Chapter 7
-Veintidos-
LAX was never a place he could get used to. Pushy, impatient staff; demanding, clueless tourists; conniving, hungry cabbies, the place was a zoo; an accurate depiction of life outside the $20/hour parking garage. A few days' wait time had turned into a few months, hence the reason the cat was by his lonesome to fetch his in-laws. Fifi was due in less than a month and navigating the airport in her condition was more stress than it was worth. Of course, Sparkz, being the dutiful guardian he seemed to aspire to be, elected to attend to her in his absence.
Over the years, he'd grown basically immune to the paparazzi and sprinkles of fans approaching him in public. It went with the territory and he'd never really been a 'find' for stargazers even with his television serial well into its third season. He had hoped that today would be no different, though stepping into the arrivals waiting area; he immediately sensed that this wasn't to be the case this time around.
Just two days earlier, the most controversial episode of his show premiered on cable. He'd been told that there had been a huge backlash and an avalanche of letters regarding the content of the final scene hitting the studio. During the filming, Furrball hadn't noticed anything unusual about the scene; it'd just been routine for him to go in, act out the script and get ready for another episode, not thinking about the character he played; not considering the message the show had been sending out. He had a paycheck to make and he had no other way to make it. It was simply business, nothing more. By the number of dirty looks he received off the bat, he knew he might've made a bit of a miscalculation trusting the writers to decide his fate.
If there was one thing Furrball was a master at doing, it was focusing on a singular target, drowning out every distraction possible as he waited to complete his objective. Many fans of his would complain, he was told, about his unaccommodating nature. Some of his classmates lived for the attention of complete strangers, actually seeking out the fans and cameras whenever they went out. It wasn't that he was annoyed by the fame; he simply had no use for it.
Spying the eyes of the one who shot at him during his wedding day, followed closely by his only other relative that nearly killed him, the feline smiled, waving at them. All individuals in the skunks' general vicinity cheered in response, hoping against hope that he'd been waving to them. Furrball sighed, shaking his head. How fickle the masses can be. How very, very fickle.
Before long a dark streak flashed towards him, causing the cat to instinctively dodge at the last second grabbing the intruder by the throat, about to sink his claws in his assailant's neck. Just as he was about to commit to the act, the cat smirked vaguely recognizing his wife's favorite and only cousin, Rockee. True to the cat's perception of the teen skunk, the kid had adopted yet another subculture, this one being a bit more dangerous than the previous few as evidenced by the spinning wheels of the overturned skateboard lying a few feet from them.
"You'd have nailed it if you could see," the cat remarked, brushing some of Rockee's braids away. It was the only remnant of his 'former self' still visible in his goth dreads. The skunk managed an embarrassed grin as he slowly rose to his feet, probably used enough to the falling now to recover but not used enough to recover quickly. Furrball refrained from offering a helping paw, knowing full well the pride of a 17 year old.
He noted that his wife's aunt was touting a suitcase three sizes too large for her, while his father-in-law had little more than a briefcase in tow. Instinct kicked in and the cat hurried over to Inez to relieve her of her burden, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the luggage.
"Nice to see you," he gasped as he fought to deal with the weight. "Staying long?"
Inez grinned at the joke, much to the feline's surprise. He had suspected the emotional landscape of the wedding to have given her a contact high in their last interaction and that she felt no differently of him, now that the effect had worn off. He'd decided to test the waters early so as to not bring the conflict into his home.
"Strapping young men like yourself are required to lift luggage for the ladies, no?" she teased, flipping her hair back. Furrball had to bite his tongue before making a comment to Rockee about not being a strapping young man, as that would likely avalanche to the father-in-law, whom he didn't trust any more than his wife did.
"So," the elder skunk addressed his son-in-law, his Haitian accent as strong as ever. "Your ready-made family is ready to make spawn of your own?"
He chuckled to himself as if it were some private joke. The chuckle wasn't contagious.
"Hey, Furrball," his accent making the cat's name sound French. "Don't take it too hard. Ol' Jean Paul Le Fume has accepted you as family. Or I wouldn't have missed, no?" the skunk slapped the cat's back in a friendly manner; nearly causing Furrball to lose his balance and hit the deck. Had he not been a world-class athlete a few years back, the luggage would have crushed him.
