There was nothing to set that morning apart from any other. Not for the Johnsons, at least. To them, it was a Saturday like any other.

To their cat, however, the weekend represented a limitation of space, a hindrance to his busy schedule, a disruption of his orderly routine. He was a black haired tom whose cold attitude had been successful in convincing the adults of the house- Mr. and Mrs. Johnson- that he wanted to be left alone, ever since they adopted him years ago. His luck with their children, however, was not as good; something about them resulted in their persistent need to bother him, as he saw it. Perhaps it was their immaturity, or maybe it was the fact that he was their only pet. Or, maybe, it was something else that prevented them from getting the message- the cat had thought about it once before, but shook it off. It was easy enough to avoid them in the evenings when they came home, but on days like Saturday, their presences were bound to get in the way of his schedule somewhere during the day.

The couch, for example, was his personal throne in the morning- a comfy perch for a housecat like himself. However, its location, which happened to be right in front of the T.V., made it a destination for another creature on those weekend mornings. It was sure to be there. And it was. Michael Johnson, an eleven-year-old boy deeply engrossed in the program placed about a whole two feet away from his face, was balancing on the brim of the couch. He was hunched over a plate of remains of his breakfast. The cat had arrived to the spot too late, and the boy was too mesmerized by the overly loud box to be moved, or to move any time soon. The feline took this distraction as an opportunity to position himself on the far side of the couch, too prideful to be denied his daily habit. The spot was a good distance away from the child, but not too far.

A few calm minutes passed, during which the cat's tail flicked back and forth, side to side, over and over as the TV's volume was raised. The cat's ears folded back in annoyance at every outburst from the child as the show drawled on. Abruptly, the screen flipped to commercial break. The show had ended, and a rather boring commercial had taken its place. Michael drew his face away from the screen, now sitting on the couch with more stable seating. He was left in a dazed state for a while, as though trying to enjoy the commercials as much as he had the previous program, before boredom got the better of him. He sat slightly dismayed, before something caught his attention. It was the very thing that had been attempting to avoid such attention; the cat. By now, he sat with his paws tucked beneath his chest, tail curled, eyes closed, and also completely unsuspecting of the hand that Michael was reaching towards him. Many times before, Michael had tried unsuccessfully to pet the feline, and had eventually made a game out of it. He tried to reach over the distance of the couch, well aware of the reaction he would get.

Michael's hand was only a few inches from the cat's head when it heard him. The collection of black fur instantly rose to its feet, simultaneously stretching and backing away. The cat, as predicted, got up and hopped off his throne, retreating down the hallway with a slow and defiant pace.

Down the hallway all the doors were closed and therefore inaccessible, except one; seeing as it was his only option, the black cat turned into the Johnsons' daughter's room. Her name was Lily Johnson. Probably due to the fact that she was older, she was often more respectful towards their family cat than her brother.

The carpet was clean, and the walls were covered in photos and posters that the cat neither did nor needed to understand. The bed was straightened, and it's thick covers lay flatly over it. The daughter herself was present, sitting at her desk with a pencil in hand. The feline slipped through the door without even so much as moving it, despite the small opening it provided, and almost managed to enter unnoticed.

Almost. The daughter, who's focus had been broken, watched the cat as he walked past her and leapt up onto the pillow of the bed, resuming his curled, dignified position, and ignoring her the whole way. Not long after the cat had dozed off, he was awoken by a soft 'thud' on the pillow beside him. He flashed open an eye to find a small, fuzzy, unidentifiable, blue object. Body ridged, he watched. Then, it moved. Like the predator he was, he slammed down a black paw at it, only to realize it had escaped his range. He lashed out his other paw, tail tip twitching, now completely engaged in the hunt. Another quick strike of his claws brought the victim to his mouth… and the string connected to it along with it.

His eyes followed the length of the toy to the girl, now smiling, holding the other end. Realizing he had been tricked, he released his grip on the bait and promptly leapt off the bed, slinking down the hallway again with a disgruntled twitch in his tail. The cat found himself without any other options. He'd already been denied his alternative plan, and couldn't think of any other soft places he had access to.

He slunk into the kitchen, where only Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were. Mr. Johnson was reading the paper, and Mrs. Johnson was finishing breakfast. Neither of them seemed like they would bother him now. He took his spot on a chair at the table, quite close to the side door of the house. It was not quite as throne-like as his previous perches, but it would have to do.

