Damien & Angel: A Tail of Two Kitties - A Flash Fiction Story

 

Or, "The Curious Case of Narcissistic Cat Disorder (NCD)"

Today, I'm sharing a fictional tale inspired by my friend's very real, very entertaining two-cat situation, where a few truths are sprinkled into a whole lot of playful imagination.

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Meet the Brothers Fluff

In a cozy, well-loved home filled with sunbeams, strategic cat towers, and the occasional overturned plant pot, live two very different kitty cats: Damien and Angel.

Angel is the embodiment of feline calm—a zen master in fur. He purrs with purpose, meditates near windows, and silently judges your snack choices with a soft, serene stare.

Then there's Damien.

If Angel is the yoga instructor of the house, Damien is the misunderstood rockstar. He enters a room like he owns it, flicks his tail like it owes him money, and occasionally asserts his feelings with the subtle grace of a velvet wrecking ball.

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Is it Jealousy? Boredom? Or... Narcissistic Cat Disorder?

We say this with love, but sometimes it seems like Damien might have a touch of Narcissistic Cat Disorder—NCD, for short. It's not in any official vet manual, but if it were, the symptoms would be obvious:

• Excessive self-admiration

• Moments of complete insanity

• Haughty stares from atop bookshelves

• The belief that Angel is merely an unpaid extra in The Damien Show

Don't get us wrong—Damien isn't mean. He's just... confidently assertive with opinions. Strong ones. Usually about who gets to walk through the hallway first.

But under that puffed-up tail and occasional glare is buried a lovable, complex little guy trying to express himself—with flair and the occasional dramatic pawticipation.

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Good Kitty vs. Dark Side Kitty: The Yin-Yarn of Household Harmony

Angel, as his name suggests, radiates tranquility. He walks gently, naps deeply, and is basically the Dalai Lama with whiskers. He even tolerates belly rubs (well, occasionally—let's not get crazy).

Damien? Damien is more "Darth Vader in a cat costume." He doesn't just swat toys—he interrogates them. He doesn't just jump on the counter—he conquers it.

But they're brothers. Opposites, yes, but bonded in a cosmic way that transcends the frequent hiss. Like Batman and Superman, only with more fur and slightly worse communication skills.

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Kitty Mom & Dad: The Real Heroes of This Saga

Before you picture total fur-coated anarchy, rest assured: kitty parents are on top of it.

They've read articles, watched expert videos, adjusted feeding schedules, and spent more on calming pheromone diffusers than they care to admit. They know the signs: the sideways glance, the twitchy tail, the silent prelude to a high-speed chase, and a Damien pounce.

This is not a home of chaos—it's a carefully managed feline society. Structured playtime? Check. Individual love sessions? Check. Strategic furniture placement to support vertical hierarchy? Check, check, and cat-tree-check.

They even have contingency plans for when Damien channels his inner drama queen and needs a solo timeout with his "special area for shame and comfort."

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The Occasional “Oops-I-Pounced-You” Moment (a.k.a. Cat-Fu Theater)

Now, let's talk about the cat pouncing.

Not the lighthearted "boop" of affection. We mean the real, committed kind—when Damien struts past Angel and delivers a swift, unannounced "just because" paw body check that clearly means, "I am the boss for the moment."

These moments are not always daily occurrences, but when they happen, ohhh, they happen.

Sometimes Angel absorbs the swat like a Buddhist monk, blinking slowly as if to say, "You're projecting again." Other times, he returns fire, and within seconds it's a full-blown Feline Face-Off—starring Fluff & Fluffer.

No claws, no blood, just a thunderous 12-second flurry of tail flicks, dramatic glares, and a series of rapid-fire sound effects that can only be described as "angry sock puppets in a wind tunnel."

It's not violence—it's performance art. And like all great artists, these two have a lot of feelings.

That said, it's always under close supervision. Kitty's mom and dad know when to redirect the energy with toys, throw out a snack distraction (aka the Peace Treat-y), or simply separate them for a cool-down session. Even if Damien occasionally leads with his paws instead of his heart, he still tricks everyone into believing he is a lovable fluff with a complex emotional soundtrack.

