Trixie sat all alone in the centre of her pink velvet
cushion and looked shyly up at her besotted audience. Her eyes, large
and innocent looking were the clearest sky blue you ever did see.
Her fur all thick and glossy was the purest of white, and her claws,
short and expertly clipped were the brightest of pink to match the
diamond studded collar that hung luxuriously around her neck. At twelve
weeks old she was now the pride and joy of Mrs Barrington Smyth. Trixie
was no ordinary cat. She had been ordered long in advance and bred
at very great cost. She was of course the finest pedigree that money
could buy and now here she was ready to be shown off to the world.
No expense had been spared. Her standing in the elite community in
which she had come to live was, thanks to the prowess of her husband,
growing by the day and she was desperate to make an impression. All
the most eminent women in the neighbourhood had turned out looking
on with great anticipation, invited even before the kittens eyes had
opened. Mrs Barrington Smyth was so very proud. She was wearing her
most expensive designer dress, her most flashy jewellery adorned her
neck and fingers and her hair and makeup were flawless. Weeks of preparation
had led to this very moment. Expectations were high and now everyone
was gathered.
Trixie did not much like being stared at. From a very young age she
had been taken from her mother and subjected to a regime that would
make most cats quiver. Her mistress was very demanding. Every day
a new face would appear. Every day there was something new that she
must learn. She was taught were to sleep and were to sit, how to eat
and how to do her toilet. Every day she had to sit still and be professionally
groomed and have her nails expertly painted. Any kind of scratching
was expressly forbidden. Her mistress carried her everywhere so that
her feet never got dirty nor her varnish chipped. Now sitting huddled
on her plush pink cushion with dozens of beady eyes boring down into
her Trixie had had enough.
Trixie had a full and adoring crowd on which to launch her secret
weapon. In the past she had tested it when her mistress was well out
of range. Several times she had used it on the human who pulled at
her fur. In the beginning it had had little effect and she had been
disappointed with the results but after a little practise she knew
her technique was improving. Her time and potency were crucial. She
knew she had to get it just right and after witnessing several startled
and disgusted reactions she knew she was onto a winner. She would
then sit back and watch the hasty retreat of the human smug in the
knowledge that would never be reported back for she was the cat that
could do no wrong.
The fart when it broke from that small fluffy bottom was silent yet
deadly. At first it formed a suffocating cloud, thick and heavy and
hanging just to the left of Mrs Barrington Smyth’s nose.. Mrs
BS sat there smiling broadly. A nose job several years before had
totally robbed her of her sense of smell and so there she sat, showing
off her perfectly straight, white teeth totally unaware of the havoc
her precious little angel was about to cause. Trixie sat and watched
and waited for the reaction. Slowly but surely the dense cloud began
to move. With no air conditioning and very few drafts the cloud moved
compactly, upwards and forwards straight into the path of its unsuspecting
victims. At the same time the women had stepped forward as one, all
the better to admire the pretty little kitty. Their heads, so close
they were almost touching bowed low as a chorus of oohhss and aaahhs
filled the room. Trixie wriggled her bottom and tried to look as cute
as she possibly could. A wave of sickly sweet perfume hit her square
in the nose and she sneezed. More cooing and laughter ensued and Trixie
became worried that their overpowering smell would ruin her plan.
However, even their expensive perfumes, strong that they were, could
not stop the spread of this obnoxious, suffocating odour.
Suddenly the cooing stopped and Trixie watched delighted as a sea
of faces slowly began to change. A wave of perfect noses began to
twitch and immaculate faces became twisted and pinched as the smell
invaded their nostrils. Of course being ladies of breeding it would
be impolite to show their reaction but under such arduous conditions
it became challenging indeed. They tried hard not to gag as the taste
hit their noses. The taste of stale, fetid flesh coating their mouths
and lining their throats. Long, well manicured fingers were discretely
held at their noses as their eyes began to shiftily dart around. .
Everyone suspected everyone else but in the end it was obvious where
the smell had come from. Only the constantly smiling face of Mrs Barrington
Smythe hadn’t changed. Her expression was just the same. She
suspected nothing. Trixie lay silent and smug upon her cushion, her
big blue eyes looking innocently up. The crowd backed off. A cacophony
of delicate coughs and the dainty shuffling of feet filled the room
as the ladies tried to put a discrete distance between them and their
host. Naturally this made not a jot of difference for like a heat
seeking missile the cloud just followed. The more they breathed it
in the more revolting it became. One by one like a line of falling
dominoes they made their excuses and left the party. In no time at
all the room was empty.
Mrs Barrington Smythe sat on her chair, mouth agape totally perplexed.
Looking out upon an empty room she had no idea what had just happened.
She looked down at her beautiful kitten. Her fur was still the purest
of white, her eyes the most gorgeous of blue. She saw a picture of
innocence and love staring adoringly back at her and she smiled. What
a stupid woman Mrs Barrington Smythe really was.
Annette Cutts September 2009
