“Ahhhhhh get off, get off!!!!” A dazzlingly blinding ray of sunlight was streaming through a crack in the freshly starched white eyelet curtains of Mr. Tiddles bedroom window. Mr. Tiddles sat up quite suddenly in bed, screeching at the large fluffy, flea ridden cat that had just pounced onto his head sinking its rather sharp claws into his old tender scalp.
“Dag nabbit, you old fool...jumping on me...startling me like that, you good for nothing crusty idiotic, of all the…” Mr. Tiddles grumbled to himself as he blinked his sleep ridden eyes at the dust particles that were illuminated by the early morning sunlight. He winced at a sharp pain that shot through his neck, he had been sore all over the past few days.  He supposed it was because of his incredibly strenuous 9-5 office job. Mr. Tiddles gingerly began to swing his legs around, out from under his tattered navy blue bedsheets. His crinkled, liver spotted toes pricked the icy cold brown cement floor of his three room apartment. He leapt back with a sharp cry, the cold tingling through his feet.
“Slippers...slippers” he mumbled under his breath as he turned to look at the paint chipped alarm clock standing on his mantel.
“Gaahhh!” He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and peered at the clock again. ‘It wasn’t right, it simply couldn’t be... 6:45 on a Saturday morning!’
“You blasted little git, you stupid old decrepit…I can’t believe, I simply can’t, and on a Saturday!” His cat was staring up at him with large green orb-like eyes, whiskers twitching. His raggedy orange fur glinting in the beam of sunlight that danced across the floor.
“I should ave’ gotten rid of you a long time ago, should ave’ thrown you out on the street, waking me up at such an ungodly hour, on a Saturday no less...should ave’ gotten two, three more hours of sleep at least, can’t believe this is happening, why me, a decent, hard working, generous man such as myself…” The cat continued to stare up at Mr. Tiddles unblinkingly.
“Get outta my way you old fart, I’m going out.”
By 7:30 Mr. Tiddles was all ready and was standing by his rather boring wooden front door debating whether or not to bring his trusty old umbrella. He decided on the latter, as it seemed to be crisp and sunny outside, at least that’s what it appeared to be through his port hole sized, grimy front window. He reached for the rusty door knob, turned it as far as it would go, pushed on the door with his left shoulder, and then tapped it twice with his right foot. The door reluctantly swung open with a horrible squeaking sound like nails running down a chalkboard. Mr. Tiddles shuddered at the sound, stepped outside, and slammed the old door so hard that it shook on its hinges.
He thoroughly refused to let the endless blue sky, bright sunny day, or the beautiful yellow daisy’s that fluttered ever so slightly in the breeze put him into a good mood. The only thing that kept him from staying in bed all day was the fact the he was wearing quite a spiffing new hat, if he did say so himself. He wanted to show it off, for it really was a fine piece of craftsmanship. The hat was velvet, midnight black in color, with a red silk ribbon stitched neatly around the base. It was like a top hat of sorts, maybe a bit frayed around the edges, but handsome all the same. Well needless to say, Mr. tiddles was very proud of his (almost) new hat, and besides his walking stick which had been carved by his late father, the hat was his very favorite possession. 
Mr. Tiddles was just about to let his mind wander from his hat to his collection of antique fishing hooks when he heard a very faint noise behind him. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario, and although it seemed apparent that no one else was around, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone was following him. The thing is, it would have been quite obvious no one was following him to anyone else. Unfortunately Mr. Tiddles had worked himself into such a state of panic, he was completely incapable of looking at the situation rationally. He came to the conclusion that whoever it was probably wanted his hat, and as he was very reluctant to part with it, he began to walk more swiftly. The street was dead silent except for his footsteps, the supposed thief’s footsteps, and the sound of the wind blowing through the branches of the willow trees that lined the sidewalk. The footsteps were getting louder and louder, closer and closer, Mr. Tiddles whipped around and saw...well he saw nothing.
There was no one there, the footsteps had stopped...and yet he had been so sure. He was perspiring at the temples, sweat clinging to the wispy salt and pepper strands of hair coming down from under his hat. His hand was slippery on the handle of his old hand carved walking stick, he felt clammy and quite jumpy after the ordeal he had been through. He still wasn’t convinced that the thief had gone away, and was not about to pounce out at him from the Wisteria bush to his left. Just then a blue bird flying overhead chirped, causing Mr. Tiddles to jump and his walking stick to thump down on the sidewalk. ‘His walking stick!’ He let out a small whimper, it had been his walking stick making the noise all along. He thumped it on the cement a few more times, just to be sure, and then slumped down onto a nearby bench.
Unfortunately for Mr. Tiddles, it was quite an old bench, and it happened to be wooden. It was weathered with age and in a foul state of decay. As soon as he sat down it began to creak, and without much warning, collapsed completely.
Mr. Tiddles thumped to the ground right into a small pool of dingy looking water with an audible “oouf.” He feebly reached for his walking stick and with shaky limbs, clambered to his feet. He silently cursed the world as he picked six or seven long sharp splinters out of his very soggy behind. The bench had been right under one of the weeping willow trees that lined the street. The small vibrantly green leaves tickled his face as he stood there getting his bearings about him.
All of a sudden the once clear sky began to turn dark and cloudy. Gusts of wind ripped through the tree branches and there was a violent crash of thunder from somewhere overhead. Mr. Tiddles was in a great deal of discomfort and although he felt very beaten up, he mustered all of his strength and started home. Just then an enormous gust of wind billowed down the street blowing Mr. Tiddles precious hat right off of his head! It floated through the air like a confused bird and eventually settled atop some decomposing maple leaves in the gutter. It promptly began to rain, not just a sprinkle, but a downpour that in a matter of seconds ruined Mr. Tiddles  favorite hat.
“Galloping gargoyles, this day is a bloody mess. Thought I was being stalked, turned out I wasn’t, but that's besides the point...I fell right through a bench, got a bunch of splinters, didn’t even get enough sleep...of all the horrid days…why did it have to be, and my favorite hat...just ruined, didn’t even have my stupid umbrella, of all the preposterous…” Mr. Tiddles mumbled all of this to himself as he bent over and plucked his hat out of the gutter. He stared down at it numbly as he headed home.
When he reached his front door his fingers were shaking with cold and his teeth were chattering more than he would have liked to admit. When he finally made it through the chronically stubborn door he was greeted by his rather smelly cat. A few wheezes later and he had hung up his muddy hat, taken off his very soggy coat, put his walking stick against the wall, removed his very nearly ruined leather shoes, and threw his smelly socks in the hamper. Then, with a grunt he stooped over and heaved his smelly old cat off the floor and into his arms. Weak with exhaustion, he carried the cat to bed, placed him on the raggedy down comforter, and climbed in beside him.
He stared at the cat fondly and in a meek voice said “you’ll be the death of me, you stupid cat.” and with that Mr. Tiddles sunk down in his bed and fell asleep.