Author's Note: This story originated from a real shaggy dog story involving Roy Rogers, a cougar, and a clever play on words involving the song, "Pardon Me, Boy, is this the Chattanooga Choo Choo?" Enjoy.
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A Very Shaggy Dog Story
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Everyone at Central knew that Colonel Roy Mustang had new shoes. The only way that it was possible to miss the new addition was if one was blind, deaf, and insensitive to vibrations in the ground. The Colonel flaunted the shiny black leather at every opportunity despite the fact that wearing the dress shoes meant that his pants ended before his shoes began, exposing about four inches of bare ankle. It was unbearable, unbearable to the point where, if any soldier saw the Colonel running down the hall with a crazed smile on his face, they would risk punishment and walk the other way. And these were the normal soldiers, the ones who normally put up with the Colonel's moods and eccentricities.
There were others who could scarcely put up with Roy Mustang at the best of times, much less now. They were currently entertaining ideas of homicide, or more specifically, shoeicide. And then, there was the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric.
Ed had not only entertained ideas of shoeicide, he had invited them home for a disco party. He was currently toying with the notion of allowing them to become permanent guests, all expenses paid.
In non-metaphoric terms, he had a Plan (for inexperienced plotters, a Plan is much different from a plan, the chief difference being that a Plan is perfect, generally come once in a lifetime, and don't usually fail at Part A).
The Plan was: Seek out and destroy shoes. The details would come later.
The little alchemist was currently brooding on such questions as "How the hell do I start?" and "What's the best way to destroy shoes?" and "Are there really three esses in obsessive?" when it clicked. And clinked. And sort of clacked and clattered when he really thought about it. And said things like: "Uh, brother, is it really necessary to be grinding your teeth so loud? I'm pretty sure that can't be healthy…"
Ed stopped grinding his teeth. His Plan had just become a little clearer, especially if he had really heard the plaintive mew that seemed to come from his Big little brother's breast plate.
Over exaggerating his confusion at the supposed sound, Ed queried, "What's that sound?"
If an eight-foot suit of armor could blush, Alphonse could have won the award for the largest tomato at a country fair. As it was, he shuffled uneasily from foot to foot and mumbled something that could have either been "Absolutely-not-it-was-probably-just-a-mouse-it's-your-imagination" or "A-slowly-moving-octopus-apologized-in-Massachusetts-for-agitation."
Either way, it was painfully clear that Al was attempting yet another cat past his older brother's radar. This time, however, Ed was secretly pleased… a cat would work nicely with his Plan.
"Al," he said, rolling his eyes, "give me the cat."
The answer was pretty predictable: "No! I can't put it back in the cold and rain! You're such a meanie!"
Ed sighed, "It's mid August, sunny, and warm out," and then in a darker tone, "And that cat has an appointment with a certain colonel's shoes."
***
A few minutes later Ed and Al were headed towards the gymnasium where, for some mysterious reason, Roy had suddenly been devoting at least two hours a day, sometimes more (actually it wasn't much of a mystery. Lieutenant Hawkeye had been making comments). The point was, when Roy was lifting weights, his snazzy shoes were unguarded.
Ed's State Alchemist watch got them into the gym and a bit of creative "interior decorating" opened a few more doors straight to the locker room. Roy's locker was fairly easy to locate: it was next to a locker with pictures of pistols on the front, and appeared to have scorch marks around the edges.
As Ed examined and subsequently opened the locker with alchemy, he vaguely wondered why the military insisted on using regular locks, what with all the State Alchemists around. Then, the sight of the hated shoes blew the thought out of his mind. Almost reverently, he placed the shoes on the floor, and, equally reverently, the "cat," which had turned out to be a kitten. Then he stepped back and waited for flying leather.
The kitten took a tentative sniff at the shoes before stalking regally away, tail held high.
Ed and Al exchanged a look. Clearly more drastic measures were required.
***
Much later:
Colonel Roy Mustang was returning from his "workout," feeling well exercised. He'd run a quarter of a mile, done ten repetitions with his ten pound weights, completed five sit-ups and, after much effort, a single full push-up. He felt good, this was clearly an improvement over last week.
As he strolled into the locker room, however, a strange sight awaited him. The Fullmetal Alchemist was crouched over what appeared to be his shoes, holding a tiny cat, carefully dragging it's outstretched claws over the soft leather. Alphonse was in the process of applying catnip to the toe. The other shoe was already in shreds.
It was at that moment that Ed looked up and realized that he was being observed. He gave Roy a nervous smile and said, weakly, "Pardon me, Roy, is this the cat that chewed your new shoes?"
***
Author's Note: Thank you for reading. For your reviewing convenience, below are some pre-made reviews for those who wish to use them. Simply copy and paste.
Pre-made Reviews:
A. I liked it. It was sad and beautiful, like my mother.
B. I despised it. It was too short and said nothing to me, like my father.
C. I had no feelings about it. It was aloof and licked itself too much, like my cat, Mr. Trotsky.
D. A delightful combination of all three, seasoned with a light vinaigrette and a side of milk for Mr. Trotsky.