Brock Kawana
Professor Harrison
English 101
25 January 2009
Word count: 1929
My First Kitten
As young children we all wish for a first pet, to love, to care for, and to be your friend when no one else is around. I was always too prone with allergies to have an animal to call my own. I used to always look out my window during the day and see all the people walking their dogs, looking like their having the time of their life. It would always just make me ask myself if I was cursed, to not be able to have a pet. On top of all my own misery, my sister was obsessed with cats. She would consistently give me evil stares because I was the reason she never got her own furry feline. Unless she wanted one of those bald cats with the pink skin, but I’ve never actually seen one of those other than Dr. Evil. Her room was covered with cat stuffed animals, cat wallpaper, and even one of those cat calendars where each month a bunch of cats are doing something different. To think of those cats that just look so happy and playful, I never thought I would have the mental image of those same cats burning in a pot on the stove.
Most families go to a quiet restaurant after a Sunday Easter Mass. That would be the quote, unquote normal thing to do. Our family however goes and visits our Aunt Betty. She makes a new dish every year. Last year was spaghetti with meat balls full of jell-o, the year before was fish guts and extra salty gravy it just seemingly gets worse every time we go there. Aunt Betty does not have all the tools in the shed of her brain, if you have not guessed by now. I can remember the one Christmas morning she gave me a present to open up; it was an orange vacuum cleaner that said property Charles C. Scott. She said she got it at Sears but to this day I still believe she stole it from Charles C. Scott.
You see Aunt Betty is one of those fifty-some odd year old cat ladies. She has more cats than she can probably count. I swear those damn cats multiply faster than rabbits. Two of those horny bastards would go down to the cellar and then it would seem that fifteen would come back up, on top of the twenty that were already upstairs. Still to this day I wonder in amazement how I never passed out from the lack of air I was getting due to the swelling of my pharynx. I would always beg and plead to my mother to leave but she said that it was important for Aunt Betty to spend time with her family instead of just talking to the cats.
Aunt Betty did not just talk to her cats; she treated them like her own children. Most of the boy cats were named after former presidents: Jefferson, Abraham, Grover, Roosevelt, G.W., Ulysses and so on. Then she had this group of girl cats or the producers of evil as I would refer to them as. She would name them of objects around the house: Boots, Spoon, Pillow, Couch, Desk, and the most evil of them all Mittens. For the past twelve or so years of my life I have been terrified of this cat. The worst part about Mittens is that she loved my sister, which was not an advantage for me. My sister would torment me until the brink of insanity with this evil cat. I could not do a thing to prevent it either, because we were stuck with each other in Aunt Betty’s house. Neither of us wanted to go have conversation time with the adults. Where they ask you the same meaningless questions, “How tall are you now? How’s school going for you? Why do your pants sag so much? Pull them up!”
I looked at the situation; I would have to deal with my sister. She would grab a random cat and hold it to my face so I would just sneeze and sneeze until my lungs felt like they were going to collapse. Then she would get the cult leader of all the cats, the most dangerous and feared cat of them all. Mittens was not your ordinary cat, she had the most intense evil green emerald eyes on a cat from hell. Her claws never seemed to break; they must have been four or five inches long. She would just jam them into your skin as hard as she could then just stare at you as if she was looking right through your soul. My sister went off to find Mittens. I just sat there in fear and started to contemplate if dealing with adult bullshit was worse than a cat trying to kill me. Before I had time to come to a conclusion I could hear my sister walking back from Aunt Betty’s. In my head I was just praying Mittens would be nice to me for a change, maybe if I would just stand real still she would not be able to see me.
I let out a calm breath of air; my sister came up empty handed. Mittens was nowhere to be found. Hell had not frozen over so my sister was not taking it easy on me or anything. It just was not making any sense. Where could Mittens be? She never left the house or rarely moved from her spot on Aunt Betty’s bed. Then I started to notice how all the other cats were in a fritz of some sort, they looked lost. My eyes were beginning to swell shut from all the cat hair, I just needed to go outside and get some fresh air.
