V.
17 days indoors. Nearly a record for the cat. Not since he did a month in the pound had Furrball gone so long with stepping paw outside. His teenage angst subsided by the years on the road and his flame of rebellion against…anything had seemingly burned to the end of its wick. Furrball had something of a routine now, something he hadn't had since the Looniversity. As he sat at the bar eating his dinner, his new buddy Freddie the barkeep kept him company before opening time. He liked Freddie because Freddie liked talking with him. Literally, to, but figuratively with, since he made no real indication that he was just talking at him. Today's discussion was rap music.
"So I dunno… East Coasters have their days and I guess the Dirty South is okay, but the real talent seems to be wrapped up on the West Coast. I mean historically speaking. You're from the Westside, right?" Furrball nodded.
"I mean, don't get me wrong," Freddie continued, wiping some glasses, "We've got talent here in Ohio. I mean Bone Thugs… they're from Cleveland. Did you know that, Eff B?" Furrball nodded, smiling. He actually took comfort in the fact that Freddie felt uncomfortable calling him by his name.
"Oh, right. They say it in like all their songs, don't they? What did you think about 'Crossroads'?" Furrball made a 'so-so' sign with his paw.
"Yeah, they shouldn't have remixed it. Kinda disrespectful to Wally if ya ask me. I love 'Mr. Bill Collector, though. Kinda makes me wanna take a shotgun to everybody that screwed me over in the past, ya know what I'm sayin'?" The cat shrugged. The list would be too long for him to engage in such activities. They sat in silence for a moment as Furrball finished his tuna melt and Freddie finished drying his glasses.
"You know, for all his pop garbage, MC Hammer had some real insight." Furrball tried not to roll his eyes or show any other indication that he was done with the subject… Freddie took that as an indication to continue. "He did this one song, 'Street Soldiers' where he was talking to himself on the phone. One line from that song always stuck with me."
Freddie walked back into the kitchen, causing Furrball's ears to droop. Not that he wasn't relieved that his lesson in hip hop 101 was over, but why end the talk by leaving him hanging? Perhaps he was just talking at him after all. Well, no matter. It was Friday night and duty called. Furrball went to the back to tune up his violin.
VI.
It was nearing 11 pm and Furrball was taking a much needed break. He'd played for almost three hours straight and his energy was gone. Standing next to Derrick at the entrance, Furrball tried to act casual. Something about Derrick always kept him on edge, though. While Furrball was a conditional mute, Derrick just seemed to ignore him altogether, aside from a few off-beat, nonsensical comments every so often. Tonight was no different. However, when the door opened, Derrick pushed Furrball to the ground and stood in front of him.
"Max, honey, how long has it been?" Emily hurried to maneuver past the other patrons as she personally went to seat her latest customer. Furrball, aside from being shoved under a table, could tell there was a problem by the level of anxiety Emily tried to hide in her voice. He'd never heard this tone from her before.
"Gimme a rum and coke," the stranger's gruff voice barked, "And one ice cube cut like a circle!" He banged the table as he took his seat on the other side of the club.
"Oh, right away Max. Freddie?" Emily motioned to her bartender. "How about some of that devil's food cake you like so much to go with you drink?" Furrball heard Max grunt something that sounded like a "yes" and Emily rushed off to get the cake. He felt Derrick kick the chair next to him softly. "Don't make a sound," he whispered, glancing at the cat.
"This a damned cylinder!" Max smashed his glass on the table. "I wanted a circle. A sphere, idiot. Got it?"
Emily arrived quickly with the cake and three different sized forks. "Ah, at least you're not as stupid as your employees," the disgruntled voice commented.
"I know what you can do with that third fork, asshole." Freddie muttered as he attempted to carve an ice cube into a sphere. Furrball's ears detected what he said and nearly let out a chuckle.
"So Max, what have you been up to these days?" Emily shot a look at Freddie, who turned away in disgust.
"Same ol', same ol' I guess. People need firin'."
"So what brings you to this part of town, eh? New girlfriend?"
"Naw, they're too much hassle. Actually, I'm here to see you. Been told there's a new musician in town and you know where he is." Max smirked, looking at Emily. The other patrons became really quiet, looking away.
