Mamra Shrestha
Chester was content with his life in the grand estate, where he lived in luxury. He spent his days snoozing on his plush cushions, chasing the occasional mouse, and lounging in the sun that streamed through the large windows. Mr. Whiskers, his owner, lavished him with the finest treats and scratched behind his ears until they were both blissfully content.
Yet, at some point, everything changed when Mrs. Whiskers entered the picture. She was a tall, thin woman with long blonde hair and piercing green eyes, and she was in love with Chester. She resented her husband's attention to the sassy cat and had a fervent dislike for him.
She spat at Mr. Whiskers one evening as they sat down for dinner, "Choose me or the cat. I can no longer bear to see you cuddling that little animal with fur." Mr. Whiskers was conflicted. He loved his wife very much and didn't want to lose her. On the one hand Chester was always by his side, and he couldn't imagine life without him. He couldn't bear the idea of parting ways with Chester because they had been so close since Chester was a kitten.
Tensions between Chester and Mrs. Whiskers grew as thick as the mist that rolled off the nearby moors over the days. She would glower at him whenever he walked into the room, and Chester could detect her hatred like a terrible stench. He attempted to keep out of her way, yet it appeared as though there was no place in the estate where he could escape from her anger.
Chester was cornered in the library by Mrs. Whiskers one afternoon while Mr. Whiskers was out for a walk. "You're going to have to go," she hissed, her voice shaking with rage. I can no longer bear this.
Chester was aware he needed to think quickly. He couldn't leave the only place he had ever called home, but he couldn't stay if it meant causing Mr. Whiskers trouble. He therefore pretended to be ill, as any self-respecting cat would do in such a circumstance. He fell to the ground, rolling over onto his back to show his vulnerable belly. He let out a couple of melancholy howls, hoping to evoke some compassion from Mrs. Hairs. It worked, surprising him.
She softened a little, shifting her expression from rage to worry. "Good gracious, Chester! Are you alright? You appear awful!" Chester kept up the show, acting tired and weak. Knowing that this was his best chance of staying in the estate, he blinked his eyes and purred apathetically.
Mrs. Whiskers paused, then slowly nodded. "Okay, I suppose we can keep you, but you need to get in shape and stop being so troublesome." When Mrs. Whiskers stormed out of the room, leaving Chester and Mr. Whiskers alone, Chester silently let out a sigh of relief. Chester purred happily, content to be a member of the family when his owner came over to pet him. Chester learned to live with the tension, content in the knowledge that he had won this round, even though Mrs. Whiskers never fully warmed up to him. After all, a cat must perform its duties to survive.
