4. ¿Cuántos Años Tienes?

As he was led to his seat, Sparkz let his eyes go out of focus. His shirt irritated his back, but he dared not scratch it, lest he reveal any weaknesses in the midst of the unknowns. It wasn't long before he felt the eyeballs leave him and return to the front of the room. All except one pair.

So you're the new blood, eh?

Sparkz nodded slightly, but refused to turn around to face the voice. He'd been debriefed by his father about what was expected of him in school and didn't want things to go wrong again because he followed his own rules instead. It wasn't until the bell rang for lunch that the young feline realized there were no more cats in the vicinity. There was a mad dash for the door and Sparkz cocked his head in wonder as his classmates fought tooth and nail to get out of the room and before he could think, he was all alone again. Or so he thought.

Not hungry?

Sparkz shook his head, finally turning to face the other feline. Couldn't help but notice the other's lazy eye. Of course, he felt no guilt as he'd felt the cat's eyes boring into his ghost limb ever since he'd arrived.

What's your name? Sparkz recited the word verbatim with an intonation that thoroughly confused the other.

Call me "Tres".

What?

"Tres". You know, 3? Like uno, dos, tres. It's Spanish.

Oh. Why?

Tres grinned wide, as if he had been waiting his whole life to give an explanation.

'Cuz it only takes me 3 steps to draw blood!

Much to the feline's dismay, his reason only elicited further confusion from Sparkz, not the awe he was hoping for.

So you call me "Dos", then? Papa calls me "Sparkz"…

You think you can do it in two? Care to test your theory?

Not unless you try prove yours.

Well, I do!

Tres stepped into Sparkz's range, causing the one-pawed wonder to cut him off immediately. The overconfident cat quickly felt his brow. Flicking the blood drop away, Tres' grin grew larger.

"Dos" is cool, but I think I like "Sparkz" better.

Me as well.

Well, good to meet ya.

You too.

Let's get going or only the vegetables will be left.

I not hungry.

Alright Tarzan. But rule number one is never fight on an empty stomach.

Who Tarzan? Rule number one is 'raise your hand'.

Damn, kid, they pulled you fresh off the boat! C'mon. I'll get you acclimated.

Fifi nudged her fiancé. His teeth were chattering so hard, they might chip any second. Never before had the role been reversed for Furrball and he was actually the one waiting for a loved one. It was maddening, exciting and fulfilling at the same time. The cat nodded at the skunk, as she squeezed his bicep reassuringly. Furrball glanced at his watch. 3:11.

"Is it l-l-late?"

"No, you're just a concerned father,"

Furrball turned to face Fifi for a moment. He knew what he was, but this was the first time he'd heard it.

Fifi noticed her hubby's eyebrows start to sag and quickly kissed him on the lips. As she started to move away, she felt the feline's arms around her, pulling her closer. It almost shocked her, an assertion by Furrball, but it was a welcome change. The kiss lasted until the cat could no longer breathe, having little experience in the action, causing him to wheeze a bit as the embrace ended. Fifi tried her best not to laugh. Furrball tried his best not to let her know he noticed. Suddenly the cat's ears' perked.

"Bus?" Fifi mused.

Furrball nodded, his eyes fixated on the street corner. Sure enough, a minute or so later, a short bus rounded the corner, stopping a few feet from the couple. As the driver pulled open the door, Furball noticed a window open and smirked as he braced himself for impact. Sparkz emerged, pouncing straight for his jugular. The older cat caught him just in time, spinning his young charge to the ground as everyone from the stopped drivers to Fifi watched in awe at the routine theatrics of the father and son. Feeling the spotlight on them, Furrball's eyes met Fifi's. As he let the kitten down he turned to Sparkz in a pathetic attempt to scold him.

Now Sparkz, try using the door next time.

No good. Too far! I never make the jump!

Furrball frowned at Sparkz, for a microsecond and burst into laughter as they began their trek home. Sparkz stopped, causing the adults to look back.

"¡Buenas tardes, mami!" Sparkz spoke fluidly, adding a little bow, showing no indication that he'd been practicing all the while on the bus.

Fifi and Furrball looked at each other, a bit stunned by the sound of his voice.

"¡Ah, Sparxito! ¡Buenas tardes! ¿Cómo era la escuela?"

"Bien, bien…no problema."

At this, Furrball nearly lost it.

"Wa-wa-wait! Hold on a s-s-second! W-w-we send the b-boy to school for En-english and n-now th-th-is!"

