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  • Writer's pictureChase Walker

Writing Prompt: Saturday Morning Routine

For this week’s blog post, I’ll try telling a story through dialogue. Not because I think it will be exceptionally challenging, but because I don’t usually write this way and I think it would be fun. I also thought it would be fun to share my usual Saturday morning routine with you all in a completely outrageous way. Enjoy.

“Treats,” Gil said. I rolled over and tried to ignore him. “Treats.”

“It’s Saturday,” I said. “Go ask mom.”

“But you are in the bedroom,” Gil said. “Treats are in the bedroom. You give me treats.”

“You got treats last night, you crackhead. I can’t give you any more or you’ll get fat.”

“You can give me more treats and I won’t get fat,” Gil said flatly.

Not a lot of inflection is possible with a meow, but several years of speaking to Gil have allowed me to hear the subtle changes in the sounds he makes. Most of the time, he uses a flat tone like a lord of some extravagant manor would use to speak to his staff.

“Treats,” he said again, purring right in front of my face.

When I realized he would not leave me alone, I sat up. This prompted an excited response from him. He rubbed his body against my ribs and purred loudly. His whiskers tickled and I scratched him on the top of his head, behind his ears.


“No,” I said. “I already told you. Inside cats can’t have treats often or they’ll get fat.”

“I’ll be an outside can and then you can give me treats.”

“You wouldn’t know what to do outside,” I said as I pet down his back and scratched his hindquarters. “Besides, it’s cold outside.”

“What is ‘cold’?” Gil asked as he lifted his back end to be scratched more efficiently, tail waving back and forth.

“Cold is the absence of warms,” I said.

“I like warms,” he said.

“I know. That’s why you won’t like outside.”

“I could do colds if I get treats,” Gil retorted.

“There’s also water outside. It falls from the sky sometimes.”

“Like that weird closet that you and mom stand in sometimes?”

“Yeah but this water is just as wet but it’s much colder,” I said.

“Nevermind,” Gil said, jumping off the bed. “Mom will give me treats later.”

“Probably,” I said.

Then, I heard eight paws running down the hallway. Diesel and Molly burst into the room and Gil jumped up off the floor onto a dresser.

“Watch where you’re going you lesser beings,” Gil hissed.

“Well, hello, little brother,” Diesel said wagging his thick tail and sniffing upward toward Gil. “Dad, could you tell Gil I say hello and that I love him and that he is my favorite cat and that all other cats are probably plotting something and should never be trusted like that man who puts things in the mailbox or that lady who pushes that wheeled thing with the little person in it?”

“What is it saying?” Gil asked.

He is your brother and he’s saying hello.”

Gill stretched his leg straight up into the air and began licking his underside. Diesel and Molly put their front paws on the edge of the bed and shoveled their snouts into my hands.

“Tell him he is a savage, no better than those creatures he’s descended from, always barking, sniffing, licking.”

“Says the guy who’s licking his own butt,” I said.

“It’s how I stay clean and you know it. Besides I would have balls to keep clean as well.” Gil glared directly at me. If his eyes could physically cut, I would fall away into hundreds of little meat cubed pieces. “But those are gone, aren’t they, father?”

“What did he say?” Diesel asked.

“He said good morning, Diesel and that he loves you and that you are a good boy but he still likes his personal space.”

“Oh boy,” Deisel smiled, tongue hanging out the left side of his jowls. “He said I’m the good boy? Me?”

I nodded.

“Hey Dad,” Molly said, tail wagging and hind legs doing a little dance on the floor. “Dad. Hey dad. Dad, dad, dad, daddy, dad, dad, father, papa, dad.”

“What Molly?”

“Could you pet me with both hands?” Molly asked.

“I could but I only have two hands and Diesel needs pets too,” I said.

“But I’m cuter,” Molly said. “So you should just pet me. He’s fine. He doesn’t need them.”

I shook my head. “That’s not fair, Molly.”

I returned my attention to Gil while Molly continued to try to hog my attention.

“Dad. Dad. Dad. Dadda. Daddy. Father. Male parent. Dad.”

“Diesel doesn’t have his balls anymore either, Gil.”

