Cat Got Your Tongue

Abby had never seen a cat choke before. But clearly something was wrong with Mr. Pickles. The British Shorthair stared into his bedazzled food bowl, his fluffy head jerking back and forth as he hacked and hiccupped.

“Mrs. Wallace is going to fire me,” Abby muttered. She thought of walking into the office next Monday and seeing everyone huddled together, quietly gossiping about how she spent her weekend killing their boss’s cat.

She took out her phone and searched for a solution. After scrolling past warning after warning that the animal is likely to bite, she found a quick tutorial on a feline-friendly version of the Heimlich maneuver. But rather than risk crushing the cat’s lungs, she opted for the third option: make the cat puke up whatever’s caught in its throat.

Abby rushed into the living room, searching for something gentle enough to not hurt Mr. Pickles but firm enough to get into his mouth. Scanning the space, she saw an old secretary’s desk pushed against the far wall. She rushed over and grabbed a manilla envelope sitting in the bottom of one of the drawers. With a couple of twists, she could fashion it into something long and skinny.

The thought made her grimace, but she was running out of time. She ran back toward the kitchen, silently praying that she’d see Mr. Pickles perched on the white granite countertop, casually grooming his privates. But what she saw was much worse.

The cat was moving erratically, darting, then sitting, then darting again. He had knocked over his food bowl, cracking the delicate pottery and spilling kibble across the floor. With her new tool in hand and no time to spare, she tracked down Mr. Pickles and snatched him up. The internet’s warning proved true; the cat writhed and battled, scratching at any inch of exposed skin.

But Abby’s adrenaline was pumping too hard. She grabbed his puffy face and squeezed his mouth open, his teeth gnashing down on her fingers. With trickles of blood streaming down her wrist, Abby inserted the paper tube down his throat. The cat fought even harder, but she didn’t break focus. She just kept snaking the manilla envelope down, as if she was a plumber unclogging a bath drain.

All of a sudden, a muddy goop bubbled up around his mouth. Abby watched on with gross satisfaction as Mr. Pickles leaned across her forearm and puked his guts out. When it was all over, the cat simply lifted his tail and flashed his rear end. Abby shook her head as he sauntered coolly out of the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Oh, what it would be like to have an ego so big you couldn’t feel shame.

Abby grabbed some paper towels and began mopping up the mess. As she picked up the now unraveled manila envelope, a small piece of paper slipped out. The page was slightly yellowed with age, but the discoloration only made the handwritten message more pronounced. Mrs. Wallace was as secretive as she was nasty, and while Abby knew she shouldn’t snoop, her curiosity got the best of her.

So she picked up the note and began to read. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Because after just a few lines, Abby knew exactly what she held in her hand: a cry for help. She set the paper down and considered what to do next. Then she had an idea: She’d simply replace the manila envelope, slip in the note, and return the whole thing back to where she found it.

As she got out her phone and looked up the nearest stationery store, Mr. Pickles jumped onto the counter. Before he could make his next leap, Abby stood up to shoo him away. And that’s when she noticed it. Perched discreetly atop the refrigerator was a camera, and its cold, unblinking eye was staring right at her.