Cartoons » Tiny Toon Adventures » Winter in Acme Acres
Author: 177624601
Rated: T - English - Friendship/Hurt/Comfort - Reviews: 4 - Published: 08-03-11 - Updated: 08-03-11 id:7248468
It was 1:30 AM, January 1st, and the night was every bit as cold as it was dark. Happy New Year to me, thought one particular mound of snow quite sarcastically. Of course it wasn't a snowdrift, but a young tomcat, whose already blue fur was now even bluer from the wind and snow that lay caked in great mounds on him.
Furrball had no family as far as he knew. He had no memory of his dad, who'd been snatched up by the local pound; and only vaguely remembered having an older sister from the same litter at one point. He couldn't even remember her name. All Furrball could remember about her was that she had a grey (or was it white and grey?) coat, and that she loved to sing. He couldn't even remember what happened to her. The last time he saw her was when she curled up next him and their mama for the night.
Mama. He remembered her.
Flashback
The little kitten snuggled in close to his mother as she curled around him. His stomach was full from his dinner, and now he purred loudly as her barbed tongue scraped the dirt, bugs, and other things out of his fur. Even though she was shivering from the blizzard, he was nice and toasty, so he just lay there, wrapped in her thick, ebony fur; breathing in her earthy scent, feeling her breathing, and listening to her heartbeat and her deep, resonant purr. "Sleep tight, Furrball," she said. "Mama will keep you warm."
When he woke, he could still smell her, but he couldn't hear her, and her feel had changed. "Mama? Mama, wake up, I had a bad dream." He worked his way out of her folds. "Mama?" He rubbed his side against her face. The frightened cat leaned against her side, shaking her. "Mama?" Eventually realization sunk in. He curled up next to her and started to weep.
He stayed with her until they were found by a kindly pedestrian. The man had made sure that the mother had been kept on ice until the ground was soft enough to bury her. Furrball was happy. There were always bowls of food and water lying around, although on special occasions he'd get milk or cream; he always had fresh litter, and there was a little bed for him by the fireplace. Yes, he was happy living with Mr. and Mrs. Duff and with a new baby on the way, so much the better.
All was going well, until one summer night when Furrball (in a classic fit of kitty hubris) snuck out. Enchanted by the fireflies dancing outside the window, he waited until Mr. Duff went to take out the garbage. He must have romped around for several hours before he grew bored. Unfortunately, by then he'd chased a squirrel through the woods and up the tallest tree the poor creature could find. Scurrying down, he sniffed around, discovering a thousand new scents with every corner he turned. Some were intriguing, while others were quite putrid. By the time dawn came, he'd wandered so far he was once again lost.
Years passed. He taught himself how to hunt, had landed a full-ride scholarship at Acme Looniversity for his high pain threshold (great for physical schtick), and yet he still hadn't found a home. Sure, the boxes he used almost kept out some of the rain, and he got on well with his classmates, but friends come and go, and he missed the security of family. He was happy after school, when he'd be playing basketball with Buster Bunny, helping Calamity Coyote with one of his inventions, or else spending time with some of the other 'toons, but eventually they all said pretty much the same thing: "Sorry Furrball, I gotta go, my folks tend to worry if I'm not home by 4:00." And people wonder why I don't talk much, he'd think to himself.
End flashback
So, here he was, hungry, buried under a mound of snow, and getting drowsier by the minute. However, at least he felt less cold. Uh-oh, he thought. Knowing full well what would happen if he stayed that way, he decided the best thing to do was keep his energy up, so he shook off the ice and snow, stretched, and decided to wander, hoping to find a restaurant so he could do some dumpster-diving, or maybe a derelict or two standing around a trashcan fire. That was when he heard the sounds of an old French love song wafting through the crisp, clear night.
Even though arithmetic wasn't Furrball's best subject, he knew that music=companionship=possible food, so he followed it to the junkyard. It lead him up to an old victrola which was stationed next to a pink Cadillac. Creeping up to the window, he spotted Fifi La Fume lying on the seat, holding a cloth tiger lily to her face, and weeping to herself. "Le sigh, le boo-hoo-hoo, I weell nevair find a man." Ignoring one of their past experiences as well as common scents (a/n: (Foghorn Leghorn voice) See what I did there? That's called-I say-that's called a pun, kid), he reminded himself, Well, beggars can't be choosers.
"Meow?"
Fifi was startled out of her reverie. "Qui est là? (1)"
"Meow!"
She whipped her head around. Seeing her classmate, she held the door open. "Furrball? What are you doeeng out zair een ze cold? Entrez, vite, vite, vite! (2)" He gratefully obliged, hopping on the seat next to her. "No one should evair 'ave to be alone, parteeculairly een ze weentair. Are you 'ungry?" Furrball nodded eagerly. "Can I get you somezeeng to dreenk?" Again, he nodded. "I'll be right back." She scampered over to the dashboard. A second later, she returned with two bowls, one of which was full of canned tuna, and a bottle of France's finest vintage grape juice, which she kindly poured for her guest. Four cans of tuna and three bowls of juice later, and Furrball was slouched back in the seat with a goofy, contented smile plastered across his face. Fifi leaned against him, half-empty bottle in paw. "You know," she added as she played with one of his cheek tufts, "you remind me of a skunk boy I once met."
Deciding to change the subject, he looked around. "S-so you, uh, like… tiger lilies?"
"Ah, oui, zey are mes fleurs de favori. Weez zair colors and zair shapes, zey are so très exotique."
They sat there for what seemed like the longest time, just talking, telling witty anecdotes, and just generally enjoying each other's company. He sighed contendedly. "You know, Feef, this may just be the longest converstion I ever had."
"May I ask vous a personal question?"
"How personal?"
"Un peu. (3)" She responded, holding her thumb and index finger about an inch apart.
"I suppose."
"Why don't vous talk beaucoup?"
"Just habit, I guess."
"Pourquoi? (4)"
He shrugged. "Comes from livin' on the street."
She cooed. "Pauvre petit chat bleu. (5)" Fifi could sense her eyelids getting heavy. She yawned. Before long, she was nodding off. Shaking off the sleepiness, she gazed over at Furrball, whose head was resting on his own right shoulder, eyes shut, mouth open, and his right foot was twitching at about 100mph. Suddenly an idea struck her. She shook him awake. "Don't take zees ze wrong way, but-"
He stretched. Massaging his neck, Furrball got the idea, or at least he thought he did. "Oh, yeah, I-I should probably get going, I'm sure you'll be wanting your privacy right about now."
"Non, non, non, I was just saying zat you are welcome to stay, eef you weesh."
"How do you mean?"
"As roomates, naturellement."
"I suppose that I could stay the night."
"Stay as long as you weesh. 'Owevair, I should warn zat just because je suis une fille Française doesn't mean zat you are allowed to try any 'ow you say, funny stuff, because eef you do... well, let's just say zat I weell make sure you're put down for a nice. Long. Nap," exclaimed the purple polecat, twitching her tail to show that, in spite of her exaggeration, she was still fairly serious. The cat nodded in both agreement and nervousness. Settling in, Fifi wrapped herself and Furrball in her voluminous tail. "Sleep tight, Furrball. Fifi weell keep you warm."
Fin.
1. Who is there?
2. Enter, quick, quick, quick!
3. A little bit.
4. Why?
5. Poor little blue cat.
a/n: There is nothing romantic between the two. They're just friends.
P.S. As has been said before, reviews are encouraged!