So here I am... still in Queenstown... I've downloaded the new Radiohead album 'The King of Limbs' (after paying for the privaliage, of course), and am just trying to get it on my mp3 player or iPod in some listenable form (these electronic things can be terribly annoying and unco-operative sometimes... bunch of basterds they are!)... I'm not going to do a normal blog as hopefully I'll have more to write about in a day or so... but as I'm here and bored I thought I might publish one of my short stories here... ... ... ... OK, now for those of you who are still reading and haven't immediatly navigated away from this blog, this is an old story of mine called, 'The Pussy-cat monologues', just a little ditty about a cat with OCD... I'm putting it up for your enjoyment (... of course I'm not just putting up here because no other possible avenue would even consider publishing such a thing... how dare you suggest that! ;)... anyway, enjoy (I warn you... it's 2,700 words long... either commit to that or run away now!) and a real blog will come soon:)
The Pussycat monologues
As the cat tests the branch on the largest tree in the garden it begins to weaken and he hesitates. His prey sits at the far end of the thin branch catching its breath. The chase had been tough. The squirrel was minding his own business on the grass enjoying some stale bread and he noticed the birds begin to look a bit flustered. They always look a bit weird, hopping about on the grass with no arms or hands. They must be easy to trip up. If they didn’t see a worm in their path as they hopped and they caught their claw on it they’d go down quicker than an acorn falls from a tree. They started to shuffle about a bit. They usually wait for him to finish with the leftover bread before they move in. They’re quite cowardly the birds here. They never try to team up and out wit the squirrel who always steals what they believe is their food. They just sit tight and patiently until he’s had his fill and then they move it. “Hold steady Margaret, he’ll be finished in a minute” you can imagine the starling says to his neighbour. But today they weren’t the silent observers they usually were. They started to nudge each other and look around alarmed. They were looking behind the squirrel with panic in their eyes. It took one squawk and they were all away in an instant into the blue sky, scattering in all directions and reforming their single file on the arch of the house’s roof.
The squirrel had a second to compose himself and decide what to do. Was there something dangerous behind him or had those cowardly birds been spooked by a particularly rambunctious snail? He turns and goes down on all fours with the efficiency of a marine. Run! Run! Bloody run! The sky had turned black, thick and furry when he had turned, that’s never good. Around the pond, no time to hesitate. Through the bushes. Below branches, up over the rockery. A hiss follows him. That damned cat. Up on to the garden table near the barbecue. Quick jump to the tree and up and on to the top of the shed. He’s still on my tail. Onto the next tree and along a long low branch. A dead-end, a dead-end. Shit. Slower and slower as the end is nearer and nearer. At the end of the lowest branch pointing out into the middle of the garden. Eight foot in the air and no where to go. The branches above, to the left, to the right... all too far. Time to turn round. Music to be faced. Slowly and carefully. Rocking in the gentle breeze. There he is, the sour faced black cat. Eyes fixed on the branch. The cat periodically testing the branch but always erring on the side of caution.
“You can’t get me here cat, just a bit too fat. It’ll do you good to go on a squirrel diet today, you need slimming down.”
“I can wait here all day if I must you stupid squirrel. Do you not realise that I will get you in the end? I’ll wait here day and night if I must but you will be mine in the end.”
“Jesus Christ mate why don’t you chill out. Is this how you get your fun, from chasing us squirrels around? You need to get a life.”
“You’re doing yourself no favours verbally lashing out at me like that. You can wait there on that thin branch. Yes, I can’t reach you, it’s too thin to hold me. But I’m a patient killer and I’ll wait.”
“Stupid blood cat. You’ve got food waiting for you inside. I’ve got work to do. Bread to eat, nuts to collect and you disturb my hard work with these stupid games.”
“I have a name you know. My name is Herbert. You should show me the respect I deserve because I’ve still to decide weather to play with you and torture you, or to simply put you out of your misery and eat you immediately.”
“You’re name is Fluffkins, not Herbert. I’ve heard those people call for you.”
“Silence squirrel. My mother named me Herbert. But I was torn from my mother’s breast, kidnapped, bought here… and named Fluffkins. I hate the name Fluffkins. Do they not realise the other cats hear when they call me. “Fluffkins, Fluffkins”, fucking “Fluffkins”. I get no respect from my peers. My name is Herbert dam it. The other cats mock and taunt me. They mark my territory. Eat my birds. Leave their faeces on my flower beds… Why am I telling you this? Scum like you doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like an equal. You’re just a rat in fancy clothing. I have no respect for your kind.”