The mother slipped on her shoes and opened the door, telling something inaudible to her husband. She stepped outside, and the cat recognized it as the daily routine of fetching the mail. However, this time was different. This time, the door was still open a touch after she was well outside. The cat eyed the door, and then looked over his shoulder at the father. He didn't seem to notice. The cat hopped off the chair and silently went through the door.

Fickle had never been outside before. That was probably why he felt compelled to venture far away from the door and out into the sunlight, to sniff around and explore. He was so distracted, he almost didn't notice it when the mother returned to the house and closed the door behind her- this time shut tight. He whirled around at the sound of the knob clicking. It was shut. He raced back to the doorstep. It wasn't open at all. He pawed at the crack, but the door didn't move. He reached for the doorknob, but it was too high. And then, he sat there, hoping the door would open for him eventually as doors tended to. They always had. But then, he remembered, the doors did not open on their own after all; when they did, it was because his humans were there. There was some mystical power they had over these movable walls that he did not.

A few more moments passed, and the feline realized the humans were inside, and no one would see him waiting. He kneaded the doormat impatiently, and looked around. He decided the best course of action was to survey the house. There were many doors around the house, but they were all shut just as tight. He tried waiting at different ones, but all the results were the same. The urgency of his dilemma rose when he realized he was hungry.

He meandered back to the front of the house to the original door. It was still closed. The doormat was not soft, but he curled up on it anyways, feeling defeated without his throne. Then, a strange noise came from the other side of the house- a familiar sounding door-click. Wide-eyed and hopeful, the cat abandoned his regal trot and bolted to the corner of the house to peer around it. There Mr. Johnson was, walking to the sidewalk! The cat bounded over to his heels, rubbing his ankle and meowing up at him. Mr. Johnson was so surprised that he thought it was someone else's cat. Rather, he was certain it was someone else's, until he recognized the collar. The man scratched his head and picked the feline up.

"How'd you get outside, huh?" Mr. Johnson cooed, even more suspicious that the cat was not franticly trying to escape. Without waiting for a response, the man walked back to the front door, opened it, and let the cat leap from his arms back into the safety of the house.

Michael was sitting at the kitchen table now, his mother telling him to do his homework. He saw the cat hurriedly trot by the kitchen door. "Mom, why is our cat so weird?" Mrs. Johnson shrugged. "Well, that's why we named him Fickle, isn't it?"

I can't really say I dislike my owners- not that I love them, or anything. They're the Johnsons, and I guess they're just a normal, average four-human family with a cat. But I guess I don't really know much about that, because I don't know much about anything else 'human'. I am an indoor cat, after all- I just know what goes on indoors. I guess they're ok. Maybe even nice. Sometimes.

Still, I don't want them to get the wrong idea. A lot of things happened that day, you know. First off, it was the weekend. If it weren't for that, none of this would have ever happened. That's because Michael keeps forgetting that it's my couch in the morning, and if it weren't the weekend, they'd be off at who-knows-where that he and Lily go all the time. Sure, their parents are home most of the time- 'cept Mr. Johnson, Rick- but at least those guys leave me alone most 'a the time. At least they're not like Michael. It's bad enough that I have to deal with eleven-year old pulling my ears whenever he gets the chance and Lily throwing socks and strings at me to chase after three, but when they're home all day long for two days every week, it's just too much.

That's how it all started, too. Michael took my seat that morning, just as I should have expected. He was eating his breakfast on it, too, even though Mom tells him not too. And he's getting crumbs all over my spot, I'm sure.

So, I'm sitting here already late for my morning nap and he's already in my spot, and I figure the next best thing is the far end of the couch. I'm not going to lose to him just yet, I tell myself. I climb up there without him noticing and make myself comfortable, only to be interrupted by the TV when he turns the volume up. Way up. And I sit there for maybe twenty minutes like that with the interruptions and the high volume.

After a while it seemed to go ok, I just didn't want to be bothered. But when I finally actually fall asleep, I hear this noise and realize he's reaching for my ears again. His show must've ended, otherwise I don't think he'd be bored enough to bother me that early in the morning.

Either way, that kid has had a habit of yanking my ears since he was little. He gave up trying to pet me when I wouldn't let him, and maybe it's his alternative. But it's not like I'm going to like that any more- and I let him know it, too. He once tugged on my ears so hard it felt like they were going to come off, so I gave him a good whap in the face with my claws. Not that I have claws. Michael was just freaked out, that's all- he was crying so hard I couldn't help but feel bad about it. I didn't mean to scare him, or hurt him even… I was just trying to tell him to knock it off, you know?