Furrball sneaked a peak at this Max character and nearly froze in shock. They'd gone to school together. His first name was Montana.
"Sorry about the wait, Max." Freddie hurried his drink over to Max, who tripped Freddie as he turned to leave. Freddie fell on the bar, chipping a tooth off.
"Oh, you're so clumsy, aren't you Freddie?" Emily forced a laugh as she helped him up, her eyes alit of shame and rage.
"So Em, how's about it?" Max to a swig of his rum. "Any stray cats hanging around I should know about?"
Emily smiled, wiping the blood off of the bar. "Not at all, Max," she winked at her VIP. "Why would I risk my business catering to street trash? Thought you knew me better than that."
Under the table, Furrball's heart sank. Regardless of her intentions, it always hurt to hear someone refer to him in such a way.
Max finally started to leave the club after about an hour. Standing in front of the table the feline was hiding under, Max turned to face Emily one last time.
"Remember, Ms. Duff, I didn't spend a fortune buying up this town to have it infested with stupid animals."
"I'll keep that in mind, Max," Emily waved, trying not to grit her teeth.
The coast was soon clear and Derrick pulled the table cloth up for Furrball, who slowly emerged from his forced hiding place. The blue cat started upstairs, trying not to show his sadness or embarrassment, but those two emotions were too strong in him to conceal.
"Don't give that sonofab*tch the satisfaction, Eff B," Freddie tried as the cat climbed the steps. Furrball looked over at Freddie for a moment, smiled softly and continued ascending.
A couple of hours later, the feline's keen ears detected footsteps on the stairs. Even asleep, the cat was awake. Curse of growing up on the streets, perhaps. Or blessing, depending on one's perspective. Taking cover under the bed, Furrball waiting to see who was calling. A knock. Unexpected. The feline inhaled and relaxed. It was Emily.
"…" Emily sat on the bed, her cool demeanor shattered. Furrball had to smile at this.
You want your tongue back?
Emily forced a laugh, reading his mind. "Yeah," she sighed, standing up. "Don't worry about Max."
Furrball looked up, his pupils dilating. He'd nearly forgotten. Cocking his head, the feline sat on the floor, waiting for the lady to continue.
"My customers… they're in love with you. No one would ever betray you to that rat bastard. We'll keep a lookout for Max and you can get out of sight before he comes in." Emily's tone was overly hopeful. Furrball looked away. More than the fear of getting his first real boss in trouble, he couldn't stand the thought of hiding in a bar the rest of his life.
"Hey, I understand," Emily stood up, walking to the door. "We'll talk about it in the morning. Try and get some rest, 'kay?"
The cat's meow sounded remarkably close to a "goodbye". Emily shook her head and closed the door.
Two more hours passed without incident and Furrball couldn't detect any sounds downstairs whatsoever. Packing his few meager possessions into his violin case, he checked his wallet. Just over $600. He couldn't get over it. He'd never touched so much money in his life. He could easily afford a train ticket south, now. Taking one last glance at the room, the clock on the wall was nearing four a.m. The witching hour. A cool gust of wind breezed by Furrball, making the cat tense up for a moment. Holding his breath, the feline scaled out the window and to the ground as only one of his agility and experience could. Looking at the sky, Furrball couldn't believe it. The moon and starts were covered by those ominous clouds that chased him indoors when he'd first arrived in the town. Disappointed, Furrball started to make his way south, hoping to make it to a train or bus station before dawn. He made it about five steps before feeling a sharp prick in his neck.
VII.
If there was one thing he hated more than having a splitting headache, it was not knowing the cause. The cat groaned softly, turning on his back before realizing he was conscious yet again. Before he opened his eyes, Furrball knew exactly where he was by the lingering, stagnant odor. Yes, he'd been here before, albeit in other states at other times, but they all shared the same scent. The smell of a stoic Purgatory. Sixteen ounces. Furrball opened his eyes in a scowl. The pound.