“It seems to me you have no respect for yourself. Letting those people control your life and disgrace you. I can feel your pain as they call you Fluffkins and humiliate you.”
“What the fuck would you know about my pain? Don’t give me that bullshit. I really can’t wait to get my claws into you.”
“It’s clear that all this rage is for those people and not me. Do they ever show you the affection you deserve? Or is it as if you only exist when it’s convenient for them?”
“What are you doing? Are you trying to humiliate me? Do you think that’s your way out? There is no way out. No way out! I’m not going to walk away crying because of your shit pop-psychology. My mother didn’t beat me as a child.”
“You definitely have issues” The squirrel interrupted.
“I don’t have repressed rage. I wasn’t an only child. I didn’t have a large traumatic event in my child hood. I’m fine, I just fancy some squirrel meat today. And you look all fat and plump from the nuts and bread you steal from those arrogant retarded birds.”
“Arrogant retarded birds?”
“Don’t you just hate those patronising bastards. They sit there like the village idiot with a lobotomy and the moment they see anything even slightly scary they piss themselves and fly away. And their fucking stupid singing, Christ on a bicycle it drives me mental. Just random bloody notes.”
“You just don’t like their singing because they sing to warn others when you are about.”
“It does make my life harder, but I like the challenge. I’m a talented hunter, it comes naturally to me. So it’s nice to have a challenge once in a while.”
“I’ve seen you hunt, you’re not a good hunter. You’re crap. You don’t know how to hunt because you don’t need to hunt. The people in that house, they feed you. I’ve seen them put plates of prawns and fresh meat down for you. All I’ve seen you kill is helpless baby mice. Why would you kill such innocent things when you don’t need to?”
“Hunting is in my blood. I admit that I can be lazy but I am not a bad hunter. I have you here at the edge of this branch. Walking the plank and having to choose your fate between the sharks and my sword. Try and belittle me if you want, but it’s futile. I am a great hunter and you are my prey who is coming to terms with his fate. Just accept it, it will save us both a lot of time.”
“But why babies? They have their whole lives ahead of them.”
“They are my favourite, they are so stupid. I control their destiny, I control their life. Once they are captured their end is a formality, but I love to give them false hope. I put them down and watch them. They play dead at first but then they try to run. Where do they think they can run to? They pathetically stumble across the grass. Do they think I’m a fool? Do they think I would just put them down and let them escape? When I’m bored of their pathetic scuttling I disembowel them with relish. Liver, heart, flesh and guts. All delicious.”
***
As the conversation halts they can see the birds up on the roof of the house. Watching the predator and prey from their safe grandstand. “Gosh Margo, I think there might be some trouble afoot here.” In an upstairs window a girl peers out at the cat and the squirrel. The cat looks at the house, sees the girl and hisses to himself. Air rushes through the tree from nowhere. Rain held in the leaves spills down and disappears in the fur on the cat’s side. He jumps on to all fours and begins to franticly clean the freshly moistened fur. As he stands his hind legs expose the marks of a tormented cat. The fur from the legs is all gone. When he sits this is hidden but now it is clear to see. The fur stripped as if in preparation for an operation but the skin shows no wound, no scar. The bald legs reveal the pink and vulnerable skin underneath.
“So what’s up with your legs? They’re all bald, not a hair on them. You got a disease or something?” Asked the squirrel. The cat stops cleaning and sits with his hind legs hidden leaning on his front paws. He stares at the squirrel. His pupils dilate with rage. Like watching tiny black balloons inflating in front of saffron curtains.
“I think you have more things to worry about you transvestite rat.”
“So the big scary black cat has issues. Who would have thought it? So what makes you such a head case? Your parents? Your owners? The fact that you actually have owners and are denied the freedom I, the birds and the baby mice enjoy?”
“Piss off you smug little shit.” Mud from the chase is caught between the claws of the squirrel. He cleans his feet and keeps a lump of mud in his paw. It’s wet from the dew on grass and begins to drip from between his claws. He looks up and throws it at the cat, splattering along the black fur. And so begins the frantic clean. Lick and lick and lick. Each lick punctuated by an angry word.
“You!”
Lick.
“Smart!”
Lick.
“Ass!”
Lick.
“Bloody!”
Lick.
“Squirrel!”
Lick. Lick. Lick. “So you think you’re clever? So very smart aren’t you?”
“Don’t get angry at me mate, I didn’t make you like this.”
