Felicia and the Lizard

Once upon a time, there was a silly little cat who lived in a trailer with three sisters. Her name was Felicia, and she was very sweet, but she was very bad at almost everything cats are supposed to do. She couldn’t jump high, she wasn’t quick or agile, and and she had terrible kitty social skills. Everyone knew exactly where she was at all times, because her loud breathing betrayed her.

One day, the sisters decided that a new addition to the household was in order. A baby iguana would be the perfect pet. They christened him Very Strong Lizard and made a home for him in the empty pantry. They added a lamp for warmth and stuffed a towel under the door so he couldn’t wander around and get into trouble. Still, his new home wasn’t especially secure or comfortable.

One afternoon while no one was home, Very Strong Lizard dislodged the towel and ventured out into the trailer, ready to find a sunny spot to lounge in. It wasn’t long before Felicia noticed. She did what cats are supposed to do, and the one thing she was very good at: She hunted him down.

Very Strong Lizard was no match for Felicia. She left the body on the floor in the eldest sister’s bedroom, where it was met with horrified screams. Poor Fee didn’t know what she’d done wrong. To this day, she still doesn’t.

Felicia, my precious bean, my dumpster child, looking extra glamorous last fall

I’m not kidding, his name was Very Strong Lizard, and he was bought from a sketchy person who had a booth at the Syrup Soppin’ Festival in Loachapoka four or five years ago. Rest in peace, Very Strong Lizard.

Hello internet, it’s me, Caroline

I’m writing this instead of doing my homework. Sure, it’s not wise to leave reading 25 pages of German till late at night, but I like to live dangerously (lol I absolutely do not).

The other day Lona asked me if I write creative non-fiction. I said no. I try my hardest to avoid doing things that I think I’m not good at, and creative writing has always given me fits. I’ve never been able to find my own voice, since I was too worried about sounding profound and obsessing over what other folks were doing. This little blog is an attempt to be myself. Expect musings on personal identity, mental illness, and history topics. And cats.

That’s it for tonight — Emil und die Detektive awaits. Snoozy floof Penny says night night.