Thankfully, he had his own cage. The last time he had cellmates, the hole in his ear got bigger. Perhaps unfortunately, however. The last time he was in his own cage, he was nearly cremated. From his vantage point, every inmate was in solitary, however. A good sign. Furrball felt the band-aid on the back on his neck. Tranquilizer gun?
Eh yo. You up yet?
Furrball crawled to the door of his cage, trying to conserve energy.
You up?
Furrball tried to stretch, but the drugs hadn't completely worn off, making his body too stiff to respond to his brain correctly.
Geezus. Youse a dog? Damn. I swear they brought a cat up in here.
I'm a cat. Furrball broke his cardinal rule of not talking with others in the pound. It never ended well.
What're the numbers? K 'n C? Furrball hadn't used prison slang in so long; he was surprised it came out so fluidly.
'Bout 30 or so dogs, but only you and me on the C side, knowwhatim sayin'?
Why no more cats? Furrball glanced around.
Two li'l letters, bro. M and M and he ain't a chocolate and he hates rap.
Furrball gritted his teeth, still waiting for his limbs to properly register.
What's the recess level at?
This ain't yo first picnic, is it, blood? Recess don't mean shit for the Felis Streeticus, bro. 100% firing squad. That motha hates our kind. He's commited, for real.
Damn.
Yeah, I'm up for the a.m., too. Don't matter none to me, tho. I done my time on the inside and out. I'm fed up with all the shit that gets thrown at our kind, ya know? There's gotta be something more than this. Maybe when I come back, I'll be a big movie star, eh?
Furrball didn't respond… ran out of words. Crawling into a ball, the feline squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to stop the tears that he hadn't summoned to join him.
VIII.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Furrball nearly knocked himself out, jumping at the sound of metal beating against his door. Backing against the back of the cage, he found himself looking at the antagonist of his alma mater. Worse than the clueless girl. The spawn of Yosemite Sam stood there grinning like a demon about to feast.
"Ah, there's nothing like the like the smell of barbequed kitty in the morning!" Max inhaled deeply, winking at Furrball. Instantly the feline remembered his short lived conversation just hours ago. The cat gritted his teeth, ear flattening.
"Don't worry, cat. You're gonna join him soon enough. Too bad the state requires a ten- day wait to incinerate. For some reason, ya just can't bribe the animal cops." The midget man was pacing in front of Furrball's cage. He looked down at the newspaper in his hand and smirked.
"Got you a housewarming present," Max sneered as he shoved the newspaper between the bars. "Just like you your old blankie in the box, eh?
Furrball hissed at the rich kid, charging the door.
"You might wanna check the front page," Max attempted to maintain his dignity after nearly tripping on his own feet after Furrball nearly swiped his face off.
The cat's heart sunk as his eyes told him what his heart already knew. Emily's club had been burned to the ground last night. "Kitchen accident," said the paper.
"It's your own fault, comin' here," Max continued as Furrball fought to keep the tears from falling in front of his nemesis. "I always resented being brought up an actor. I hate you animals, but especially your kind… Feral filth."
Furrball smirked. A new insult.
"Went as far away as I could after school! Tried to make sure none of you mongrels would follow me. Why didn't you just stay in the dumpster where you belong?" Max spat, revealing the cat's violin. Furrball's eyes narrowed, eyeing him with disdain.
"What's more, you try and be like us. No, at least you don't talk like those freak rabbits, but you run around, scratching on an instrument, beggin' people for cash to get you to stop torturing their ears." Max's eyes went wild as he gripped the violin by the neck with both hands. "Well no more!" he screeched, smashing the instrument several times on the floor. Each time the violin hit the ground, Furrball felt a mixture of pain, hatred and another emotion he couldn't quite identify.
"Eight more days and you're not even a memory," Max growled, a seething hatred filling his voice in addition to his eyes, causing the feline's fur to stand on its back. Max's hatred was beyond comedic or archetypal for a villain. It seemed legit for a moment, even justified beyond what he'd spoken. Furrball found himself staring into the man's eyes, looking for something, when Max stormed off, slamming the door violently as he left. With the baying of a hound near his cage, the canine chorus came to life. The blue cat covered his ears as best he could and squeezed his eyes shut once again.
-End Part 2 of 4-