Making it outside to the notorious horseshoe walkway, Jean Paul inhaled deeply and stretched for a bit.
"Well, this is where we part the ways, then," he announced going in the opposite direction of the others. Furrball was confused to say the least, looking to his other in-laws for answers that didn't come.
"What…?"
"I'll see you in a few. I've got something to do."
Furrball was in borderline panic mode. Had this been a typical action of Fifi's father? Why hadn't she warned him?
"Can I at least give you a ride…" the cat tried, noticing he was passing by the cab drivers without so much of a glance. The skunk turned to face him, that old expression on his face he'd noticed just before he had opened fire on the churchyard.
"Can you take this journey, chat?"
Furrball stopped in his tracks, his knees buckling from the luggage anyway.
Inez put her paw on the confused cat's shoulder coaxing him away.
"He's walking to her grave. Always does it when he arrives in California. It's the first thing he does," she explained.
Furrball looked at the skunk, wide-eyed. Fifi's mother's grave was about sixty miles from the airport. That would explain him travelling light. Nothing more was spoken about the subject for the entire trip home.
-Veintitres-
Stepping into the threshold, he finally lost his balance, tripping over the phone handset gracefully falling on his face cushioning the luggage from any real impact.
"I'm sorry, mon minou!" Fifi exclaimed as Furrball struggled to get up from under the luggage.
"Phone, love?" Furrball asked, maintaining his composure looking at the crushed technology.
"Ringing off the hook again. Couldn't help myself."
"Mute function, love."
Before she could retaliate, Fifi's eyes fixed upon her aunt.
"I'll take this to the guest room, then." Furrball said, excusing himself. For a few moments, the two simply watched to see what one another would do and who would break the silence. Fifi recalled that her aunt hadn't sounded overly enthusiastic upon receiving the news on the phone and the extended delay in arrival hadn't exactly helped Inez's chances to make great aunt of the year. She had since failed that with Sparkz, regardless, not even knowing the kitten's name.
Relenting, the elder skunkette stepped into the room and took a deep breath. "You don't look that pregnant to me." It was clearly meant as a compliment, though there was some real truth to it. Inez just happened to be the latest in a long line of individuals that had articulated that very observation. Fifi smiled, nevertheless, not needing an awkward home in the presence of family. She didn't want to be teaching her unborn child bad habits before she was even out of the womb. Before either could take a step closer to one another, a streak of wind brushed past and Inez found herself opposite a pint-sized bodyguard, scowling fiercely at her.
"Sparkz!" Fifi exclaimed a bit startled, though she should have been used to this by now. "You remember your great Aunt Inez, right?"
"No," the kitten continued staring at the invader.
"That's entirely my fault," Inez admitted, taking a knee to be level with the young cat.
Sparkz stared for a while longer until his expression finally softened and he sidestepped her to find Rockee staring down at his bandage through his massive amount of braids. The kitten stared right back at the older teen, marveling at the skunk's ridiculous haircut. The standoff was cut short when Sparkz caught a glimpse of the skateboard in Rockee's hand. The kitten waddled over to it curiously cocking his head like a puppy. Rockee grinned, offering it to him. Sparkz didn't accept it, but looked to Rockee for an explanation. The skunk put his arm around Sparkz's shoulder, coaxing him outdoors.
"I'll show you how," he said, closing the door behind him.
"So, can I get you some coffee? Tea?" Furrball spoke up reentering the room. "Hot water with honey and lemon for the wife?"
Fifi kissed her husband after nodding, a gesture that upset the cat slightly. While she had never been one to hide PSAs, it wasn't particularly typical for her to kiss him on the lips when he offered to give make her a hot beverage. Shrugging it off, he looked over to Inez.
"Won't you have a seat? I can make some Earl Grey, if you'd like."
"Please, my dear nephew," she responded. There was no hint of contempt in her voice, yet it was awkward coming out of her mouth, nevertheless.
His keen feline hearing picked up laughs and whoops from the cousins outside, but detected nothing, save the ticking of the grandfather clock from the den. Stirring the drinks as fast as possible, Furrball hurried to return, making a mental note that all the cooking knives were accounted for in the knife block before leaving.
"I must say, I have been to Sri Lanka and London and you brew a cup of tea that rivals even that of my late husband, God rest his soul."
