I wrote this story as practice. Its in the point of view of a mans pet, a cat named Juniper.
Juniper. used in gin, the liquid that reminds you of a bright, flashy holiday filled with consistent chaos and feet hurrying everywhere. The beverage though, you imagine it must be smoother. He drinks it the way you drink water and it goes down easy. You enjoyed the nights he would stay home and drink his gin, in his lap you would collect the condensation on the sides. It was like you were sharing, but every time you got too close to the fire in the glass he would shoo you away.
Juniper. The berries are used in Scandinavian cuisine to impact a dish with a sharp, clear flavor. To wake the senses. Remind you you’re alive. At least that’s what he said and you believed him because he traveled miles and miles every night behind his lids, in his dreams. You would watch him visit london, france, austria. Deserts, oceans, fields, gardens. Until he woke. Then he would visit with you, just like after a long trip.
Juniper. The name of the street she used to live on. You can remember it. The way the air always smelt of honey and bleach. The way the wood floors were cold and unwelcoming on the pads of your feet. Nothing ever felt calm, nothing ever settled. He had carpets on his floors and it always smelt of stale smoke. The temperature rested at a balmy seventy six and there was always a warm spot by the window where you could absorb light rays for as long as you chose. Yes, he complimented you quite astonishingly.
Juniper. Nine times out of ten it’s used in natural remedies. Offers relief, comfort. Normalcy. It gets you back on track. It’s healthy. It’s just. Good.
Juniper. that was you, with eyes the same color as the berries. You were everything he enjoyed and once enjoyed, all rolled into one being and he somehow adored you through all of the heartbreak and pain. your name was very symbolic. That much you understood. sometimes that fact hurt you. Looking in his eyes was always a gamble because you made him feel so much. So many different things. More things, you think, than you’re capable of. But you also think that that’s ok. Because much like juniper berries in Scandinavian cuisine, you were sharp and clean. You were refreshing.
Just then his eyes blink open and rest on yours. This is one of those moments you aren’t sure. The morning and the evening. They’re very fragile, very crucial moments. Every beginning and end are.
But he smiles and he reaches out, grabbing you, holding you. His rough hands a vivid contrast to your soft, well kept fur.
“oh juniper, good morning.”
And you would purr. Good morning.