A Human Took My Lunch
And
other Musings on life and the human race. Inspired by Faerie Wars,
by Herbie Brennan. Since there was no Faerie Wars section, I figured
this would have to do. This was a book report for English. I do not own
Hodge, Henry, Mr. Foggarty, or the scene. I simply retold the scene
from the Cat's point of view. Everything else is mine, except Henry's
only line.
My name is Hodge. I'm a tomcat, and I'm proud of it.
This bit of paper you gave me says you want to know my
role in this story. Naturally, I'm the lead. The star.
The main character. Alright, so I'm really not. I'm
just a misunderstood cat that gets rotten food and
ego-abuse. Comic relief, I ask you. Couldn't I at
least have had that? No, I guess not. It's always the
same. Cats are the hated, the enemy, the minority.
Look what happened to Ms. Norris! She was a dem fine
cat, m'am, a dem fine cat. Now look at her. It's the
reputation black cats spread. All that witch hunting
does that to people. At least Solembum landed himself
a decent role. Obviously, in America, cats get more
respect, despite their witch hunts. America had to
have something good going for it I guess, it hasn't
got much else to brag about. But enough jaw, you
obviously want to read more of my wonderful
adventures. I mean, who wouldn't?
It obviously wasn't a butterfly. Butterflies don't
walk, or even lurch drunkenly, which was more like
this creature was doing. Reminded me of the drunk down
the road. The walk, I mean. In no way did this thing
remind me of the drunk in any other way. If it did,
I'd be in America right now. That's how...weird the
guy down the road is. I'd rather face America.
The creature was walking upright, using only two of
its four legs. I'd never seen a butterfly with less
than five legs, and that one had been dead. I was the
cause of its death, as a matter of fact. But I wasn't
going to begrudge this little snack that had wandered
helplessly and obliviously into my path. I had a
reputation to uphold. What would the garden animals
say if they heard Hodge was going soft? Cats have
social pride too. And Mr. Foggarty counted on me to
scare all the aliens away. Mice were just an added
bonus.
Tail twitching, I crouched, a tightly coiled spring
straining to be released. I pounced. Perfect. I
snagged the eensy butterfly-that-wasn't in my mouth.
It squirmed frantically. Strongest bloody butterfly
I'd ever caught. My reasoning had been correct (as
always), it wasn't a butterfly. I bit down harder, and
it stilled immediately. It was smart, too. Pity I
couldn't keep it; it would make a nice pet. But then
my reputation would be all rot. Tail erect, I stalked
out of the bushes and fairly tripped over that boy
that lurks around here. Henry, I think his name is. I
like Henry. He feeds me good food. Not as good as
mice, but good enough as canned food comes.
Proudly, I flaunted my catch, awaiting the usual
comment on my speed, agility, and strength. Henry
usually has a kind word to send my way. I never let it
go to my head, obviously. But cats are people too!
Okay, not really. But we have feelings, and we want to
be congratulated as much as any person. The compliment
never came. Instead, the boy looked hard at my snack.
His eyes bulged out of his head so far I feared they'd
pop out. He looked positively ill. I would have said
something, but my snack wasn't as docile as I would
have liked, and all he would have heard was meowing.
Of course, no self respecting cat would ever be caught
dead 'meowing.' We talk too. We have different
dialects, even. Bet you never heard a cat with an
English accent. Bet you never even heard a cat with a—
"Hodge, you idiot!" he shrieked. I hadn't expected
that. (Notice how I was in the middle of a thought.)
Someone had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the
mouse hole. Notice the pointed glare in a certain
human's direction. What he did next however, I would
never, ever forgive him for, even if he awoke wedged
in a mouse hole with a mouse trap dangling off his
nose.
He threw himself on me (me!), grabbed me by the scruff
of the neck, and picked me up. I yowled. Actually, I
cursed quite colorfully, but all he heard was a yowl.
I dropped the butterfly thing. Henry dropped me.
I landed on my feet with no more than a bruised
dignity. The boy had already scooped up the creature,
as if afraid I would go after it again. I hadn't even
speculated about considering about thinking of letting
such a thought cross my mind. Honest. I sent the boy a
venomous look, but he failed to notice. I strutted a
few paces away to sulk. Henry still paid me no mind. I
returned the favor.
I settled myself carefully and began to groom. I was
the perfect model of listlessness and disregard. But I
was listening. I wanted to know what was so important
that I loose my snack over it. Of course it was
probably a matter of either politics or of some silly
human hobby. Either way it was utter rot. (Note: It
turned out later that it was a matter of politics.
None of us new it at the beginning though.)
Henry had clearly cracked. All the lurking around Mr.
Foggarty would do that to you. Spend enough time with
that old coot, and you'd not only crack, but break full
in half, spill your mind on the floor, roll it in the
mud, toss it down a hill, drag it through the gutter,
and rub it in paranoia. Clearly, Henry was suffering
from my master's delightful influence. The boy was
talking to that thing. Next, he'd been talking to my
Kibbles. Then, he'd be seeing alien invasions at ever
turn, and call these nonexistent phenomenon 'demon
shenanigans.'
I didn't like that at all. First, he took my
butterfly. Now he'd take my Kibbles for sure, then my
mice! Then, he'd probably up and leave, abandoning me
to Mr. Foggarty, who feeds me something...but it isn't
food! (Probably demon guts from those nonexistent
kidnappings.) What about my dignity? And my delicate
digestive system? Huh! Humans, they're all the same.
Well, all English humans anyways. American humans are
just plain weird.
I knew it wasn't a butterfly. I was right. It was a fairy...