Summary: Having a cat in the lair can make life difficult. So difficult… Just a fun one shot.
Rating: Rated because… Well, no real reason. Violence, I guess?
Disclaimers: I own nothing. Really.
Explanation: You can thank my cat for this one. And he won't read your hate mail, so suck it up if you don't like the Fic.
Note: Note that I deleted my Fic, Dear Diary, Write Back Soon. It lacked the sort of outcome I had envisioned for it, and deciding to settle with less than I had wanted was nagging me. Albert Einstein once said something along the lines of how 'second guessing his original findings was the biggest blunder of his life.' I wouldn't go so far as to call it the biggest mistake of my life, but you know what I am getting at.
This one might end up being taken down later, but as long as I spent my time on it, I might as well post it for a little while.
So shut up and read the story already. ;D
Leonardo
---
It was getting increasingly harder to ignore the cat at my feet. My eyelids twitched in annoyance, though I fought to keep them closed and to dismiss the persistent purrs the creature made as it crawled around me. In times like these, I found myself wondering what had ever convinced Mikey we needed a cat in the lair. Like Raphael would say, who needs pets when we have Mike.
A soulful yowl erupted from the feline; a sound louder than what would seem possible considering his size. Still, I kept my eyes closed. I wouldn't let him win this. My breath trickled from between my lips, exhaling my frustrations. I did my best to focus.
The pressure of two small paws pressed against my shell. The weight was slightly offsetting, pushing me foreword. I waved it away. Focus…The resistance of the orange tabby was admirable, for he simply walked around to my front to bother me there. I felt the tickle of his whiskers as he sniffed my knees, and finally the weight of his small body as he stepped onto my lap. That was enough for me to pay him the attention he craved.
"Damn, Klunk. Get offa' me."
I snatched him around the waste and help him up, examining him. He had long outgrown his kitten cuteness. With roughly five years under his belt, he no longer had the looks Michelangelo swore by. Refusing to bathe himself regularly, his once vibrant orange coat took on a dusty appearance, with dirt caked into the white patches on his paws and nose. I guess I'm just not a cat person, because he looked rather ugly to me.
I gently tossed him aside, hoping he would take the hint I wasn't in the mood for his games. Instead, he hit the ground like a rock, tumbling awkwardly with his legs and tail flailing. Perhaps he had never heard that all cats land on their feet. My breath caught in my throat. If I hurt his cat, Mikey would lose his mind. I watched anxiously as Klunk stood again, shaking himself free of the ordeal. He stared back at me with fury in his eyes, and for a moment that cat seemed more human (Or humanoid.) than I ever would have thought possible. That stare was unsettling.
I chuckled at myself for being so foolish, despite have clearly waited until the cat was safely out of earshot to do so. With a long exhale, I dropped my hands to my knees and attempted to regain the focus I'd had stolen from me.
Michelangelo
---
Technically, Klunk is my cat. My responsibility. But, really, look who they're asking to be responsible. That just isn't my style.
That's probably why I hadn't gone to collect the cat when he was pestering Leonardo. Instead, I watched, peaking out from behind the couch. Behind me, one of the collection of TV's was playing an old episode of the A-Team, which I had abandoned for a new source of amusement. The sound of muffled gunshots and screeching tires informed me that I was missing a vital portion of the show, but I didn't care.
Klunk had taken a real tumble after Leonardo had pushed him away. I was angry my brother would do such a thing, but something about the way the cat kept circling Leo told me my anger was nothing in comparison to his own. He dropped his body to the cement, his lower half elevated slightly, and began to twitch. His tail was waving erratically, slapping into his flank and jumping back to do the same to the opposite side of his body.
I knew those motions. Klunk did the same thing when he noticed a rat in our lair, right before he'd kill it.
Leonardo shifted slightly, adjusting himself on the mat he sat on. It was as much a cue as Klunk would get. His hind legs released like springs, throwing him foreword, directly onto my brother's shoulder. The cat was clawing madly, more than likely attempting to bring death to the tails of Leonardo's mask. My laughter was too intense to notice Leo's howling.
Donatello
---
I could not longer ignore the commotion going on in the lair, no matter how intensely I attempted to focus on other activities. Wonder got the best of me at last, and I dropped my screwdriver to indulge my curiosity.
With all the things I had seen in my life, it did not surprise me at all to see a cat flying through the air as I rounded the corner. In a display that would make a football player green with envy -- if you'll pardon the pun -- Michelangelo retrieved his pet mid-flight, and pressed it tightly to his chest.
He cried obscenities towards Leonardo, who was storming away to the opposite side of the lair, and complained about animal abuse.
Leo roared that he'd have two cases to report to the ASPCA by tomorrow morning, one beaten cat and a dead turtle, if Klunk kept 'that' up.
I silently followed Mikey back to the TV area, watching him fall into the couch with a huff. I rested my elbows on the sofa back, though I couldn't find my voice to comment on what I had just seen. Instead, I turned my attention to the television while Mikey nursed his defeated feline.
Before I could stop myself, I mumbled in an A-Team inspired moment of sarcasm, "I pity da' cat who messes wit' Leonardo."