Devonne Brown

“I’ve got a plan,” said Norris. He looked around the room until his eyes found the dog. It was a poodle, a big brown one. In the poodle world it had several names: German Water Retriever, Standard Poodle, Brown Abstract Poodle, Spoo, Soup Hound, West Virginia Brown Dog, Opal Pearl. Madam, the saddle back, black cat scooted close to Norris. She wanted to hear the plan. Norris had good plans. 

“Tomorrow, when the mom goes to work, we knock something big on Opal Pearl’s head,” said Norris. 

“That’s a great plan,” said Madm. She admired Norris. She thought he was a wise old Tom Cat. He reminded her of Jethro, the old grey tabby that befriended her and her litter mates at the shelter before she was adopted. She remembered his admonition from their brief time together, “Listen to a wise old Tom Cat.” 

They were looking around the living room for something to drop on Opal’s head. They wanted something big, something huge, when Norris realized they’d need help knocking her off. They couldn’t pick up stuff, they could only shove it off. They’d need an accomplice, a human accomplice. 

“I’ll get the mother to help us get rid of Opal Pearl. That hound gets on my nerves,” said Norris.

“She’s not going to help you,” said Madam. “She brought her here to live.” Norris hated her for being reasonable. He could get the mother to do anything he wanted by biting, meowing, and jumping on her just right. She always figured it out. She’d never go along with offing her own dog. Dammit.

Norris was spoiled and didn’t want anything to interfere with it. There had to be some rules. Mom’s lap was his real estate, period. Only he, Norris, was permitted there. The dog was not to be a lap dog under any circumstances. Madam was not to be on the mother’s lap either. No.

Norris was master of the universe.