Aunt Betty may have been crazy but the farm she lived on was a sight for sore eyes. As I stood on her porch I looked straight for miles and just saw rolling hills of cornfields. I started to realize why Aunt Betty talked to the cats, because this is such a big piece of property she needed somebody to be with. All the flowers just started to bloom in her front garden beds leading up to the front porch in front of the door. Her walkway was glistening from the sunlight hitting it in the perfect position. It was like something out of a fairytale book.
As I was standing there in the ambiance of Aunt Betty’s property, I started to realize how much I missed coming here. All the memories as a younger child I had on this farm. Over there by the barn where my sister and I had put firecrackers up the bullfrogs and would wait to watch them explode. Or we would go steal cucumbers from the neighbor, Old Man Davis, and then he would come out in his long johns and chase us away with his shotgun. It was as if there was something in this town’s water. Everybody was a bit out of their skulls.
As I was in a complete daydream about all the good times along with the bad I had on this farm, I heard my sister yell into my ear, “Hey moron, dinner is ready!”
Before I could even think of a quick comeback, I suddenly found myself back into the death trap of a house. Aunt Betty was wearing her apron that said, “I’ll kick, slap, or punch ya…but I won’t bite ya!”
She had all of the adults sit at one table which led my sister and me to sit alone at the kids table. This is where it would have been nice if we would have had other cousins here with us, but they never came. This may of been the what my mother was talking about; we were the ones who had to try to make Aunt Betty sane in her head.
This would be it; here it comes…the dinner plate of the year. All these imaginative thoughts were proceeding to roll around in my head, “What could it be? What is possibly worse than the fish guts and salty gravy? Maybe she would make a normal meal? Maybe I am finally saved from Aunt Betty, and she just ordered take-out.”
My prayers had not been answered. She started to bring out what looked like bowls of soup for everybody. This was it, my heart was pounding, my forehead sweating, I could feel my throat pulsating. My body would go cold with fear and then numb after awhile. I know this is not healthy for me, if I am this scared of this ladies cooking. Thoughts kept on arising in my mind, “I know what I’ll do…I’ll pretend to be sick. Damn. That won’t work, I tried that last year.” I told myself.
Aunt Betty was walking slowly now over to us, of course we were the first ones who got to see this masterpiece of food. She placed the bowl first in front of my sister. I did not look down at the soup, I just looked at her facial expression and she looked purely terrified. It smelled like burnt hair and almost like chicken at the same time. Everybody kept asking what it was, but Aunt Betty just shook her head and would give the same response, “It’s Aunt Betty’s secret blend of herbs and spices!”
I pondered what it could be once again. She wouldn’t try to kill us or anything, so it was not poisonous. Everything she always made was edible after you bit and chomped down on it a couple of times. The pros were outweighing the cons in this situation, so I put my spoon into my bowl and took a slurp. To my astonishment it wasn’t that bad. I kept eating and eating and eating. I think my stomach was excited because it was expecting the worst and got something pretty decent. I felt something sharp hit the inside of my cheek and just completely stopped. I tried spitting it out but it went down my throat to fast. It felt like a razor blade had just cut into the back of my throat.
My bowl was coming to an end and I had slowed down since the razor blade incident but now I saw something in the bottom of my bowl. It looked like a piece of garlic, a giant piece almost folded up. I tapped it with my spoon and it kind of unfolded itself. My mind started to think that I have seen this green object before. When I flipped it over it hit me all at once. This was Mitten’s eyeball. No, it couldn’t be. Unless, what I had thought to be a razor was actually Mitten’s claws. That was it; Aunt Betty had just cooked and served us Mittens! I ate the cat, I ate my biggest nemesis. I had always wanted a dog or a cat or any kind of animal, but not like this…not in my stomach! The thing was though, that nobody else seemed to realize this fact that we were eating Mittens. To them it just seemed like any other soup. I suppose because they were trying to please Aunt Betty so they decided they would eat whatever was going to be in front of them, no questions asked. All this time, I thought Aunt Betty was this poor old cat lady. Who would have guessed that she actually ate her own children?