Anyways, he didn't get the message, but I know when he's going to try it again. So that was petty much all the time I spent on the couch, and I hadn't really taken my nap yet. So I went down the hallway, and realized all the doors were closed. Except one.

Doors have always been a problem for me. I didn't really think about it at the time, but I'm too short to get the knob, and I'm pretty sure that's the only way to open them. Later, I'd find that out the hard way.

Again, I didn't really think about it when I turned into the only room available. It was Lily's. She was just doing homework, so I was hoping to get into her room unnoticed. I thought I had, too. I hoped up onto her bed, which was probably more comfortable than the couch anyways, and I hid next to the fake animals she kept there.

Now, Lily's a bit better than Michael. It might be because she's older and more mature, but it might be because she's got other things to do. But at least she doesn't insist on pulling on my ears all the time. On the other hand, she does insist on throwing toys at me and expects me to play with them. It's not really fun when they land on your face, or they're entertaining but she makes them impossible to catch. That is to say, I don't really like playing with them- I am a full-grown cat, after all. But sometimes they, y'know, look real, and being a predator I really can't help myself.

You'd think I would have learned all the same. But nope, not that day. I was caught off guard by the fuzzy blue thing landing next to my face. I couldn't help but wait to see if it moved. And it did. So I grabbed at it, claws extended (at least I'd like to think they were), and it jumped. It got away from me, but not so far enough away that I couldn't strike again. So I did. And before you know it, I'm lunging at the thing like I'm going to kill it. Finally, I smack down one paw and it's trapped. I sunk my teeth into it and began to chew on the unpleasant stuffed-fabric texture, and my tooth got caught on a string.

I had a pretty good idea of what the string was, and I was right. I followed it with my eyes to the girl sitting just under the edge of the mattress with the toy fishing rod in her hand. Lily was smiling wildly with some sort of mischievous look on her face. It was something between the embarrassment of falling for the trick and her expression that sent me straight out of her room, quite disgruntled.

All of the soft chairs in the house that I could think of had been either inaccessible or I'd already tried. It was almost noon, and I headed to the kitchen. The chairs in there were made of wood and were usually someone else's seat, but right now they were empty, and they were my only option. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were in the kitchen, going about their own business, and I knew they wouldn't bother me then.

Mrs. Johnson opened the side door as I was about to take my seat. It was a door in the kitchen that lead to the outside, as several doors did. These doors they never left open, unlike the other ones in the house. But this time, probably without her realizing it, Mrs. Johnson left the door open. I don't even remember why, but I decided to go outside too. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was curiosity. I walked right behind her heals and she still didn't notice, so I figured it'd be all right if I explored a little.

The outdoors wasn't what I expected. Not that I really had any expectations. Everything was wet and unclean; dirt was stickier than I thought, and it was crawling with the pests that the humans made sure to keep out of their house. It was at first interesting, but then very annoying. I decided I didn't like it, but by the time I turned around to head back inside, Mrs. Johnson was already there, closing the door behind her. I raced up to the door, already too late. It was shut tight; not even a crack to ease open was left. So I sat there. I sat there, and I waited for it to open for me, as doors did tend to do.

That's when I made a connection I hadn't before; no, doors did not open for me, humans opened them. None of my humans were outside, either. So I waited more. It might have been hours, days, maybe even weeks- for I do not know how time passes in the outdoors- and I began to grow hungry. I began to long for the warm, dry environment inside.

And then, it started raining.

And that's why when the front door suddenly opened, and I saw, around the corner of the house, Mr. Johnson walking down the front yard to his car, that I bolted from my hiding spot. I raced towards him, meowing and purring when I reached his heels. He looked at me pretty bewildered, as though it should have been impossible for me to act cute. But after being trapped outside for so long, I was overcome by relief when I saw him.

Now, they think that I'm some sorta fluffy kitten there for them to pick up and play with all the time. I'm beginning to think I'll never live this one down.

Something weird happened the other day. You see, we have this indoor cat, named Fickle- we picked him up from the pound several years ago. He's never seemed to like attention, or people, too much. We've been thinking it's probably because of his last home; maybe he wasn't treated well as a kitten and doesn't like people because of it. At the same time, he never ventures too far away; he's always in a room where someone else is. He always seems to like it to a certain point, then hates it… hence the name Fickle. My wife and I haven't been able to figure that cat out. The kids haven't either, but it doesn't stop them from playing with him. He's still an important part of the family, and our only pet.