And Angel? Well, he's probably off journaling in the laundry basket again, processing his growth.

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In Conclusion: Two Fluffs, One Home, Infinite Drama

Whether Damien is secretly auditioning for a feline soap opera or just navigating big feelings with small paw gestures, one thing's for sure: these brothers are deeply loved and wonderfully cared for.

Their home isn't perfect, but it's full of love, laughter, and the ongoing quest for peace between Angel kitty and his slightly more… theatrical villain sibling.

Sure, there's drama—but they still curl up under the same roof as any siblings who haven't quite agreed on who's the favorite.

**Heads up: Kitty names are pseudonyms to protect their purr-sonal privacy!

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🕮 I hope you enjoyed this latest flash fiction piece :)

🕮 If you're in the mood for more, a few weeks ago I shared a flash fiction story about Gracie at age 8—full of childhood wonder—and before that, one about Gracie at 82, rich with wisdom and reflection.

If you're looking for a spiritual short story, I penned this one in 2021.

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🕮 I've also published 50 Years of Poetry—We Will Have Morning Smiles, Available on Amazon (a lifetime of my poetry).

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Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

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Gracie Always Knew - A Doll's Lesson - A Flash Fiction Story

In March of this year, I wrote my first flash fiction story.

It was about an 82-year-old woman named Gracie, rocking in her chair on her porch, reflecting upon her life. 

Today is another flash fiction story about Gracie, who is eight years old. Long before those 82 years of life experience kicked in.

This flash fiction is about the early signs of who Gracie would become, and the first quiet stirrings of the peace she would one day find within herself—peace that would stay with her all the way to that rocking chair at 82.

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Gracie Always Knew - A Doll's Lesson

Gracie held her favorite doll, its painted smile forever unchanged. 

She studied it closely, realizing that while she had learned to run faster, dream bigger, and feel deeper, the doll had stayed exactly the same. Time moved through her like the changing seasons—shaping her in quiet, steady ways—while the doll stayed exactly the same.

That's when she understood: time only changes the living.

She gave the doll a pretend life, imagining it full of thoughts and adventures. But sometimes, late at night, another thought crept in—what if someone imagined me into being, giving me my lines, feelings, and story?

Church was as much a part of her life as brushing her teeth or saying goodnight. And with church came God, expected, unquestioned, and ever-present. 

But the older she got, the more she wondered: Where is God? Why is God? Her questions had grown more detailed now, shaped by the things she was starting to notice about the world and about herself. Those questions were still too big to hold, but she carried them anyway.

She thought often about who she was becoming. 

There was one thing she wanted to be more than anything—kind. Really kind. The type of kind that came from the inside, not just because someone was watching. At eight years old, she failed at that many times. But it remained ever-present in her spirit.

Most of the time, she was kind. But not always. Sometimes, she snapped at her little brother and was mean to her little brother! 

Sometimes, envy crept in like a thief. She felt that and knew jealousy was not something to cling to. Still, deep down, she understood those moments didn't define her. They were passing clouds, not her sky.

Something inside her—some glowing ember she couldn't name—kept telling her that kindness mattered more than almost anything else. It was what made people beautiful. Not their clothes, or their hair, or even their words. 

She felt kindness was like sunlight through a window—gentle, warm, and easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but everything felt better there.

However, the world didn't always agree.

Gracie had started to notice contradictions. 

Adults talked about love, forgiveness, and doing what was right. They sang about it in church, prayed about it at dinner, and nodded solemnly as Church leaders spoke.

But then the same people would gossip, lose their tempers, or ignore someone who needed help. It confused her. How could they forget so quickly?

She wanted to believe people meant well—that they were just trying, like she was. But part of her couldn't shake the feeling that some were only pretending—that they wore kindness like a costume and took it off when it no longer served them.

And then, with a quiet sigh, she admitted it—Sometimes, I do that too.

The realization didn't crush her, but settled into her chest with weight. Maybe being good wasn't about getting it right every time. Perhaps it was about not giving up when you got it wrong.

