Posted in Secondary Sundays

SS: Mr. Fluffkins III

Aaaaand I’m back!

I mean hi, it’s me not them.

I guess you can tell by now that they’re not here… And that they probably won’t come back. At least for a while.

But hey! That just means I can keep talking to you! Wild, right?!

I mean, yeah. This is weird for me, and probably for you but like, I don’t know you? So honestly I have no idea what you’re thinking right now.

Honest, cross my heart and hope to like get all my memories back or like maybe lose an arm. I heard that’s kind of painful? Must be.

Anywho, I’m here, you’re here. Let’s talk about something interesting.

I’m not like the person who wrote to you last week. And by that I mean that I don’t live right next door or really anywhere near you. There are ways in which people like us can slip through cracks and holes in doors, floors and walls.

So I did. It’s a bit nicer where I am. Actually anywhere is nicer than where you are. Maybe your cat would like it here.

Maybe their quest would bring you here Where it’s nice and warm. I believe they would like it here, where the sun hits you just right at all times. There are no sandy beaches, or any other paradisiac features. Here there are only trees, warm and wet earth, and fresh air.

I guess, I want to talk about that. Not my home. It’s not wise to talk about homes.

I want to talk about what your cat, Menace, would like for you to do. I guess their wants and needs would be different now.

I’m not good at storytelling and assuming things. I’m not good with lies, I mean.

I mean, yeah. If I really needed it, I’d probably be able to lie.

In a pinch. That’s how you say that.

But I do think I can pick up this thread, if I think about what I know about you and how things have changed. If I were the cat from that story, from all those Sundays ago. If I knew and felt what they did.

If I cared about you…

If I knew…

I’d feel like this: I would want you gone. I would wonder about what could have happened to make you move through your home like you were a shadow, and everything else was the sun. I would sit down by the window, and I would ask myself when the day would come. When will you just not show up anymore? When will you be gone? Would I even know? Would anyone tell me? Or will it be like losing a memory? Suddenly there but also not really. Not at all.

I would, I think above all, ache for you. I’d ache for the person you used to be, and never could go back to, and for this unrecognizable stranger in our home.

I would fear for you. I would regret not giving you a way out when I could.

Because Mr. Fluffkins III, had a sidequest for you, but was never able to tell you. It was a long one, a good one. It was going to take you far, far from where you are but definitely closer to where you’d want to be.

Most anywhere in this world could be somewhere you’d love to visit. “Anywhere is better than where you are,” Mr. fluffkins III tells you sometimes. Not often. They don’t like to talk.

I mean, cats don’t really talk. But like, you already know that. That’s why this is a story and not a, well chronicle or whatever.

Mr. Fluffkins III doesn’t know us or them or anyone who is not Daisy and you. Most days they don’t even know you at all.

Or maybe that’s just me.

I guess, they must feel bad about you here, about leaving and staying and moving and breathing and forgetting.

Forgetting is super important. Mr. Fluffkins III probably knows that. But you don’t. And if you do maybe you don’t care. Maybe you don’t want to care.

But that’s where you’re wrong.

You do care, you can’t stop caring. Even your cat can see that. And if you care you’re in danger.

Which is why you cat would fucking love it I’d you could just get off your ass and do something for once. Stop sitting around and pretending like this is all happening to someone else. Because it isn’t. It’s happening to you and it will keep happening to you.

So please, get off your ass.

Get up.

Open the fucking door and run the fuck away.

Do anything before someone else does it for you.

There are cracks and holes that can help people like you and me to run away. You just need to ask the right questions and do the right things.

So look at your fucking cat. They have something they want to tell you. They have wanted to tell you this for a while.

You know their name is not Mr. Fluffkins III.

You know.

What is their name?

Look at their collar.

Go ahead





23-year-old writer from Chile. Currently reading, writing, and trying not to lose my mind.

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