Fat Cat Suburbia: Part Three

The thrilling conclusion. This was fun to write; had to get the absurdity out.

Parts one and two 🙂

Photo by Vitaliy Polichshuk on Unsplash

They should have known this would happen.
Yes, they are svelte thin now. Yes, they can hunt and run and play now.
No, they do not want to be eaten.
The cats convene in Pretty Kitty’s backyard. Pretty Kitty snuggles up to Alabaster and purrs. Mothball licks his ass. Tigger sharpens his claws on a tree. Mr. Squiggles pounces on a baseball he managed to rescue from his human’s eating rampage.
The patio furniture they used to lounge on was gone, another victim of the humans’ appetite. They form a circle on the grass and study their new bodies. Their joints no longer ache, their bellies no longer sag. They look and feel years younger.
Alabaster speaks first. Should we make them eat each other?
Their debate lasts two hours. Questions and methods are discussed and eventually scrapped. Finally, they settle on a plan. Mothball speaks last. I will be the one to finish them off.
Their timing is biblical. As they return to their respective domains, their humans make their attempt to ravage them.
As planned, the cats race outside to the ends of their respective driveways. The humans lumber after them, unable to run or jump for all the blood and detritus weighing them down. Desperation haunts their red-rimmed eyes. They’d eaten almost everything in their homes. Their hands shake from the need to grasp, tear, bring sustenance to their lips, no matter the source. They do not know this need was exactly what the cats suffered.
The humans stop a couple feet away, heaving with effort. Mothball steps forward. We can alleviate your suffering, he meows, but you must promise to never neglect us again.
The humans nod.
Pretty Kitty speaks next. We have dreams, too. I want kittens with Alabaster.
Alabaster: I, too, want kittens. And to watch the koi without feeling shame at my reflection.
Mr. Squiggles: I want to be the first feline baseball player.
Tigger: I want to sharpen and take care of my own claws.
Mothball nods with each spoken dream. And I want to be able to groom every inch of my fur. The moment I can’t lick my ass clean, I’ll make you lick it for me. Are we clear?
The humans nod.
All five cats blink in unison, and just like that the humans are restored, albeit with a lot of stretched skin. One by one they turn, dumbstruck, and trudge back inside their homes. The victorious cats watched, knowing they could never love or trust them again.
We’ll be alright, they agree. After all, we’re not fat anymore. We can live now.
They return to their dwellings, triumphant, pioneers of their species; and they are fat with power.
© Cat and Moth Writings
All Rights Reserved

2 thoughts on “Fat Cat Suburbia: Part Three

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