Me? How?

The Prompt

Convey a deep conversation between two individuals without uttering a single word aloud.

Me? How?

Those eyes. Pleading. It is time. Though It is always time.

Waiting. Waiting. Accusing. No sound between the two.

Pressure to deliver.

He looked at her, she at him.

He waited.

She knew what she had to do. She always did it, well nearly always, and there was hell when she didn't. A five-minute delay caused a disdainful dismissal from him. Such things would not be tolerated and had, at times resulted in blood being spilled. Her blood not his, of course, so she knew that this must be done.

He stared at her as she picked up the can and the can opener.

She hoped it would open without incident.

The number of times that she thought she had opened it, only to find that the blade wheel had not caught half of the can top, needing her to go round again with extra pressure. Those cans sometimes took three or four goes, and each time his hard stare got more threatening. As she went round again Billy Preston's "Will It Go Round In Circles" came on the radio, how appropriate.

He glared, though she wasn't too scared, she was bigger than him after all but he could veer from loving, to spitefully hurtful and she had the scars to prove it,

She kept on applying extra pressure on the can opener, and she knew what he was thinking, it was more than two minutes past the allocated time, and there would probably be repercussions but she was not sure what they would be.

The top still wouldn't come off so another round was needed, she could try and prise the lid halfway up, but the last time she tried that, she left half the meat in, and sliced her finger resulting in a visit to A&E and stitches, so she stuck to the task.

He was getting impatient and making growling noises.

Finally

The lid flew off and hit the kitchen floor.

She took a fork from the drawer and scooped the wet meat into the dish and she put it on the floor.

He looked and turned his nose up disdainfully. He walked over, looked at it, stuck his tongue out, smelt it, and then turned away, went to the kitchen door and out into the garden through the catflap.

"Bloody Hell," she thought. All that effort and he watched me, and he knew how difficult it was, and how hard it was for me and the little sod just walks off. Well, he's not getting any more, that can just sit and wait til he comes back.

Bloody ungrateful Cat, I feed heed him, clean him, change his cat litter, give him the run of the house and garden and that's what he does. I know he'll come home and want to sit on my lap and want petting, and I know I will just give in and he will get his way once again..........