~Mishy~

Purring with delirious contentment, I rearrange myself on Chris’ lap until I’m comfortable and prepare to go to sleep.  I’m so thankful Chris is home that -- in a gesture of goodwill -- I don’t even plan to knead him.

The last twenty-four hours have been non-stop *entertainment* and all I want to do is feel protected, curl up into a ball and sleep.

It all started last night when the House of Fat Cow held yet another party. These parties never cease to amaze me as, quite frankly, I’m stunned that such abhorrent creatures as our neighbours actually have *friends*, let alone enough of them to hold a gathering.

Then again, I suppose the lower class amongst us must stick together…

Anyway, Chris wasn’t around (having left in a hell of a rush the day before), Spencer -- on cat-feeding duty -- had been and gone, and I was all alone.  I watched the dregs of society stagger their way into the Fat Cow’s slum for a while but rapidly came to the conclusion that watching grass grow would be a preferable way to spend my time.

The theme for the shindig appeared to be ‘Eighties Retro Hell’.  Personally, I would have thought that it would have been impossible -- in this day and age -- to find bubble skirts, knee-high lace socks (not to mention the obligatory lace fingerless gloves), thin leather ties, acid-wash denim, t-shirts with the word ‘Relax’ emblazoned across the front in huge, block print and the like, but no…  It was all out in force.

I dwelt on this for a moment or two before realising how *stupid* I was being.  They wouldn’t have had to hunt down such deplorable items; they simply would have had to look in their wardrobe!  In fact, when I thought about it, if it weren’t for the fact that the *females* actually had make-up on for a change, they virtually looked the same as they always did…

The music, as per usual -- not that I seriously expected anything else -- was fucking atrocious.  I swear the silly fat bitch had dug around in her *vinyl* collection until she’d located every dire one-hit-wonder the Eighties had to offer.

I sat there, looking out the window, until the sight of Mr Fat Cow dressed -- I *still* shudder at this -- as Marilyn (as in Boy George’s Marilyn -- not as in Monroe…) and attempting to perform karaoke to "Do You Really Want To Hurt Me" finally forced me to beat a hasty retreat.

Incidentally, in answer to the question posed by the song, the answer was a resounding *yes*.  I would have liked nothing more than to have buried the stupid little man alive…

Having nothing better to do with my time, I stalked miserably into the bedroom, jumped onto the bed and burrowed myself under the duvet. Thankfully the bedding offered some insulation from the music (that I swear should be illegal under the Geneva Convention) and I fell into a fitful sleep.  What little I’d seen of the party coloured my dreams and I had nightmares of Mrs Fat Cow squeezing her ever increasing gut into a never ending array of costumes like those favoured by Madonna.

After what seemed like an eternity, morning finally dawned and I decided that I may as well go for a walk outside in order to peruse the damage.  I was meandering slowly past the Obese Bovine’s when what felt for all the world like a hunk of metal came flying through the air and hit me on the nose.

I wailed indignantly and carefully sniffed the offending item.  To my shock, it appeared to be what was once a sausage.  I didn’t know it was possible to get them that hard.  Another poor excuse for a sausage went flying past my ear and I was dismayed to discover that Mrs Fat Cow wasn’t far behind it. She was bellowing the usual rot of wanting to turn me into a tennis racket. In the midst of this though, she was also screeching something about how dare I enter her house and attack her guests…

At this peculiar statement, I made the error of looking up at her…

Bad mistake.

I was so mortified by the sight of Mrs Fat Cow, clad in nothing but a warn, filthy, terry-towelling dressing gown that…

…that…

Oh Goddess!

…was hanging open and exposing hideous rolls of flab (and that is all I have to say on the subject…  To go into more detail would mean that I would have to come out of denial and, well, I’m happy there.  It’s nice…) that she managed to grab me before I could move.

She held me in a death grip and cackled triumphantly, "I’ve got you now!"

I was terrified.  She smelt of nicotine, cheap whisky and sweat.  I was so horrified that I seriously couldn’t move.  I thought all my nine lives were up then and there.  I was wailing so loudly that I didn’t even hear the car pull up or the sounds of hasty movement behind me.