****BELOW THIS IS THE REVISION****
Brock Kawana
Professor Harrison
English 101
16 February 2009
Word Count: 1,889
My First Kitten
As a young child I would wish for a first pet, to love, to care for, and to be my friend when no one else is around. I figured that would be more suitable than imaginary friends. I was always too prone with allergies to have an animal to call my own. I used to always look out my window during the day and see all the people walking their dogs, looking like they are having the time of their life. It would always just make me ask myself if I was cursed, to not be able to have a pet. On top of all my own misery, my sister was obsessed with cats. She would consistently give me evil stares because I was the reason she never got her own furry feline. Her room was covered with cat stuffed animals, cat wallpaper, and even one of those cat calendars where each month a bunch of cats are doing something different. To think of those cats that just look so happy and playful, I never thought I would have the mental image of those same cats burning in a pot on the stove.
Some families go to a quiet restaurant after a Sunday Easter Mass. That would be the quote, unquote normal thing to do. Our family, however, goes and visits our Aunt Betty. She makes a new dish every year. Last year was spaghetti with meat balls full of jell-o. The year before was fish guts with extra salty gravy. The food just seems to get progressively worse every time we go there. Aunt Betty does not have all the tools in the shed of her brain. I can remember the one Christmas morning she gave me a present to open up; it was an orange vacuum cleaner that said, “Property Charles C. Scott.” She said she got it at Sears but to this day I still believe she stole it from Charles C. Scott.
Aunt Betty is one of those fifty-some odd year old cat ladies. She has more cats than she can probably count. I swear those damn cats multiply faster than rabbits. Two of those horny bastards would go down to the cellar and then it would seem that fifteen would come back up, on top of the twenty that were already upstairs. Still to this day I wonder in amazement how I never passed out from the lack of air I was getting due to the swelling of my pharynx. I would always beg and plead to my mother to leave but she said that it was important for Aunt Betty to spend time with her family instead of just talking to the cats.
Aunt Betty did not just talk to her cats; she treated them like her own children. Most of the boy cats were named after former presidents: Jefferson, Abraham, Grover, Roosevelt, G.W., Ulysses and so on. Then she had this group of girl cats or “the producers of evil” as I would refer to them. She would name them after objects around the house: Boots, Spoon, Pillow, Couch, Desk, and the most evil of them all Mittens. For the past twelve or so years of my life I have been terrified of this cat. The worst part about Mittens is that she loved my sister, which was not an advantage for me. My sister would torment me until the brink of insanity with this evil cat. I could not do a thing to prevent it either, because we were stuck with each other in Aunt Betty’s house. Neither of us wanted to go have conversation time with the adults. They ask always ask me the same meaningless questions, “How tall are you now?” “How’s school going for you?” “Why do your pants sag so much?”
I looked at the situation; I was stuck having to associate myself with my sister. She would grab a random cat and hold it to my face so I would just sneeze and sneeze until my lungs felt like they were going to collapse. Then she would get the cult leader of all the cats, the most dangerous and feared cat of them all. Mittens was not an ordinary cat, she had the most intense, evil, green emerald eyes. Her claws never seemed to break; they must have been four or five inches long. She would just jam them into my skin as hard as she could then just stare at me as if she was looking right through my soul. My sister went off to find Mittens. I just sat there in fear and started to contemplate if dealing with adult bullshit was worse than a cat trying to kill me. Before I had time to come to a conclusion I could hear my sister walking back from Aunt Betty’s. In my head I was just praying Mittens would be nice to me for a change, maybe if I would just stand real still she would not be able to see me.
I let out a calm breath of air once my sister came up empty handed. Mittens was nowhere to be found. Hell had not frozen over so my sister was not taking it easy on me. It just was not making any sense. Where could Mittens be? She never left the house or rarely moved from her spot on Aunt Betty’s bed. Then I started to notice how all the other cats were in a panic. My eyes were beginning to swell shut from all the cat hair. I just needed to go outside and get some fresh air.
Aunt Betty may have been crazy but the farm she lived on was a sight for sore eyes. As I stood on her porch I looked straight for miles and just saw rolling hills of cornfields. I started to realize why Aunt Betty talked to the cats. It was such a big piece of property she needed somebody to talk to. The flowers just started to bloom in her garden beds leading up to the front wooden porch. Her walkway was glistening from the sunlight reflecting off it. It was like something out of a fairytale book.