Gracie didn't like the idea of perfection—something about it always felt impossible, like a game no one could win. And yet, she couldn't help but chase it. 

Even at eight, she felt the pressure to be the one who got it right, who made things better, who didn't let anyone down. Somewhere along the way, without meaning to, she'd written herself a silent set of rules: Be better. Fix it. Don't disappoint. 

She didn't know it then, but that quiet urge to rescue and make things right would shape much of her life—until years later, when she finally began to see its weight and learn a different way of being.

You see, Gracie was, by nature, a rescuer. But she didn't know that yet. 

For now, at eight years old, she knew only this: being a doll would be so much easier. Dolls didn't have to ask questions, feel pain, or wrestle with what was right. Dolls didn't worry about being enough.

It was the first time she realized how heavy it could be to be real—and maybe the first clue that she was beginning to understand more than most eight-year-olds.

That's when Gracie wrote her first poem, at 8 years old. She called it "Thanksgiving."

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Am I Gracie? 

You can safely presume that I'm Gracie, and yes, that first poem called Thanksgiving is included in my published poetry book below. I penned it when I was in grade 3; it is childlike and reflects the idealistic mind of an 8-year-old.

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I hope you've enjoyed the story of Gracie's life lesson at eight years old. 🕮

If you're into a longer story, I've penned this short story, The Gift of Knowing (can you sense a theme here?).

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*50 Years of Poetry - We Will Have Morning Smiles, Available on Amazon (A lifetime of my personal poetry). *Commissionsearned

Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

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Gracie's Edge of Knowing - A Flash Fiction Story

My Flash Fiction Short Story

This story is about Gracie, an 82-year-old woman who reflects on the choices that shaped her life, wondering if she unknowingly chose hardship over ease or if each struggle was a lesson meant to expand her soul.

Gracie's Edge of Knowing

Gracie rocked gently on the front porch, the creak of the wooden boards beneath her chair keeping time with the rhythmic chirp of the crickets. The air was thick with the scent of earth and wildflowers, the sun dipping below the trees in a lazy surrender to dusk. 

She watched the world settle, the sky shifting from gold to deep violet, the colors blending like the years of her life—some vibrant, some shadowed, all layered upon each other.

Eighty-two years had come and gone, each one filled with choices—some deliberate, some made in haste, some dictated by circumstance. They all brought her to this porch, in this moment of reflection.

She had never been unhappy, not truly. Even when life was at its hardest, when the money ran thin, when loss hollowed her out, when the weight of responsibility pressed upon her shoulders—there had always been a quiet joy inside her. A knowing. An acceptance. 

But tonight, as the twilight deepened, a familiar question lingered on the edges of her thoughts, like the echo of a song she could never quite forget: Had she chosen wisely, or had she simply chosen difficulty? Had she spent her years intentionally growing or foolishly suffering?

You see, Gracie had never been one to take the easy road. Even as a girl, she felt drawn to the winding paths that made her think, feel, struggle, and stretch. 

Some had said she married young, too young. But she and Jack had built a life together, one of hard work, sacrifice, and victories that only they could fully understand. 

Jack had been gone for five years now, but his echo still lived in the walls of their home—a presence that whispered through every corner and crevice, like the wind moving through the trees.

Their children had grown, as children do, into lives of their own—busy lives, full of their own choices. She was never upset when they couldn't visit. She knew how it was; she had once been them, caught in the whirlwind of a young, on-the-go life. 

And she was not lonely. Loneliness was an emptiness, and she was not empty. She was simply wondering.

Had she wasted this trip to earth?

Her hands, wrinkled and wise, rested in her lap as she reflected upon her life. 

She had lived at the edge of outer peace, always on the periphery of the easy life. But inner peace? That she had. A deep well of it, a knowing that everything—every heartbreak, every struggle, every joy—had led her to an understanding that could not have come any other way. 

She had not walked the simplest path, but perhaps she had walked the one that mattered most for her needed life lessons.

Maybe that was the point of it all: To arrive at the end with a soul that had stretched and softened, that had learned love beyond self, that had carried burdens only to lay them down with grace. To have gathered wisdom not from ease but from experience.