Fifi gave Furrball sly look as they continued walking, Sparkz in the middle. "You don't speak Spanish," she began, flicking her hair out of her face. "I don't speak Catonese."

Furrball cocked his head. A fair trade, perhaps. Still…

How did you learn Spanish?

Tres from school taught. He from Long Beach. A pet, too.

I see.

Papa, what "pet"?

It means his "parents" are humans. It's really common around here.

So what I?

Furrball scooped his boy up.

You're my son. No matter what. Okay?

Okay, papa.

Furrball noticed a look in Fifi that filled him with shame for a second.

"H-he's learn-ning f-from a c-ca- classm-mate. A p-pet named "T-tr-tres."

Fifi looked down, starting to twirl her hair.

"You can t-teach me Sp-Spanish… I c-can t-teach you Catonese, I th-think."

Fifi looked at Furrball, causing him to look down now.

"My Spanish is pretty basic. It's just similar to French and English, so I can pick it up."

"C-c-catonese is the l-l-language of our s-s-souls. You already own m-mine, so you're halfway th-there."

Fifi walked ahead to the front door, trying (and failing) to hide the wide grin on her face. Sparkz's smirk met Furrball's as they nodded at each other knowingly.

Ya know, it's great you're here, Sparkz. Unlike those mutts we don't need no army to take charge, ya know?

Charge of what?

Immigrants…you'd think it was the same everywhere, but it really isn't.

Charge of what?

It's just a figure of speech, dude. Basically we don't need them calling all the shots everywhere we go having to wait for them to finish or whatever before we do anything.

There more of them.

Of course there are! But you kick the alpha's ass and show them you're not afraid to throw down, then they respect you. Then they stay away.

They stay away now.

No, we stay away from them! There's a difference. Look, even the numbers game shows the basic prejudice. They think dogs is smarter than cats. Why else would there only be you and me in this class, filled with dogs? People think we're stupid.

We not stupid.

We gotta prove it, then. By taking over this damned school.

Oh.

"Yo, Milo, shut the hell up and sit down, a'ight?"

"How many times I gotta tell you not to call me that, esse?"

"Alright class, settle down, settle down. Take your seats, won't you?"

"Yo, Mr. Wiever!"

"Yes, Dutch?"

"I think you gotta send Milo to the counselor's office,"

"Why is that, Dutch?"
"Because he just said he wanted to die."

Tres took the bait, jumping right into Dutch's balled up fist. Before hitting the ground, he tried to target the bulldog's waist, but slipped on a book, falling into the large dog's clutches. Before he could commence to pummeling the cat, Dutch found himself muzzle to muzzle with Sparkz.

"Class, take your seats!" Mr. Wiever bellowed, tossing his desk over. The noise distracted Sparkz just enough to stop him from landing the first blow. Slinking out from under Dutch, Sparkz strolled coolly towards Mr. Wiever. With his only paw, he set the iron desk back up and took his seat, not giving the canines another glance.

"Now, you're probably all wondering how you can basically understand me today, given that this is basically beginner ESL class, right?" Mr. Wiever wasted no time, lest the bad blood boil over. The students looked at one another, a bit confused and intrigued, less than the teacher had anticipated.

"The reason is that I spent last night wiring the classroom with translation devices that bounce my voice off the walls and into your ears without you even knowing it. Isn't that cool?"

You could almost hear the cricket playing the world's smallest violin for the teacher, his disappointment at the lack of appreciation was so great.

"I warn you, though," he continued, lest he lose his nerve. "It will only be for today and today alone because today's lecture is a special one."

A couple of students politely tried minimizing their yawns.

"So I'd like to direct your attention to the great Walter Memphonis, Ph.D. Anyone here familiar with his work?"

The cricket's solo grew louder.

"I see. How about Noam Chomsky and his theory of generative grammar?"

A few light bulbs went on amongst the class, but no one dared admit knowledge beyond the norm of zero knowledge. The teacher's keen eye caught the glimmers however, which sparked his enthusiasm even more.

"As you may know, Chomsky suggested that all humans share the same original language, but learn to express it in different ways and norms, hence languages," Wiever began. "How this applies to you, my mammals and gentlereptile," Wiever nodded to an iguana in the front, "is that Dr. Memphonis took it a step further, suggesting all animals share an original language. We can all communicate, as we once did before there was the idea of hierarchy and the humans took over, so to speak."

