The Frying Pan by Randy Moore

Finalist in the short story category, Mensa Canada 2016 Literary Contest

While attempting to cook one of those mediocre bachelor type breakfasts I totally altered the physical state of my eggs and bacon beyond any imaginable recognition.

Being a typical male I cleverly diverted blame from myself and vented anger left over from a rather social night before.

I seized the frying pan with a vengeance and cast it out the window far into the back yard.

Bloody useless utensil of modern gimmickry and convenience.

What possible use have you but to ruin a mans’ first meal of the day.

Life continued on as it tends to do and that frying pan totally escaped any conscious thought. For what possible good can evolve from such a mundane object.

Weeks later, while tending a parched garden and wilted back yard, I noticed a rather sorry looking kitten. Its’ trembling legs attempted to support a much worn little body.

His sunken eyes and grossly matted fur spelled out the apparent past of such a fine creature. The kitten was evidently born into an unwanted litter then cast out as a bother and doomed it to self survival.

I pondered how to approach it to offer assistance. As I watched the kitten it staggered over to a spot that, for some unknown reason, brought back a glimmer of recognition from weeks ago.

The bedraggled creature bent its head and appeared to be drinking. Upon investigation it became apparent that the old discarded frying pan had collected water from the last rain fall before this drought and held an oasis of life for this near departed creature.

As I scooped that kitten into my arms a thought flashed through my mind. That useless old frying pan had eluded my condemnation to discard. I will have to get around to it soon.

As the summer wore on I was involved in the consumption of my favorite beverage while my new cat frolicked about. My total absorption into the global issues that met my eyes from the newspaper kept my attention from my little friends’ discovery. A shriek pierced through my hypnotic stare from the page.

The cat has found a prize. But why is a midnight black raven sky diving to attempt infliction of pain upon my pet?

Upon further scrutiny I discovered my cat curiously examining a nest of baby ravens. Their tremolo shrills were a vain attempt to frighten off the four legged enemy that now towers ominously above them.

They cried for their mother to return to a nest that was lovingly picked for its’ security.

The nest was built with motherly love inside that old frying pan.

Imagine that, I thought, such a useless tormenting item used to raise a fine family of ravens.

I decided to sentence my cat to a life indoors until the birds were safely mature enough to fly away.

I must remember to rid myself once and for all of that useless old frying pan. Of what possible use can it be after all this time?