She exhaled, long and slow, as if releasing the weight of the question into the evening air. The answer was not hers to fully grasp, not yet.

Perhaps she wouldn't understand until she left this place, until the universe whispered the truth into her soul as she crossed into whatever came next. And that was fine. She could wait.

For now, she lived with love in her heart, and that was enough. The night deepened, the stars blinking awake one by one, and Gracie rocked on, peaceful in the not knowing.

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I hope you've enjoyed my attempt at flash fiction 🕮

If you're into a longer story, I've penned this short story, The Gift of Knowing (can you sense a theme here?).

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50 Years of Poetry - We Will Have Morning Smiles, Available on Amazon (A lifetime of my personal poetry).

Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

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His Gift Was Knowing - A Short Story

I've had the privilege of reading and reviewing many short stories by friends of mine. Being a writer of poetry and riddle books, I've never tackled a fictional short story online. As a young girl, I wrote many. However, as an adult, nope, never fictional.

Fiction wasn't my thing. Maybe it's this whole getting-older-stuff that gets us stepping out of our comfort zone? That's exactly what propelled me to write and publish my first poetry book in 2019, and since then, six riddle books. For some unknown reason, I had and still have a sense of urgency.

I blame time for my bravery to try new things. Time is knocking on my door, and my sense of it passing by too quickly is front and center these days.

So today's review is about jumping in and doing that one thing you've been hesitant to do. For me, it's writing a fictional story. So judge away, lol.

His Gift Was Knowing - A Short Story by Barbara Tremblay Cipak

His Gift Was Knowing - A Short Story About Love and Light

She stood at the bottom of that radiant sun-soaked hill sobbing from a pain that she didn't fully understand. 

This kind of suffering was beyond anything Kathleen had ever experienced.

It hurt more than when her father unexpectedly died in his sleep from an unknown heart condition when she was only eighteen; and even more than her mother's difficult passing from dementia three months ago.  

At the top of that hill, Kathleen could see Jeffrey, dressed in a lovely black suit. Her heart could feel his soul as if he were still that precious two-year-old rusty haired boy she rocked to sleep every night for years. She wondered how he grew up so quickly into the dapper twenty-year-old she was looking at today.

Kathleen could see Jeffrey comforting his sister. Holly's strong independent nature couldn't console her on this day. At eighteen, Holly needed her brother's shoulder. Kathleen was grateful that her children were there for each other.

Then it hit her. 

Kathleen suddenly realized why she was feeling this indescribable pain. Her children were grieving, and she could feel every part of their anguish. The tears she cried were a combination of all her love, as well as theirs.

Kathleen remembered how it happened, how she died. 

Two weeks ago, life took a turn that led her to the road she was on today.

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It was a bright, beautiful Tuesday. With spring in full bloom, she remembered feeling like anything was possible. As she headed downstairs that morning, she had an unexpected moment of knowing that everything would be ok. It was so profound that it stopped her on the steps. She paused to inhale the gift and felt fortunate to be in tune with something that always felt personal to her, something cosmic.

While sitting in her kitchen, waiting for nothing, Kathleen was enjoying a fresh cup of morning coffee. Life had always been a struggle, but Kathleen managed to find rays of sunshine. She called them 'her moments of bliss.' 

Being a single mom, she tried hard to maintain an uplifting attitude. She couldn't afford to slip into hopelessness. She often said, 'my children save my life every day.' To her, that was the greatest gift, and being a good mother was the least she could do for what they gave to her; hope.

Doing everything and expecting nothing had been Kathleen's motto. "Just do," she used to say; the rest will take care of itself.

While sipping that coffee, her phone rang. It was a number she didn't recognize and almost didn't answer. But being a believer in chance, she thought maybe today good luck would shine upon them and send the money they desperately needed for Holly's medication. 

Holly suffered from a rare auto-immune disease and required expensive anti-inflammatories to keep her frequent seizures under control.  

She answered that unexpected call.

"Hello, Kathleen speaking." 

"Hi, is this Kathleen Summers?" 

"Yes, it is."