The back door to the house opens. “Fluffkins! Fluffykins!” The cat shudders at the noise. The little girl from the window peeks out from round the door. On the toes of her bare feet she holds onto the door as it swings out and leaves her helplessly attached hovering over the patio tiles.
A women comes to the rescue, lifts the girl up and carries her into the house. “Come on dear, leave Fluffy to have some fun in the garden.”
“Is it them? Said the squirrel.
“Is what them? Is what them?”
“The licking. Do they make you lick yourself bald? What do you do in winter when you can’t get in to that house? You must freeze to death.”
“Who doesn’t want to be clean? Tell me that you retarded rodent. Does it make me mad to want a clean coat. You threw mud on me, I cleaned myself. What’s illogical about that? It would be crazy not to clean after that. If you stroke my fur with sticky hands of course I’m going to clean, who wouldn’t?”
“If who strokes your fur with sticky hands?”
“That fucking girl! Sent here to torture me all my life. Ice cream, Jelly, Glue, Paint. It doesn’t matter. It won’t stop her touching me or pulling my tail.”
“She tortures you?”
“She has no limits. I remember when I was just a kitten. She dropped a box on me and poked me through holes. Why? Why would you do that? She poked me with uncooked spaghetti. I had no chance of escape, no way out. It went up my nose, it my ear. I wouldn’t sleep inside that house for a week, I always had to keep one eye open.”
“She is to blame.”
“They are all to blame. It’s fucking simple, if you’ve been eating chicken wings, don’t fucking touch me” The cat pauses. “… I can’t stop cleaning myself. Wherever they touch me, whenever they touch me, I have to lick myself clean. They stroke me with their grubby, greasy hands they have no care for my coat. And even when I know I’m clean I keep licking and licking and licking. I’m licking my fur off. Licking myself bald. I can’t stop.”
“Just leave the house, leave them. Live the free life like us squirrels, a natural and organic life. Like nature intended.”
“I wish to be free. They have no cat door. So they decide when I can go out and they decide when I must come in. At night they lock me in a cold and lonely” The cat’s eyes begin to wonder toward the sky. “But God dam these ungrateful tears, do you not realise they feed you they give you warmth. You couldn’t survive without them. You need them. You love them. The girl means well she is just stupid. In 10 years she will know better and treat you well. But I’ll be dead and rotting by then and they’ll have a new cat who'll be enjoying the grand life which is rightfully mine.” The squirrel senses that he’s no longer part of the conversation as the cat’s words roll on and on unrelenting. “They love me, I know they must but why do they taunt me? Why twitch string in front of me. It dances in front of my face. Seduces me. Every twitch and twist of the thread entices me. My body shivers. My eyes become transfixed. The whole world melts away as I see this woollen pendulum tick-tock in front of my eyes. I try to stop myself. I try to resist the siren’s call but I can’t. My paws act independently, I’ve no control as they make futile jabs at the string. I can feel my pupils dilate and change shape, the oil black of my eyes grow and grow. The light floods in and my focus becomes intense. This primitive urge envelops me. I hate it.” The squirrel looks toward the house and sees the mother and child talking. The child looks upset and angry. Tears begin to flow and run down the girl’s cheeks. “What happens when all my fur has been licked away? Then their dirt will just touch my fragile skin. No protection. The licking won’t stop. It’ll never stop. I’ll lick and lick and lick until I can see my bones and taste the marrow. But without their charity I’d have no food, I’d be sat here in desperation for food. Hoping to find a lame squirrel to satisfy my blood lust and give me some sustenance.”
The girl opens the door and runs out into the garden and under the branch of the tree. “Fluffy, Fluffy, quick. Here boy, before mummy comes.”
The cat stares at the child vacantly. Looking through the girl. This is the chance. The squirrel seizes the opportunity and runs down the branch as quick as he can toward the cat. The branch undulating as his paws pound down. The momentum of the branch gets bigger and bigger. Each step pushes the branch down further than the last and the branch whips back at the squirrel with venom and he pushes off again in his next step. The cat awakes from his trace to see the squirrel now jumping and in full flight toward him. The squirrel lands on the cats face, pushes off and fly’s toward the heart of the tree. As he runs down the trunk and toward the garden the squirrel screams with all the force his preoccupied lungs can muster, “See you later you fucking head case!”
The cat looks down the garden as the squirrel gallops away to freedom, he looks down at the branch with the girl an unfocused fuzz in the background. “Bollocks!”
THE END (phew!)
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