Flags, The King Of The Apartment

"Now why would you do that?" he's asking now. "If you're going to gym class this afternoon, wouldn't it be wise to eat something healthier than Honey Monster Puffs for breakfast?"

I'm sitting alone at the dining table, my lazy cat relaxing on a beanbag on the floor near my chair. It's true. In front of me is a bowl of Honey Monster Puffs that my mum pushed onto me the last time I was up to see her and dad. She said that I had to take them or they were just going to the charity place she works at on weekends because dad couldn't eat them. Not that he wouldn't if he got his hands on the box, but for some reason mum liked the idea of smuggling them into my car over taking them back to work with her.

I didn't even want to ask why she had them in the house in the first place if only to make such a fuss about it. But now I have to admit, they taste pretty good, and that's coming from a girl who doesn't much care for cereal. Especially on days with my gym class on, so why did I choose cereal this morning? I just looked at the calendar and remembered my appointment.

Squint eyed Flags just lies there. He could fool a con man if he really wanted to, but I bet he can see my phone screen. The little numbers in the top corner read 7:00am. I have several classes to teach before gym that I have to get ready for, maybe I'll grab a muffin on the way...

"No," I can hear Flags say, watching my every move as I get up from the table and go into my room to finish dressing. "How much better do you think a muffin would be than the cereal in front of you right now? I know you blog and write online articles a lot, and from what I've been able to see, you like thinking of yourself as some kind of health freak. SO START LIVING UP TO IT!!

"You've got one life Connie. I've never seen you at school (except during that nightmare of a day called 'pet fair' you had on the oval). More to the point, I've never seen you teach your gym class, but I'd bet my nine lives that you're a pretty good one, so don't let yourself down by eating badly now. It might not be fun, thinking of all the foods you miss out on, so keep your mind focused.

"Do I complain about that putrid wormer you put in my food every six weeks? (I know it's in there by the way). I know you think I just lounge around all day, waiting for you to come home from school to feed me but, well...let's just say that a cat's life is more than soaking up firelight and staring at the forbidden fowls through the window pane."

And so he does who-knows-what while I'm putting up with those new brothers in my class who just can't leave the girls' pig-tails alone or stop pinching their necks. And separating the two hasn't as of yet brought any more peace to the class. In fact, I'm very upset because they are turning some of the other boys and girls into a social club while I'm trying to call out history questions from my fat Australian history book.

But I have to do something to bring in the money that pays for the old fur ball's litter pellets, wormer, and expensive food that I stupidly let him acquire a solid taste for. And apparently teaching was at the top of the list. All the kids love gym class though, so that makes it easier for me. Sometimes I wish Flags was my T.A., making the students listen to that understanding but authoritative English tone I imagine he would have.

My phone buzzes appropriately as the kids file out of the gym to the showers after class. It's a message from my cousin Aida, her name is under the picture of a dark haired girl making the biggest and cheesiest smile possible.

Shoot! I mutter as I read through her message on my way to the coaches' shower block. How did I forget that she is coming up this evening for the Palace Gardens Show!? Not only that, but now I realize that she will be bringing her cat, Sprinkles along as well.

I'm out of the shower and dressed in minutes. There'll be some things to explain to Flags when I get home. He's never had to share his space with another cat, let alone for a whole weekend. I think I mentioned that during the phone call with Aida last week, but...what's there to worry about, right?

"That's what you think!" Flags would be saying now.

He refuses my soothing massage as I sit with him on the lounge at 4:00 to break the news. He stands up, arches his back into a horseshoe and jumps down on the floor to run off into a corner and feel sorry for himself. Maybe I should have prepared him sooner. Apart from being cousins, Aida and I are best friends and we share the same motherly instincts over our cats. She wouldn't stay overnight anywhere without Sprinkles and I wouldn't ask her too. But I have to admit that it will be more tough on Flags than on me.

"You bet your socks it will be!" he would say to that. He's climbed up onto the side table by the window sill, his ringed tail tucked around his legs as he's probably thinking what an awful person I am.

"I don't need a dirty, uneducated country cat in my living room, leaving his muddy paws everywhere while you and your cousin get to spend the day at the Palace Gardens. I mean, how inconsiderate, Connie! So unlike you.

"And surely you don't expect me to eat with him!? The stench of that crummy, poor food he'll most likely be eating will just be unbearable! You know how it was at the start with me before I convinced you that my tastes in food are more advanced?

"The aching stomach...sore mouth...and the vomit you had to clean up because of that despicable excuse for food. Do you really want to go back to that now? How unnecessary it would be, Connie. Aida obviously has a cat transporter. Make her toss her old ball of Sprinkles in his cardboard box and take him to the show!"