Furrball scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to take the compliment. He didn't receive many from many besides his wife.
"Furrball is a cat of countless talents, tante," Fifi spoke a bit sharply, running her fingers through the cat's hair, inadvertently causing him to purr, then blush.
"He'd have to be to make it this far out from the gutter."
As he had made his peace with Fifi's aunt some time ago and was more objective about the situation, Furrball could tell the comment had been innocent in nature, actually agreeing with Fifi, rather than taking a cheap shot at his humble origins. Squeezing his wife's paw in his own, he spoke up quickly before Fifi said something she might have regretted later on.
"It was a storm drain, actually. Not a gutter."
There was a deafening silence in the room and for a moment even the clock stopped ticking, trying t gauge the tension in the air. Before long, the front door opened, releasing the tension and the three adults burst into laughter as Rockee and Sparkz entered, oblivious.
-Veinticuatro-
"She kicks like a mule. Like she just wants to get this over with."
"Can't really blame her. I can't wait to say hi. The suspense is killing me."
Fifi grinned, stroking her husband's bandaged tail.
"But not kicking you."
Furrball yawned settling down in her fluffy tail.
"True enough."
Before he could close his eyes, a thought penetrated the cat's psyche, causing him to sit up suddenly.
"What is it?" Fifi yawned.
"Why didn't you tell me about your dad's ritual?"
"I thought I had. Must've slipped my mind."
"Huh. Will he be showing up any time soon?"
"Well, he'll probably be drinking for a few days and then sober himself up before coming to visit so it could be about a week before he arrives."
"Even if you're in labor by then?"
"We've got about a month. It should be fine."
"Even so…"
"…"
Furrball noticed Fifi's body tense a bit and decided to let it go.
"You need to go see him, by the way."
"Him?"
"Him."
"I dunno if there's much I can do about it. It's his decision to live like that."
"Everyone else has given up on him and if you can't get through to him, neither one of them will ever be happy again. Can't you just try?"
"…For you. Not him."
"Them."
"Whatever."
"You're so cute when you're all pouty."
"Not so tight! Can't breaathee…"
-Veintcinco-
He dreaded hearing the elevator chime. Never being one to meddle, Furrball certainly had little to nothing invested in helping out someone with an appetite for self-destruction. He had zero tolerance and even less compassion for such behavior, given his humble upbringing and secretly hoped the duck would be too inebriated to realize someone was at his door. As if to crush his hopes, the door swung open after his third knock, two puffy, beady, bloodshot eyes trying to focus, without luck.
"Were you expecting me?" Furrball asked, trying to cut the tension in the standoff.
Plucky's mind finally seemed to register what was happening.
"What're you doin' here?" the duck picked up a gym bag near the door, stepping outside. Furrball eyed his old classmate suspiciously as he locked the door. His nose could detect rubbing alcohol, sweat-drenched cotton and old, worn out handwraps from the bag.
"I guess you're here for a visit, but I'm on my way to work right now," Plucky explained, hobbling down the hallway. The cat watched him for a moment, his mind starting to make mental connections. He knew that particular limp was indicative of recent head trauma. And the gym bag coupled with swollen eyes…
"Mind if I tag along?" Furrball offered, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Why not? I could use some advice, anyway," the duck replied, not looking back.
"Advice?" Furrball queried catching up with zero effort.
"Yeah," Plucky pressed the elevator button with some hesitation.
"Stop drinking," the cat replied, seeking to capitalize on the opportunity while the window was still opened. The green mallard looked at the cat, confused for a moment. That wasn't what he had in mind.
"Insurance dropped me after they found I spar for a living. That's just self-medicating."
Furrball stared wide-eyed as Plucky got into the elevator.
"Coming?"
"Y-yeah," the cat stuttered, stepping inside.
It took the cat a moment to really focus enough on his goal in the first place as it had been so long since he'd stepped into a boxing gym, that his head was spinning.
"So, you just go from gym to gym, sparring anyone that'll pay you?" he asked Plucky as the duck sat on the bench, having changed in the locker room.
"Well, I basically limit myself to up to Middleweight, ya know? I don' t think I could take a hook from a Cruiserweight," the duck answered taking out his wraps.
"Middleweight? That's like three classes above you!"
"What am I, Hamton? It's five! Help me with my wraps, huh?"
