I updated again, so you can stop bugging me, Queen Masque the First...
Just because I've seen it eight hundred times doesn't mean I own CATS, 'cause as far as I know, I don't. Obviously, I don't own le fantome, but I like to pretend I do; it makes me feel better about myself.
Coricopat, Tantomile, and Gus stood before monsieurs(A/N: Ha, I'm French!)Moncharmin and Richard, begging each of them, but not to be heard.
"Those ugly little ballet rats need to be-"
"-synchronized, like this! They're all going-"
"-in different directions, and at-"
"-different times!" Coricopat and Tantomile argued, pacing back and forth unhappily.
"You call that acting? Ha! Why, today's kittens are better than that; at least they can jump through a hoop!" Gus, the famous theater cat, spoke slowly and shakily, which only fed his rage. In fact, it fed it Spaghetti-O's. You know, the kind that are little O's and have meatballs and sauce and come in the little can? Yeah. Theater cats' rages like those. Anyways, the three cats looked from each other to the bewildered managers.
"AND CARLOTTA CAN'T SING!" They all whined. Moncharmin turned to his friend, whispering in his ear.
"I'd rather pay 20,000 francs to a maniac than endure this,"
Jennyanydots knelt before a row of cockroaches, struggling to keep her anger under control. She'd managed to teach cats in cockroach costumes to tap dance, right? This couldn't be much more difficult…
Of course, she was terribly, horribly, terribly, horribly, horribly terribly wrong in assuming this, but hey, she's a cat. These cockroaches did not know the difference between left and right, they had more feet than they knew what to do with, she had to sit in some smelly little passageway, and the cockroaches kept trying to eat her. Yes, they did try to eat her. (A/N: they were some of thosefreakswho wondered if cats tasted more like chicken, valley girls/fried rice,or Spaghetti-O's) After swimming in that lake filled with Everlasting Cat-knows-what, they'd become radioactive. Mutant cockroaches, although, well, mutant, still get hungry.
Forget poor Tugger, poor Jennyanydots!
"No, no, it's 'do you like your morning tea weak or strong?'"
"But I'm never away all night with anyone, and I'm not making them tea, no matter what some funny lookin' little kitty tells me to do," The carriage driver mumbled, confused. He was, of course, incredibly drunk, and for that reason could understand the orange tabby that paced before him.
"Oh my sweet Everlasting—fine. Nevermind, dear fellow." Skimbleshanks paused, sighing in frustration. "Have you got each passenger's name written up on their door?"
"Well, I've only got orangetyfive doors, and they don't say anything on 'em, unless you count the graffiti,"
"Is there any sort of light? Can you make it dark or bright?" Skimbleshanks asked, growing irritated.
"I guess if you opened the door, it'd be brighter, but then you'd go flying out and land on your fat little kitty head." The driver began to laugh uncontrollably, his fat face contorting into an ugly smile.
"I'd land on my feet, thank you. Have you got a cat aboard?"
"You could paint ears on my snazzy ponies if you like," The driver offered, laughing harder. With an irritated flick of his tail, Skimbleshanks left the drunken man to his jokes; they were certainly more than enough company for him.
Yay! Five cats in a single chapter!
Don't worry, I won't be skipping around from cat to cat the entire time. I'm bringing them all together, but how...Well, that's a suprise.
Have you figured out yet why Spaghetti-O's come in the little cans? 'Cause I'm still confused about that.
