Through the Port Hole of Mordog

Hound’s Teeth

Terror rages at the hands of Islamic State intent on violence and victory as the soldiers observe the fleeing multitudes.

Over in Europe, safe and secure with nothing to worry about, regular news flashes keep the viewers up to date with the long lines of refugees heading their way. More reports tell of overloaded boats capsizing at sea with too many passengers onboard, victims of wicked entrepreneurs packing them in too tightly.

american-bulldog-179677_640All this runs in the background on the TV in a small household presided over by a mother with a soft spot for animals. Other residents are the daughter with her new boyfriend and his American bulldog. Also Sluzy the cat, not too pleased about the canine invader but holding his ground.

He’s a big dog and well muscled but the cat is a veteran of all night rat-hunts. His damaged eyelid and torn ear are the markers that prove it. Deep scratches on the dog’s nose and lips advertise a recent disagreement where the dog fared badly and now thinks twice before his next attack.

Somehow gifted with the ability to sense the future, Sluzy is having anxiety dreams and rightly so because the mother is so enchanted by the dog that she wants one (of her own) and searches the internet for rescue centres, fingers crossed.

‘Yay.’ She finds one, 250 miles away. A website shows Cromly curled on a couch for the photo looking pathetic with a history of abuse before abandonment and now coming to the end of his tenure in the dog’s home. The needle of oblivion only a few days away.

Say no more and soon there are two big dogs playing rough on the carpet as the family looks on fondly, pleased to be giving a new start to the bag of bones who needs love and fattening up.

Not joining in on the joyful good news now sinking their teeth into each other, Sluzy’s advanced preternatural instincts detect a radical change approaching. Two dogs is a tactical advantage he can’t beat.

A high bunk-bed provides a safety zone above the reach of the pack so he claims it and observes their bonding techniques as they snarl at each other at meal time trying to steal the other’s dinner.

The younger one, sorely deprived of kingship in his new territory, gives Cromly some rules with his teeth. The smell of dog blood wafts to the upper regions where Sluzy sniffs it on the passing air wondering about his dinner, hoping it hasn’t been overlooked owing to dog priorities now prevailing.

It’s a stormy night with rain lashing the doors and windows and Sluzy feels hungry as yet another blast hurls itself against the building.

Across Europe a forest fire of enraged xenophobia is dampened by images of a tiny body washed onto a Mediterranean shore, still in his nice trainers in the arms of the beach cleaners.

This powerful call from Mercy squeezes the collective heart of humanity and the clarion call changes to shaming politicians into action, urging them to take a u-turn on election promises to reduce immigration. Empathy for the plight of the refugees writes a new agenda.

Sluzy hasn’t been forgotten and the smell of food is carried by the same currents as the blood but life itself is under threat so he stays put.

The dogs catch the scent too and are held back by the strong boyfriend who needs all his weight to prevent the descent to the dish but the mother wisely decides on dinner in the bathroom for Sluzy so she carries him using a two handed grasp around his ribcage, looking vulnerable through airspace only three feet away from the lathering jaws.

Some time passes as the fastidious cat works through his chicken livers, savouring every mouthful so the guards grow tired of vigilance and when the door is eventually opened for a peek to see if he’s done, the dogs’ handler is busy elsewhere sorting through DVD’s.

Sluzy shoots out under a forest of legs to leap up to the bunk but miscalculates on the bedding sliding. In the moments of scrabbling, Cromly gets him and with a mighty shake of his head, throws him across the room.

The wall boarding that arrests his flight impresses the curve of his back with segments of vertebrae clearly moulded. He bounces before dropping to the ground on all fours as the front door opens and a drenched daughter steps in, home from work.

A blur is all they see as Sluzy leaves the building without a pause and the door quicklyBLACK CAT closes to stop the dog’s pursuit.

Disturbing images of Hungarian border guards using tear-gas to repel refugees flicks across the screen as the mother wonders what can be done and goes outside into the dark with an umbrella to call him back.

Sluzy hears the sweet familiar tones from under his bush where he’s considering his options now he’s crossed off his familiar home as old territory no longer safe.