***

It's now 6:25pm and Flags still hasn't come down from the table, poor boy. Dinner is cooking in the oven, a simple bake of veggies and things I found in the fridge camouflaged with cheese. I stand by the lounge, propping up the pillows and folding the blankets. I've been so busy cleaning up the place and making the spare room presentable again, that I haven't gotten the time to finish my post on Save The World or the one on Go Natural either. 40,000 followers is pretty good, or so one of my colleagues assured me. I used to have about double that last year, but the numbers dropped along with my submissions to the sites, and I don't know exactly where the time goes.

Besides, it's not like I write for a living or anything, so I'm not complaining.

The main lights are out. The kitchen, lounge room and little hallway leading to the bathroom and bedrooms are lit by my prized glowing lamps and the remote control fire. My mum and dad bought me the first lamp some years ago for Christmas, and the collection grew from there until there were several pretty lamps dotted around on various surfaces, well matching the old homey style these rooms have acquired. It's small, simple and it's home.

"Come on, boy," I coax as I reach past Flags to draw the dark blue curtains across the window. He's been staring at the clouds losing their colours for long enough. Flags and I live in a condo on the tenth floor, so I can't see the car headlights turn into the driveway and tell that Aida is here. Instead, she sends a message as she's walking down the carpeted hallway and knocks on the door almost immediately after. So what was the need for a message anyway? I don't even bother to take the phone out of my jean pocket.

I am excited about Aida's coming, even though she can talk your head off sometimes. I sweep the dust pile out of sight for the moment and stick the broom in the corner. Flags looks towards the door as I pick up a magazine that somehow fell on the floor on my way to let Aida in. She stands there, perfect white teeth that constantly show between a pair of red lips. She is a little taller than me with dark, naturally wavy hair and has a brightly coloured scarf wrapped around her neck. At her side is a peach-pink travel case on wheels with tons of stickers, and in her hands is of course, Sprinkles in his cat carrier.

"Hello!"

Aida instantly reaches in for a hug before I can say a word, making me step forward a little on my toes. And behind me I can hear the unwelcome growl almost before it escapes Flags' throat. His eyes would be almost shut, the tip of his tail twitching.

Aida comes in and sets Sprinkles on the lounge while I battle with her luggage. The wheels won't roll for me for some reason, so I drag it between the lounge and the low coffee table on our way to the guest bedroom.

"Thank you, Connie," Aida calls after me as she lifts the young cat into her arms.

Flags continues to look on with soft growls of protest.

Sprinkles is appropriately named, light grey with dark sprinkles on his back and head. He is a little smaller than Flags.

"Ooh," I croon after leaving the pink, stickered monster by the bed and returning to the lounge room. "I haven't seen you since you were just a baby!"

Aida doesn't comment on my baby voice the way perhaps my dad might have. Instead, she speaks for him in her baby voice version. "Hello, Auntie Connie."

He remains silent and scared for a moment as I stroke his fur, then lets out a mid volume adult's meow.

Flags moves nothing but his tail. I finally go to scoop him up and bring him over to say hello, though not bringing him too close to Sprinkles.

"Be nice," I murmur as I stroke his fur, only now letting his probable present feelings of the situation file through my mind. My phone vibrates as the alarm goes off, calling me into the kitchen. Our cats clutch to us tightly from the scare.

"That looks delicious," Aida compliments my cooking as I serve dinner onto two plates.

I smile. "Thanks." It's only leftover mince, frozen veggies and probably too much cheese, but it should be tasty.

"You have a really quaint little place here."

"Thanks. I like it."

Sometimes I wish Aida would give the compliments she has all at once so that I only have to say 'thanks' once or twice. Couldn't she just talk about cats? Or maybe she's saving that sacred topic for the dinner table. She goes to get food for Sprinkles from her bag, and I prepare Flags' on the 'cat bench' as I call the space furthest from the oven and sink.

My boy is on the beanbag under the table now, and Sprinkles has half retreated back into his carrier. I don't know how things will go between those too, but Aida and I are both optimistic.

"Ha! Our cats eat the same brand!"

Aida opens the tin and pours the contents into a pretty food bowl with Sprinkles' name on it. I swear I see Flag's jaw drop a little.

"Only the best."

"Only the most expensive!" I laugh.

But Aida doesn't laugh at that. "Nothing should be too expensive for our cats," she says strongly and puts the bowl on the floor by the table. "Here Sprinkles, come on," in more baby language.

Speak for yourself. I don't agree with her on that point.

Sprinkles slowly creeps out of the carrier and comes to sniff at the food, taking little mouthfuls at a time. I set Flags' plain coloured bowl on the floor by my chair and sit down.