As I was standing there in the ambiance of Aunt Betty’s property, I started to realize how much I missed coming here. The memories as a younger child I had on this farm started to swirl around into my brain. Over there by the barn, my sister and I had put firecrackers in the bullfrogs and would watch them explode. We would go steal cucumbers from the neighbor, Old Man Davis, and then he would come outside in his long johns and chase us away with his shotgun. It was as if there was something in this town’s water. Everybody was a bit out of their skulls.
As I was in a complete daydream about all the good times along with the bad I had on this farm, I heard my sister yell into my ear, “Hey moron, dinner is ready!”
Before I could even think of a quick comeback, I suddenly found myself back into the death trap of a house. Aunt Betty was wearing her apron that said, “I’ll kick, slap, or punch ya, but I won’t bite ya!”
She had all of the adults sit at one table which led my sister and me to sit alone at the kids table. This is where it would have been nice if we would have had other cousins here with us, but they never came. This may of been the what my mother was talking about; we were the ones who had to try to make Aunt Betty sane in her head.
This would be it; the dinner plate of the year. The stench and taste would be imprinted in my mind forever. These imaginative thoughts started to assimilate in my head, “What could it be?” “What is possibly worse than the fish guts and salty gravy?” “Maybe she would make a normal meal?” “Maybe I am finally saved from Aunt Betty, and she just ordered take-out.”
My prayers had not been answered. She started to bring out what looked like bowls of soup for everybody. My heart was pounding, my forehead sweating, I could feel my throat pulsating. My body would go cold with fear and then numb after awhile. I know this is not healthy for me, if I am this scared of my own Aunt’s cooking. I started to believe that people do not have high cholesterol because of the food. It was because of what they were being forced to eat.
Aunt Betty was walking slowly now over to us, of course we were the first ones who got to see this masterpiece of food. She placed the bowl first in front of my sister. I did not look down at the soup, I just looked at her facial expression and she looked purely terrified. It smelled like burnt hair and almost like chicken at the same time. Everybody kept asking what it was, but Aunt Betty just shook her head and would give the same response, “It’s Aunt Betty’s secret blend of herbs and spices!”
I pondered what it could be once again. She wouldn’t try to kill us or anything, so it was not poisonous. Everything she always made was edible after I would bite and chomp down on it a couple of ravish times. The pros were outweighing the cons in this situation, so I put my spoon into my bowl and took a slurp. In my own amazement the food was not that bad. I kept on eating. I think my stomach was excited because it was expecting the worst and got something pretty decent. I felt something sharp hit the inside of my cheek and just completely stopped. I tried spitting it out but it went down my throat too fast. It felt like a razor blade had just cut into the back of my throat.
My bowl was coming to an end and I had slowed down since the razor blade incident but now I saw something in the bottom of my bowl. It looked like a piece of garlic, a giant piece almost folded up. I tapped it with my spoon and it kind of unfolded itself. My mind started to think that I have seen this green object before. When I flipped it over it hit me all at once. This was Mitten’s eyeball. No, it couldn’t be. Unless, what I had thought to be a razor was actually Mitten’s claws. That was it; Aunt Betty had just cooked and served us Mittens! I ate the cat, I ate my biggest nemesis. I had always wanted a dog or a cat or any kind of animal, but not like this…not in my stomach! The thing was though, that nobody else seemed to realize this fact that we were eating Mittens. I suppose because they were trying to please Aunt Betty so they decided they would eat whatever was going to be in front of them, no questions asked. All this time, I thought Aunt Betty was this poor old cat lady. Who would have guessed that she actually ate her own children?
Revisionary Statement
I turned in my first draft on my paper, and received it back. Shitty drafts are a part of writing and I understand this. There is no reason to get down on failing a paper because you have another chance to work on it. Nobody is going to write a perfect paper as soon as they sit down and write, it takes time and effort to write a good piece of work. You need to use a lot of different techniques, bubble maps, outlines, free write, and so on. My shitty draft had a lot of grammatical errors. There was so many, I was disgusted when I read it again. I fixed the sentence structures of the parts that sounded awkward to me. Also I came to the realization after writing this paper that I have a problem with run-on sentences. I cut those short and edited my grammar in that aspect as well. I liked both my intro and conclusion so I kept them formatted the same. I took out what was unnecessary to the plot of the narrative. I believe this paper is better already, because I took more time in correcting it. I care about my work, so I would like others to appreciate that also.