About garth

I'm an indie author ardently writing fiction and you’ll notice a leaning towards Egypt. The book in the cooker right now is called The River Through. Hatsepsut features strong as an ancient enigma bringing her people back to pure after a sullying occupation by the Hyksos. I like these desert ancestors who dragged great chunks of stone for miles to build runways for god. Religion was a major preoccupation always. Magic was mixed in, sometimes called miracles. Christian and Hebrew testaments carried it over. Egyptians weren’t bothered with a history list based on sequential record keeping so there are numerous and bewildering gaps. A definite plus for the fiction writer. (Colouring in the spaces.) Bio: I am very tall and many people call me a freak (and laugh) so a slight chip on the shoulder but thick skinned - not impervious. Lots of short people out there who aren’t pleased to be little too. Given the choice, I’d keep length. Upbringing I am thankful because, during my life I have found many people who weren't so blessed so thanks mum and dad for pulling me out of the lucky dip. Two sisters and a brother, all of them cleverer than me or so they think. A wife who loves me - thanks Gill xxxx Two daughters, a yoga teacher and a nurse who don't quite hate me but we are moving in that direction as I tread heavier with advice. Lovely grandchildren who will develop into super beings if they maintain the current progress. A cat called Squeezely who has finally learned to evacuate his bowels outside. Buster the darling dog with a sensitive way and an over-exuberance for affection but we all let him take us down for licking. He's big. Occupation: Education first: Good military school that chased out the bad in me I can tell you. No-one put a polish on a boot better but it was enjoyable in retrospect. Not at the time though. Art college next and enlightenment - the world was a better place afterwards. Self employed antique furniture and restoration - very enjoyable and fulfilling but not overflowing financially. We did okay and we prospered.
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17 Responses to Through the Port Hole of Mordog

  1. Colette B says:

    ooh, that’s a very interesting and poignant piece of writing Garth. Sluzy is quite difficult to even say too! I really enjoyed the alternating juxtapositions in the way you structured this post. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • garth says:

      Sloozy is the way to say it. Looked at your blog and I like your writing too. Have you tried virtual art with your writing. Imagine you’re in an art gallery looking at a drawing by you. I do it a lot in my books with sculpture.

      Liked by 3 people

      • Colette B says:

        yes, I got the how to say, but it came out ‘shloozy’ almost every time!:D So you make sculpture and imagine you’re in a gallery looking at it when you write? Or you mean you look at virtual sculpture and imagine? Or you mean make digital art and use in a post? here’s one I made a lot earlier (May), with my new toy, but not done enough since as first ill then writing more

        Liked by 2 people

      • garth says:

        look at virtual art and imagine – I like your blog – you have a fluid writing style that’s easy to read. I took me a while to come up with my way which keeps changing depending on my mood. I have to beware of being too glib 🙂

        Liked by 2 people

      • Colette B says:

        Glib’s a fab word I’ve not heard in ages and can’t quite remember exactly what it means – but I don’t believe I’ve seen any glibness or glibbitty or even glibberish at your blog so any issue you may have with it must be very well kept in check by your awareness 🙂 Thank you for the compliment too 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • garth says:

        I think it means a bit on the shallow side in my ability to engage with the subject and a tendency for flippancy. I have to watch it carefully so it stays back 🙂 I like ‘profound’ which can be super-intellectual when I get going and no to that one too. So it’s a tightrope 🙂

        Liked by 2 people

  2. Vibrant says:

    I wonder why it is set in the war era. It’s a beautiful view-point. I read a blog where author writes from view point of cats. They are various conversations going on inside the heads aof cats which are philosophical. She calls them “feline prompts.”

    I enoyed reading this. Thanks for sharing.

    Anand 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  3. It seems on humans as well as animals, same territorial disputes happens as what your story seems to appeal to me Sir Garth. I hope the problem in Europe will soon be resolved and people who need refuge can be given what they need. And poor cat but I guess she must learn to live with the two canine buddies as all of them are loved in that household. 🙂


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