(FICTION) FRIDAY followed by SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS

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This week we have been asked to write on our characters relationship with an animal.
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The Kitten
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She spent hour upon hour in her room. Just a few well-worn toys and a scattering of books for company. Whilst other eight year olds played outside, she curled up on her bed, hands pressed hard against her ears to blot out the sound of other children having fun. Hers was a dark lonely secret world.

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One day a tiny kitten leapt up onto her window ledge, squeezed through a gap and jumped down onto her pillow. The soft purring was the most comforting sound she had heard for years. The kitten snuggled up to her and for the first time in ages she drifted into a deep sleep.
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When she awoke the kitten was gone. It had been the nearest thing she had felt to happiness for many a long year.
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The next day it appeared again, and the next and the next and the next.
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Each morning and every night when the shadowy figure of her evil tormentor crept through her door she tried blotting out those terrible moments by imagining she was playing with her kitten in the garden.
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At last she had a friendly ear to confide in. She could whisper about her deepest fears and the life of misery she endured. And she knew it would go no further.
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That sweet innocent ball of fur was the only friend she had in the world.
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Sunday Scribblings has this week invited us to write on a subject from the back catalogue of prompts. I’ve chosen ‘In the Kitchen’

In the kitchen I am King! King of all I survey. The kitchen is my empire, my territory, my domain.
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I spend hour upon hour in the kitchen. Once I change into my pristine white uniform I am top dog, master and mentor.
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People come and go. Butchers, greengrocers, fishmongers and poachers. In the kitchen I conduct my business, I weal and deal, I pass cash under the counter!
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I have helpers in the kitchen. Some cook, some clean, some peel and chop, and one washes the pots.
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The kitchen is my consulting room, my advice centre, my surgery. I witness teenage angst, I advise on relationships, I stick blue plasters on cuts and gashes and I proffer a friendly ear to lost souls who have nowhere else to turn.
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The kitchen is my studio, my workshop and my laboratory. There I design, experiment, create and sometimes caramelise! Ok, burn. In the kitchen I am surrounded by cookery books, hastily written recipes and copies of old menus.
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The kitchen is where I receive orders from my hungry customers. Waitresses bring me little pieces of paper containing their orders. Some scribbled, some wordy and many illegible.
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In minutes the kitchen table is groaning with platters of steaming food, each one a product of my passion for all things gastronomic.
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At the end of service, I stand back, look around and tell myself how lucky I am to work in the kitchen.
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Then I close the door behind me, and with the sound of the day still ringing in my ears, I thank God it’s all over until tomorrow when I’ll have to bloody well do it all over again!
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For my second Sunday Scribble click here