"Come on," I say, skipping the baby talk. "Stop hiding under the table and eat your food. We have company."

Flags finally responds to some nudging with my shoe point and eats slowly, eyeing Sprinkles the whole time.

Two hours later after some cousin catch up, Aida is completely tuckered out from her trip and I'm craving sleep myself. The dishes can wait in the sink until morning...or do themselves. I leave my door open for Flags in case he wants to come in during the night, but he has full run of the house. Aida decides to keep Sprinkles in his carrier in her room for the night, so I'm relieved that there'll be no caterwauling.

12:05am.

Flags sits curled up on the beanbag at the end of the hallway. It may look like he's sleeping with his nose tucked into his tail, but he's had his eyes on the guest bedroom door ever since Sprinkles went in.

12:10am.

A siren squeals as an ambulance passes below, dodging its way between the unceasing flow of cars in the street. Lights flash and reflect on the ceiling even though the apartment is so high up. Ever so slowly, Flags raises himself up on all fours and bends into a horseshoe again. Then he slowly comes back down to his normal shape and pads silently across the carpet down the hallway, past my door, to Sprinkles' door at the end. With a gentle push of his forepaw, the door swings open and Flags walks in.

"It's dark in here. Connie's cousin obviously doesn't have trouble sleeping in foreign beds, listen to that racket! After living in the country for so long, the poor girl has picked up the language of the pigs!"

A rustle at the back of the cat carrier returns Flags' focus, and he advances cautiously. A soft meow and Sprinkles' face appears. Flags stops. A moonbeam, but most likely some other source of light has shed a trail into the room through a crack in the blinds, and Flags sees Sprinkles clearly.

"What are you doing here?" Sprinkles asks, more out of curiosity than annoyance.

Flags sits up straight a few steps away from the cage and looks down at the newcomer. "I just wanted you to know that when you get out of there tomorrow, if you get out, you'll be under my orders for the rest of the time you're here."

"Huh?" Sprinkles cocks his head. He seems to have a drag in his voice that Flags knows all country folks have.

Flags rolls his eyes. "What I mean, country cat, is that this place is mine day and night, and nothing goes on that I don't no about. I'll be watching you all the time, so don't go breaking any house rules."

"And what might these house rules be?" It sounds like a challenge.

Flags rubs his nose against the soft fur on his chest and looks Sprinkles in the eye. "I don't believe in talking business after hours, it's not good for the brain."

"Ok, no business. But I bet you were surprised when Aida pulled out my fancy food tonight. You probably thought I would be eating mice or something!" And he laughs heartily but Flags deep voice cuts in.

"What you eat is no concern to me. It is not the food you eat that decides your intelligence, but the information."

"Like what?"

"You need an example? Very well. I know Connie's schedule inside and out. I know when she leaves in the morning and when she comes home. I know what school she works at and what classes she teaches. I know her colleagues' names and even have their addresses memorized. I know the name of the diet she went on last year just by observing the food she ate, and I know how to open the fridge and close a sliding window. I know Connie's favourite TV shows and books; I know all about her last boyfriend too. I know everything about Connie."

Sprinkles stares at him, then with a sideway smirk, "so you haven't figured out how to open a sliding window yet?"

Flags ignores the remark. "I don't presume you barn cats could possibly know so much about your masters when you aren't even house trained."

"I'm the exception. I'm here, aren't I? Besides. There are many things we barn cats know that are far more interesting than addresses and boyfriends."

"Like what, pray tell?"

"Like who's responsible for all those kittens pouring out all over the barn last Spring. That was a scandal I could tell you about!" And Sprinkles laughs again. "You wouldn't believe that Maybelle (she's the gentle girl everybody likes), snuck under the fence and ran all the way to Murphey's farm to--"

"Ahh-hem." Flags clears his throat and raises his eyebrows. "I quite understand. However, knowledge of such things hardly qualifies as intelligence."

"And just how does knowing how to open a fridge qualify, pray tell?"

Flags weighs his options carefully.

1. I could strike him in the nose, provided the gaps in the cage are big enough
2. I could research how to teach a cat respect for his elders
3. I could probably trap him out in the hallway tomorrow
4. I could just go back to the lounge room and sleep on it

Flags decides on the last idea as the safest course of action, and slowly eases down on his forepaws.

"This house is not a playground," he says in conclusion. "One would hope that Aida has taught you about proper behaviour when at a friend's house."

"So we're friends then?"

"No," Flags says quickly in his perfect English accent. "Our mothers are friends."

He leaves the room silently and returns to the beanbag to try and enjoy what peace he has left.

Copyright 2023 Misty Rumsley