Anyways, you'd think after this many years he would have gotten used to us, but he's still something of a stranger in the house. When the kids try to play with him, he runs in the other direction. I'm worried those two don't treat him very fairly- at least Michael, he's still pretty young and doesn't understand. Fickle scratched at him once, though we got him declawed, like we all knew he eventually would. But Fickle's gotten a little better since then. He's not bothered by our presences as much- at least not mine, or my wife's. It was last Saturday that was probably the first time I had a positive interaction with the little fella.

From what Michael told me, the cat sat on the couch with him all morning that day. He's usually on that couch when Michael's not, but he tends to avoid Michael like the plague.

The cat actually sat with him through all the cartoons! I'm actually more surprised that Michael didn't scare him away before then. Michael pulls on his ears a lot, which obviously doesn't help at all. Michael said he left after that, but he thought the cat was acting a little strange.

He was next seen in Lily's room. Lily was studying- she should have gotten her homework done the day before like I told her to- when the cat walked in. I'm not sure why he would have gone in that room; maybe the other doors were closed.

Lily was also saying he was acting strange. Granted, she, out of the four of us, has the most hope for him, since she's always wanted a pet and we got him for her, but she was surprised when Fickle actually played with the toy for a bit. Poor Lily buys him toys that he refuses to play with. Michael teases her for it sometimes, and my wife and I think she'd been wasting her money.

Lily's gotten him to play with the toys before on occasions, but this time he really seemed to enjoy it! It was one of those fishing rods with the cotton mice at the end. After he caught it though, he left her room.

At that point I can't say what happened. I was heading out to go to a business meeting- why Saturday of all days I'm not sure. I was walking down to my car, ready to go, when I heard meowing like I hadn't heard before. Some of the neighbors have cats, so I assumed it was one of them, as a shorthaired black cat ran straight up to my heels, rubbing and purring like a simply affectionate pet.

I had to look at the collar tag to tell that it was Fickle! I'd never heard him meow before, much less purr. He had looked up at me with the great big eyes of a kitten, and actually let me pick him up to check his collar without scrambling to escape.

So, I let him back inside and later asked everyone else if they thought he was acting a little strange. I'm rather worried that ol' Fick's just getting old. After all, who knows what age he was when we adopted him? But maybe Lily's right, and maybe he is finally warming up to us.

I can't really say I dislike my owners- not that I love them, or anything. They're the Johnsons, and I guess they're just a normal, average four-human family with a cat. And I would know, because I am an expert on humans and the 'outside world'. I am an indoor cat, after all, but I go outside all the time. As for the Johnsons, I guess they're ok. Maybe even nice. Sometimes.

Still, I don't want them to get the wrong idea. A lot of things happened that day, you know. First off, it was the weekend. If it weren't for that, none of this would have ever happened. That's because Michael keeps forgetting that it's my couch in the morning, and if it weren't the weekend, they'd be off at who-knows-where that he and Lily go all the time. Sure, their parents are home most of the time- 'cept Mr. Johnson, Rick- but at least those guys leave me alone most 'a the time. At least they're not like Michael. It's bad enough that I have to deal with eleven-year old pulling my ears whenever he gets the chance and Lily throwing socks and strings at me to chase after three, but when they're home all day long for two days every week, it's just too much.

That's how it all started, too. Michael took my seat that morning, just as I should have expected. He was eating his breakfast on it, too, even though Mom tells him not too. And he's getting crumbs all over my spot.

So, I'm sitting here already late for my morning nap and he's already in my spot, and I figure the next best thing is the far end of the couch. I'm not going to lose to him just yet, I tell myself. I climb up there without him noticing and make myself comfortable, and he doesn't notice me at all… Only to be interrupted by the TV when he turns the volume up. Way up. And I sit there for maybe twenty minutes like that with the interruptions and the high volume.

After a while it seemed to go ok; I just wanted my seat. But when I finally actually fall asleep, I hear this noise and realize he's reaching for my ears again. His show must've ended.