“He doesn’t even know he’s missing anything. I do. You still have yours.”

“I don’t mark my territory around the house. And if I get out, I don’t run the risk of fighting or impregnating the neighborhood cats.”

“But I won’t get out,” Gil said. “There is colds out there and water falls from the sky.”

I pushed the dogs aside and slipped on my house shoes. Gil jumped back to the bed and sat close to me, looking at me with his accusing eyes.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

I said nothing.

“I think you castrated us so that we would be docile,” Gil sneered. “I think you wanted us to be controllable, dutiful pets for your sick superiority complex. You get unconditional love from the dogs. What do you get from me? A cute little fuzzy toy that sleeps, purrs, eats, sleeps, poops in a box, eats, sleeps.”

“You said sleep three times,” I said.

“I do that three times as often as anything else. Do you know why? Because I’ve been emasculated.”

“Not having testicles hasn’t kept you from scratching the furniture,” I said as I stood and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

“My one act of rebellion,” Gil mused.

“Hey, dad,” Diesel said. “Could you tell Gil I found his present in the laundry room. It was delicious.”

My face squinted in disgust. “What was it?”

“The usual. A ball of hair in a puddle of puke. My favorite. I still can’t get to the sandbox with his other goodies he leaves for us.”

“Yeah. Yeah. That gate is in the way,” Molly chimed in. “If you could just move the gate, we could get to the sand nuggets.”

“First, eating hairballs is gross. Second, that gate is there to keep dogs out of the cat box. That’s the whole reason it’s there.”

I turned back to Gil.

“Next time you have a furball, let me know so I can clean it up.”

Gil smiled.

“The savage ate it, didn’t he. I knew he would. Disgusting creature.”

I walked into the hallway and Molly ran to the door to the garage.

“Car? Car! Car! Car?” she jumped up and down at the closed door.

I said nothing and walked toward the kitchen with Diesel on my heels.

“Ok,” Molly said as she followed excitedly. “Maybe later. Later right? Car later? Why no car?”

“Nope,” Diesel said as he trotted ahead to greet his mom. “He has to pick up the metal things that jingle on a ring first.”

But Diesel was distracted before he made it to the other room. He stood on his hind legs and growled at something outside the window. Molly quickly joined him.

“You don’t belong here,” Diesel said. “Unless you wanna be friends but I’m pretty sure you are made of meat and I would eat you and crunch on your little bones.”

“Yeah,” Molly barked. “Me too. I would also do that as well.”

From outside, I heard chattering. I walked to the window. On a branch, sat a single fat squirrel.

“You can’t get me,” the squirrel taunted. “I’m out here and you’re in there. Plus I’m super fast and I can get up a tree. You can’t climb trees.”

“What’s he saying, dad?” Molly asked.

“He said ‘you can’t climb trees.”

“I peed on that one, dad,” Diesel said. “It’s mine.”

“This one?” I asked, feigning outrage. “But that squirrel is sitting in it. How could he do this to us?”

“I know!” Deisel exclaimed. “He can’t do that.”

“The nerve of this squirrel,” I said.

“If we bark at him, he’ll go away, right dad?” Molly asked.

“I sure hope so, Molly,” I said. “Let’s try.”

“Hey!” Deisel barked. “Go away, squirrel! That’s my treeee!”

“That’s right!” Molly said. “Be gone fuzzy morsel!”

“Get outta here!” I barked. “Go on, now get!”

The squirrel finally jumped down and scampered off. Diesel, Molly, and I shared our triumphant moment with hearty head scratches and thumping side pats.

“Why are you barking?” Erin called from the living room.

Thanks for reading. This writing prompt is courtesy of u/KitNKaboodles from r/WritingPrompts on Reddit.

“You can talk to animals, but they can’t talk to each other, so they use you as a translator.”

Disclaimer: I don’t really talk to our animals. I mean, they don’t talk back. So don’t send me to the loony bin. Thanks again for reading. Please check out my other blog posts. You can also click on the Well of Bones tab above to try the first chapter of my dark fantasy novel, Well of Bones. If you enjoyed this post, be sure to like it and share it with your friends.

Until next week,


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