"Just what the fuck do you think you are doing?"

An angry, but gloriously recognisable voice penetrated through the horror in my mind.  Chris!

I tried to turn around to see him but she wouldn’t let up on her grip. "Your fucking stupid cat attacked my friends last night and I’m just paying her back."

"I couldn’t give a flying fuck," Chris snarled, "Give her to me now!"

"And if I don’t?"

"You don’t want to know,"  Sam replied calmly as I could sense them moving in closer.

// Ha!  I’d like to see you try something now! //

For a minute I was sandwiched between Mrs Fat Cow and Chris as he stood directly in front of her and reached for me.  Begrudgingly giving up, she made to drop me to the ground but Chris caught me and I clung to him.

Furiously, she glared at us.  "Fag!"

// If in doubt, eh?  You don’t have an imaginative bone in your body. //

Chris was so livid with temper by this stage that he was incapable of responding and it was up to Sam to step in.  His gaze fell on her open dressing gown.  "Well, if we weren’t, we sure would be now…," he said coldly, "Come on, Chris.  I think we’ve seen more than enough."

Sam started to stalk towards the gate and, after informing my would-be-captor that should anything ever happen to me that he will hold her personally responsible and that he can guarantee that she won’t like the consequences, Chris followed him.

"I can’t leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he muttered as he carried me towards home.

// But…  but I didn’t do anything! //

This time…

I tried to protest my innocence but thankfully Chris didn’t seem too ticked off.

"It’s not like I can blame you.  The stupid bitch deserves all she gets."

// You said it! //

Still, I couldn’t help but wonder who the actual perpetrator was for my alleged crimes against her guests.  It was all just a tad peculiar.

By the time we were at the front door, I was purring and thinking hopefully that things were looking up.

I was wrong.

We were barely through the door when I felt Chris stiffen.  Putting me quickly on the ground, he whispered to Sam, "Can you hear something?" and pulled his gun out.  Sam nodded, got his own gun out and replied that it sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.

Silently, stealthily, they moved up the stairs.  Not wanting to miss out on anything, I wasn’t far behind them.  I could smell unknown scents in the house; both human and… and *feline*?

What the fuck was going on here?

Reaching the kitchen, we soon found out.

For a few seconds confusion reigned supreme as Sam and Chris tackled the disgusting human intruder and proceeded to truss him up like a Thanksgiving turkey.  I was so intent on watching my two humans in action that it wasn’t until they’d finished and had unmasked the scum that I realised there was another cat in the room.

I was immediately horrified beyond all belief as I took in the decrepit looking creature.  I couldn’t understand what such a filthy -- *flea ridden* -- animal was doing in my kitchen.  Somehow, miraculously, I managed to control my urge to throw myself at it and take out my frustrations on it’s  battered looking hide, and, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, greeted it.

He -- by the *smell* of it -- looked towards me with an expression of latent desire on his face.

I very nearly went ballistic.

How dare he even *look* at me?

Seeing red, I growled and stalked towards him.  After muttering some nonsense about waiting until the floor stopped moving, he all but collapsed. I hadn’t realised that I looked quite so formidable and was suddenly unsure how best to continue.

I was still contemplating my next move when Sam *finally* noticed the feline intruder.

"Hey look, Chris, Mishy’s found a friend."

Friend?  I made a mental note to pay Sam back for this completely stupid statement at a later date.  How could he even entertain the idea that this motley looking moggie was an acquaintance of mine?

Chris -- exceptionally fortunately for him -- replied that he didn’t think we were friends and even managed to note that I looked less than impressed. He then decided that the unwelcome creature looked hurt.

Hearing this, the animal made another pathetic attempt to move and then had the *gall* to lash out at Chris as he reached forward to pat him.

At this stage I had to take time out to inform the idiot cat that only *I* am allowed to swipe at Chris and that I’ll defend this right to the death. I mean, honestly, just who the fuck did this cat think he was?  Coming into *my* kitchen and then making to scratch *my* house-mate…  Sheesh.