Furrball started winding the duck's knuckles, noticing he clearly had little technique, as his wrists and bones in his hand felt off, like he was hitting incorrectly and not resting enough. "No wonder you drink. How'd you even think to start doing this?"
Plucky slipped on his gloves before answering. "Well, you know, I've done anything I could to get a quick buck and I just saw an ad in the paper one day for a local champ that needed sparring partners, and I thought if I didn't die in the match, I could definitely use $1,500 a week, ya know?"
"I mean… where'd you even 'learn' how to box?"
"Learn to box? I never learned! They hire me because I can take a hit and keep getting up."
"…"
"C'mon. Don't you start judging me, too. Why're you even here? What do you care?"
"…she misses you, Plucky."
"Hey, duck! You're up!" the trainer called from the canvas. Furrball looked at the fighter standing in the ring. He might have passed for a middleweight, but was clearly starving himself to get to that weight. He looked like the kind of boxer with zero endurance and all power. The kind that relied on ending every fight within 3 rounds by knockout. His timing hadn't been good at all, knowing that Plucky would be thinking about Shirley as opposed to dodging his opponent's behemoth meat hooks.
To his credit, Plucky was quite slippery, dodging the man's jabs as if he were throwing them in slow motion. He could see a number of counter punch opportunities, but the duck never even looked as if he had any interest in throwing a punch. The first hook that connected with Plucky's gut, Furrball could tell he had no business being in the ring with him. Before he knew it, he was gripping the canvas in the duck's corner.
"Stay back!" he shouted before he could stop himself, "He's only aiming for your liver! Dodge left!"
A couple of fighters eyed Furrball suspiciously, but the cat was oblivious as the champ went for another liver blow, which Plucky was able to dodge, taking his advice.
"Yeah! Go for his heart. He's got no guard low!"
The duck hesitated to take this advice, not wanting to enrage the beast with more than a minute to go. As he tried dodging the same way he did last time, the duck didn't see the hook coming that connected with his temple, sending him straight to the canvas.
"Get up! That wasn' t even a third of his power in that hook. He didn't even rotate his waist! You can hit harder than that!"
Plucky was on his feet by the count of six, but the cobwebs hadn't shaken completely yet.
"Don't try to go after him, but don't run away! Use your jab and circle back around!"
The duck did as he was told, managing to stave off nearly enough time to beat the clock. Unfortunately, his disorientation led him to the ropes and nothing Furrball could say would stop the onslaught. He would have easily gone down to the second punch, but for whatever reason, his opponent thought it necessary to deliver four more blows as the duck was falling.
"Sonofabitch!" Furrball growled, rolling into the ring to check on Plucky. The mallard was out cold, with a bloody beak, but breathing.
"I got two more rounds if you wanna do somethin' about it," the champ taunted mussing the cat's hair.
Before he even realized what ad happened, Furrball had on a pair of 16 oz gloves, and was biting down on a mouthpiece as the trainers attending to Plucky, ringside. A decent sized crowd surrounded the ring, including a couple of magazine reporters who happened to be checking up on the champ's progress.
As the bell sounded, the cat let his 'learned instinct' take over and avoided the obvious choice of rushing in. he made his way around the ring in a figure eight and allowed his opponent to tire himself out, shadow boxing, as there was no way he'd have been quick enough to make contact. Before long, all of the dodging eventually trapped the cat in the corner, as his ring rust started to show. Before he could rectify this mistake, the champ went in for the kill, slamming and uppercut into the cat's ribcage. The sensation of the blow send chills up Furrball's spine, unleashing a longing he had denied for so long as he fell to the canvas.
Before the count could even begin, he was up to his feet, a deranged sparkle in his eye. This time, the cat allowed himself to be cornered, feigning injury to lure out the upper again, denying the champ the satisfaction of a second knockout blow as Furrball successfully attempted a jolt counter to the boxer's eye striking from the same angle the punch was coming from. Although it wasn't enough to knock him out with one blow, it was more than enough to cause a cut above his eye, stopping the match immediately.
"What gutter they drag you out of, kid? You don't cut the champ!" the manager spat running into the ring. Out of respect for the recovering duck, Furrball smiled, getting out of the ring.
"Sorry," he said, stretching. "I'm not the sparring type."
-End Part 7-