"Hello, this is the office of Brander and Dorval. We handled your father's Last Will & Testament."

Kathleen was confused. Her father didn't own anything; he didn't have anything. How could there possibly be a Will, and why would someone be contacting her thirty-seven years after his death about a Will!

"What?" Kathleen said sharply

"Yes, there is a Will, and Mr. Brander needs to speak to you about it. Could you come in today, how's 1:00 pm?"

Although nearly speechless from shock, Kathleen agreed. 

Kathleen could hear both her kids shuffling upstairs as they readied themselves for their day. Jefferey loved animals and worked to save money to go to school to become a Veterinarian. His determination alone woke him daily for his job. Never late, always dependable. That was Jeffrey.

Holly never let her health stand in her way. She was about to finish her last semester of High School. Her curiosity about her auto-immune disease led her to want to study within that field. Maybe a doctor, perhaps a researcher; she hadn't figured that out yet.

Kathleen was proud of their determined spirit. It hadn't been easy for them; lack of money was always the mountain they had to climb, but her kids never let that stop them from dreaming. 

Kathleen headed upstairs to ready herself for her unexpected appointment and let the kids know she would be out for the afternoon. She didn't tell them about the strange call since she wasn't sure it was real.

Hugging both kids as they left for the day, Kathleen reminded them she wouldn't be working from home this afternoon, and not to worry, she had an errand to run. "Love you both," she shouted. "Love you back mom, bye, have a great day!"

The Law Office was grand. This company had been in business practically forever. As she walked into the ornate building, she wondered how on earth her father could afford this caliber of a lawyer. "Nah," she said to herself, "This has to be a mistake."

A lovely, tall, dark-haired lady led her into Mr. Brander's office.

Mr. Brander proceeded to introduce himself and encouraged her to take a seat. 

Kathleen exclaimed, "this is a mistake; you must have the wrong Kathleen Summers."

"I'll get right to it, Ms. Summers." He pulled out a large brown envelope. Inside the envelope were instructions given to the law firm.

Mr. Brander pulled out a photo and asked Kathleen, "Is this your father?"

Almost fainting, Kathleen nervously answered in question format, "Yes?"

"Ms. Summers, your father left you an inheritance, not to be opened until this day."

Mr. Brander proceeded, "In these instructions, we're asked to give you this black notebook along with this key."

Mr. Brander informed her that the key was to a safety deposit box at a bank not too far from here and that he would have to accompany her to access the box. However, she would have to read what was in the black notebook first, as those were her father's instructions. 

"It's private, only for you." Mr. Brander led her to a boardroom where she could quietly process the unexpected gift that was left to her thirty-seven years ago. 

Kathleen opened the cover.

"To my darling Kathleen and her children."

She gasped out loud, "how was that possible!"  She hadn't had children when her dad had died. 

She turned that first page and began to read.

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My Dearest Kathleen:

You have the same gift I do. From the moment you were born, I knew within you was the gift of knowing. You always seem to understand that in the end, everything would be ok. 

From as far back as I can remember, maybe back to when I was two or three, I could see significant events coming next. Everyone else calls it psychic; I call it life. I don't know why or how I have this gift, but it is a part of me. 

I'm writing this letter because, in less than a week, I'll be gone. I know I'm destined to die in my sleep. Rest assured, it will be from natural causes. You'll later find out I had a heart condition. I've seen several doctors about it, but all tests showed nothing substantial. However, I know I won't live. It's the same knowingness you carry about life.

You'll have two kids, and I know one of them will have a medical condition. I can't tell you any of this now, at eighteen. You wouldn't understand or believe me. But mostly, you don't need to know about this blessing and burden at such a young age. So I decided to handle things this way.

My grandchildren needed to be taken care of, so I started early in life making sure they would be alright. You'll eventually understand why this is so important and why I did things this way.

Go with the lawyer to open that safety deposit box. Please pass all its contents along to your children. I promise you; it will eventually make sense.

Love you more than you could  know - until we meet again,

Dad

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Kathleen felt both grateful and fearful, but a part of her was angry. 