Sam asked whether they should take the intruder to the vet, and I had to bite my tongue from replying that I thought it was an excellent idea -- the idea of euthanasia worked incredibly well for me…

To my immense amusement, the cat made the mistake of confusing a vet with a *Corvette* and looked all befuddled.  When I informed him of his ludicrous misunderstanding, he freaked and made a run for the window.  Both Chris and Sam -- for reasons unknown -- made a grab for him but they missed and ended up sprawled on the floor.

I wasn’t the only one who found this amusing.  The human intruder also snickered at their abortive attempt and this earned him a chilling glare from Sam (once he’d managed to pick himself off the floor) for his troubles.

I started to wash myself as the trailer-trash-tom rudely stuck his tail up at me before jumping out the window and disappearing.

Unbelievable.

It wasn’t even close to lunchtime by this stage and I was already regretting ever having gotten up.

Although I desperately wanted them to stay around (I was beginning to think that the whole world was out to get me…), Chris and Sam, after shutting the kitchen window, quickly man-handled the intruder up the stairs and I was alone again.

Feeling immensely insecure, I wandered into the living room and plonked myself down in front of the windows.  The sun streaming through them felt lovely and I began to feel a little better.  I even managed to stretch out in the warmth and have a nap.

To my utter disgust, when I woke and looked out into the cemetery, I found the mangy moggie peering at me from atop a tombstone.  He had the same look of lust on his face that he had when I first saw him.  It reminded me of how my humans look at each other when they haven’t seen each other for a period of, say, twelve hours…

I looked at him coldly and was prepared to out stare him until he proceeded to groom himself and make a total performance of cleaning his nether regions…

Gross.

Feeling ill, I retreated to last night’s cocoon, buried myself in the bedding and stayed there until Sam and Chris returned.  Only when I knew I was no longer alone did I venture back out of the bedroom and head -- like a homing pigeon -- in their direction.  They were laughing about how the poor unfortunate intruder was nothing but a common, garden variety burglar and had never heard of CI5 until today.  They seemed to find this exceptionally amusing.

It was Sam who noticed that my *stalker* was still hanging around.  He gestured out the window.  "Hey, Chris, that cat’s still here.  You seem to attract them."

"Oh ha ha… Maybe I should try and tame him and then give him to you."

// Don’t even joke about it! //

Sam obviously felt exactly the same way as I did.  "Don’t even dream about it."

Chris sighed.  "He looks decrepit… And hungry…"

// So? //

"Chris…"  Sam’s voice took on a warning tone.  "You don’t want another cat."

// I’d listen to Sam, if I were you, Chris.  I’d so hate to have to teach you the error of your ways… //

"No.  Of course I don’t want another cat…"

// Lucky for you. //

"…But that cat, did, after all manage to stop the intruder.  It wouldn’t hurt to give him some food."

// Yeah, laced with arsenic. //

"No, I suppose not.  Just don’t blame me if you get stuck with it hanging around though."

"Mmm…"  Chris sounded unsure, but he still, to my infinite disgust, proceeded to put some of *my* food onto one of *my* saucers and then took it outside.

Sam and I watched this silently, resigned to the fact that we couldn’t stop Chris from doing what came naturally to him; being kind-hearted.

I refused to think of the horrendous possibilities of the feral feline hanging around and ingratiating itself into our lives.  Falling prey to such thoughts would only upset me and I felt as though I’d suffered enough for one day.

Things only started to improve when Chris returned inside and immediately picked me up.  Cuddling me, he declared so adamantly that I was the only cat for him that I had no choice but to believe him.

Actually, I do believe him -- unquestionably.  I know that Chris won’t let that cat -- or Mrs Fat Cow for that matter -- get to me and take immense confidence from this fact.  Right now, I’m safely ensconced on his lap as he sits on the sofa and leans onto Sam, who’s sitting next to him.

As for my *friend*, I have no idea where he is.  Sam said that the food’s gone but that he couldn’t see any sight of him.  For all I care he could be chasing ghosts around the cemetery.  I’m where I want to be and that, are far as I’m concerned, is all that currently matters.