That kid has had a habit of yanking my ears since he was little. He gave up trying to pet me when I wouldn't let him, and maybe it's his alternative. But it's not like I'm going to like that any more- and I let him know it, too. He once tugged on my ears so hard it felt like they were going to come off, so I gave him a good whap in the face with my claws. Michael was freaked out, but he deserved it so I really didn't feel bad at all. I didn't mean to scare him, or hurt him even… I was just trying to tell him to knock it off, you know?

Anyways, he didn't get the message, but I know when he's going to try it again. So that was petty much all the time I spent on the couch, and I hadn't really taken my nap yet. So I went down the hallway, and realized all the doors were closed. Except one.

Doors have never been a problem for me. I didn't really think about it at the time, but I'm too short to get the knob, and I'm pretty sure that's the only way to open them. Later, I'd find that out the hard way.

Again, I didn't really think about it when I turned into the only room available. It was Lily's. She was just doing homework, so I was hoping to get into her room unnoticed. And I did, too. I hoped up onto her bed, which was probably more comfortable than the couch anyways, and I hid next to the fake animals she kept there.

Now, Lily's a bit better than Michael. It might be because she's older and more mature, but it might be because she's got other things to do. But at least she doesn't insist on pulling on my ears all the time. On the other hand, she does insist on throwing toys at me and expects me to play with them. It's not really fun when they land on your face, or they're entertaining but she makes them impossible to catch- not that they are ever too fast for a feline like myself. That is to say, I don't really like playing with them- I am a full-grown cat, after all. But sometimes they, y'know, look real, and being a predator I really can't help myself.

You'd think I would have learned all the same. And I did. I wasn't caught off guard by the fuzzy blue thing landing next to my face. I could help but wait to see if it moved. It did. I didn't need to attack it- in fact, I saw through the whole entire thing- but I grabbed at it anyways, claws extended, and it jumped. It got away from me(only 'cause I wasn't really trying), but not so far enough away that I couldn't strike again. So I did. And before you know it, I'm lunging at the thing to kill it. Finally, I smack down one paw and it's trapped. I sunk my teeth into it and began to chew on the unpleasant stuffed-fabric texture, and my tooth got caught on a string.

I had a pretty good idea of what the string was, and I was right. I followed it with my eyes to the girl sitting just under the edge of the mattress with the toy fishing rod in her hand. Just as I had suspected, Lily was smiling wildly with some sort of mischievous look on her face. I'm not sure what she was smiling for, since I had obviously not fallen for her simple-minded trick. My attack had been intentional; I was following along with her plot. I left the room victorious.

Instead of finding another soft chair to sit on I decided to sit on the wooden ones in the kitchen- I still had my options of soft ones, and I could still go back, but you know, I just felt like going to the kitchen. It was almost noon. The chairs in there were made of wood and were usually someone else's seat, but right now they were empty. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were in the kitchen, going about their own business, and I knew they wouldn't bother me then.

Mrs. Johnson opened the side door as I was about to take my seat. It was a door in the kitchen that lead to the outside, as several doors did. These doors they never left open, unlike the other ones in the house. But this time, probably without her realizing it, Mrs. Johnson left the door open. I don't even remember why, but I decided to go outside too. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was curiosity. I walked right behind her heals and she still didn't notice, so I figured it'd be all right if I explored a little.

The outdoors was exactly what I expected. Not that I really had any expectations. Everything was wet and unclean; dirt was sticky, and it was crawling with the pests that the humans made sure to keep out of their house. It was at first interesting, but then very boring. I decided I didn't like it, not that I was afraid of the dirt, but by the time I turned around to head back inside, Mrs. Johnson was already there, closing the door behind her. I raced up to the door, already too late. It was shut tight; not even a crack to ease open was left. So I sat there. I sat there, and I waited for it to open for me, as doors did tend to do.

That's when I made a connection I hadn't before; no, doors did not open for me, humans opened them. None of my humans were outside, either. So I waited more. It might have been hours, days, maybe even weeks- for I do not know how time passes in the outdoors- and I began to grow hungry. Never before had I been faced with separation from my food like then. I began to long for the warm, dry environment inside. And that's why when the front door suddenly opened, and I saw, around the corner of the house, Mr. Johnson walking down the front yard to his car, that I bolted from my hiding spot. I raced towards him, meowing, and purring when I reached his heels. He looked at me pretty bewildered, as though it should have been impossible for me to act cute. It's not that I was kissing up to him, though.

Now, they think that I'm some sorta fluffy kitten there for them to pick up and play with all the time. I'm beginning to think I'll never live this one down.