"Why would dad leave something for children I didn't have and never think to leave things to me?" She wasn't jealous about the gift for her kids; she was baffled. 

Mr. Brander opened the boardroom door and asked her if she was ready to go to the bank. On the drive there, Mr. Brander informed her that her father and his father had been good friends and that it was his father who initially worked on her dad's Will. "Before my dad died, he filled me in on your dad's wishes and the Will our firm was holding for you," I promised him I would take care of it when the time came.

Inside the little room, and in her father's lawyer's presence, Kathleen opened the safety deposit box.

There were two large brown envelopes.

Printed on one envelope was "Open this one first," and on the other, "Open this one last."

Kathleen opened the first envelope to find another letter from her father.

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Dearest Kathleen; 

To help your children, my grandchildren achieve their purpose in life, I've taken steps to ensure they would have the resources they needed to achieve their goals and complete their contribution.

You'll find in the next envelope that I've invested $20,000 in a safe stock portfolio held by this bank. By the time you open this letter, it should be worth between 140,000 and 200,000 dollars. The bank can help you with those details.

Please ensure your children get all the documents and my letters.

__________

Kathleen felt more than loved. She began to get that cosmic sense she was accustomed to, that there's still more to this story. It both scared her and comforted her.

Mr. Brander handed her all the documents, including the little black notebook with her dad's initial letter, and they hugged and parted ways for the day. They planned to meet at the bank in the coming days to establish the value of the inheritance her father left to her children.

Kathleen arrived home at about 5:00 pm. Both Jeffrey and Holly were preparing dinner. "Hi, mom," they cheerfully blurted. "Where were you?"

"Well, you aren't going to believe my day; you both better sit down." Kathleen then proceeded to tell them the entire day's events.

The kids were beyond shocked. Like their mom, they were a bit confused about why their grandfather would wait all these years to give them this inheritance and why it would go to them. 

Later that night, as they were all preparing for bed, Kathleen hugged both of her kids, told them she loved them, and said, "Let's sleep on it tonight; maybe things would be clearer in the morning."

Kathleen died in her sleep that night.

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She understood the purpose of her father's Will now. As she stood at the bottom of that hill watching her kids at the top, she knew they were visiting her grave. She noticed something tucked under Jeffrey's arm; it was that little black notebook.

Suddenly Kathleen's tears stopped, and beside her stood both her father and her mother. Her first words were, "Mom, you knew all this time." "I did, dear, I always trusted your father's gift of knowing. We both planned this for you.

The three of them walked towards the children at the top of the hill. As they stood beside them, they heard Holly speaking. "Thank you, mom, for all you did for us. Grandpa's $20,000 investment is worth over $300,000 today. That's enough for Jeffrey and me to go to school. I'm going to be a Doctor, mom, and Jeffrey is going to be a Veterinarian. We promise to make you proud.

Kathleen, with joyful tears, had no doubt they would.

Kathleen's father let her in on the biggest secret of all. "Do you know why we did this?" Kathleen answered, "Yes, to help the kids achieve their dreams." 

Her dad said, "That was one reason, but not the main reason. Holly will be part of a global discovery on how to help those who suffer from auto-immune diseases. It will be the breakthrough of her time. She's going to help a lot of people. And Jeffrey won't just be Veterinarian; he's going to be a major contributor to one of the largest animal rescue facilities in the country."

"And you knew this when you were little, dad?" "Yes, I did," he replied.

"How?" she asked. "I don't know, we all have a gift; we just have to open our minds to see it and believe it.

As Jeffrey and Holly walked away, Kathleen asked her mother and father, "where are we going now?"

"Home Kathleen, we're going home."

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I had originally written this story to enter a contest but then decided against it. So there you have it, one more step outside of that familiar comfort zone.

Have you ever stepped outside of your comfort zone?

Additional Articles on My Self-Publishing Journey

• How to Write a Riddle Book
• Five Helpful Tools for the Newbie Self-Publisher
• Matte or Glossy Book Covers
• 12 Preparation Tips for Creating a Book Series
• 3 More Tips for a Newbie Self-Publisher
• Basic Tips I Learned on My Self-Publishing Journey

Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

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