrecking ball. Her perfectionism is leaking outside her work habits to her personal life, never completely satisfied with what she has. “Stop mewing so much, Belle! Didn’t I just give you some cat nibbles a few minutes back? I just want to think for a bit.” Yes, what was she thinking? Her mental state has been cloudy, much like the March weather. From being a content ailurophile to a lonely woman with two cats to feed and zero lovers.
She is supposed to be an independent 21st-century woman who is independent and doesn’t need a man to complete herself! But that ‘supposed’ hangs in the air like a question mark in a mystery novel.
Suspicious, unable to place a finger on this sudden need for another human being. Isn’t just being an ailurophile with two beautifully groomed cats in a pink room enough? Why can’t she talk about it on social media? She can only imagine some idiot commenting, “Get laid!” on her Facebook post if she did that. “Yeah, I’ll get laid! But my cats have to really like him before he gets under my tiffany blue cat-print duvet.” She gets up to go rummage in the kitchen because now Cookie has joined Belle in the loud mew-fest.