The professor could almost feel the number of pissed off looks he go from this observation and decided to test the waters, going further.

"If we had all been allowed to develop at the same time and at the same ability, don't you think we'd all be equal now? But didn't humans only have the ability to steal power by exploiting your weaknesses? Pitting us, and essentially you against each other?" He nodded at Sparkz, then Dutch. "Iago to Othello?"

…

The courtyard was especially quiet at lunchtime. The lecture had worked on some level, to where foxes were talking casually with dogs, but not much more in terms of interspecies relationships. Sparkz perched atop the western wall as Tres leaned against it, eyeing Dutch's crew.

You think he said was truth?

His kind put us in this position in the first place. Why should we believe him?

Maybe.

"Maybe" my ass. Next to dogs, they our public enemy number 1.

Yeah. Yeah…

Can I ask you somethin' Spakz?

Again?

Huh?

That was already question.

Wiseass. Who did it? Dogs or people?

My paw?

Yeah.

People.

That's your answer then, isn't it?

…

"Geezus what's with the "wah wah wah" serenade? Sounds like you kittens are killing cellos here!" Dutch had positioned himself in the blind spot of the lunch monitors. This time he had come with backup.

Sparkz leapt down from the wall, staying crouched and ready to pounce. Tres held his paw up, signaling for Sparkz to back off.

I got this one, bro.

Tres dashed for Dutch, knocking the large canine off-balance. They crashed to the ground and in no time Dutch was back on top. His cronies surrounded the two as Dutch began pummeling Tres in the neck and face with closed fists. Sparkz, livid, still had the presence of mind to look for an opening to where he could help his only friend. After a few moments he found it, slamming a hound into the wall with all his might, and pounced Dutch's back. Before the two could begin round two, five shots rang out. When the smoke cleared, four dogs had darts sticking into them and one cat. The hound Sparkz had thrown was lying motionless against the wall and Tres was twitching, a bloody mess below Dutch.

"I n-never authorized you to s-shoot my son with anything!" Furrball fumed.

"Please… look at it from our perspective. Your son could have lost an eye like his friend did or even worse, trying to go toe to toe with a bulldog," Mr. Wiever offered, pacing. He didn't like his answer any more than his orders to take said stance.

"And we can't really forget about the concussion he gave to another student, intentional or not."

"He's j-just a k-kid, but he'd have had a good r-reason, if he did it. He's not a psy-sycho."

"Even so, Mr. err… Furrball, we've only had your son in class for two days and he's already been in two confrontations. I think you should seriously look into homeschooling as an option if you want to see your kid out of the pound or worse."

"You're cr-crazy if you th-think I'm letting him s-s-step another day in this fascist d-dungeon!"

"Very good, then we're agreed."

"Fu-fu-fuc-forget it. I'm outta h-here."

…

Furrball kept the door opened a crack, after another failed attempt to coax Sparkz out from under his bed. The feeling of detox from the tranqs had sent Sparkz back to scarier, colder times, he'd nearly forgotten. The blue cat sighed heavily, missing the chair as he slumped over near the dining table, feeling hopeless and dejected.

Fifi entered, phone in paw, cautiously approaching her lover.

"A-any word?"

"Tres is fine. It was his lazy eye that was punched out. That eye couldn't see anyway. They're going to give him a glass eye next week when the swelling goes down."

"Th-that's good to h-hear, I su-suppose."

"How's he?"

"K-keeps s-sayin' only one th-thing. He h-hates dogs."

"Oh no."

"I told him say "I hate THOSE dogs, but he doesn't get it."

"Wait. Say that again?"
"What? Those dogs. Not just dogs. That'd make him specist."

"Furrball, your stutter…"

"I don't have time to stutter now! This is…"

"…"

"Oh."

"It took the concern of a loved one. I guess you're finally cured!"

"We'll celebrate later. What are we gonna do about money?"

Furrball rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. Fifi joined him, saying nothing.

"I called the studio and told them I need to quit to home-school Sparkz."

Fifi tried to suppress the surprise in her eyes.

"We'll manage. You've managed this far without money, haven't you?"

"Didn't have a family to provide for, though…"

Before the conversation could go any further, the two felt a rumbling at the door. Before they could get up to see what was going on, the door swung open to reveal a large cat with eyes as red as his nose.

"YOU WH-WH_WHAT?"

The End - Part 4

Yeah, kind of a digression, but at least that annoying stutter is gone. How's he gonna pay for the wedding if he quit acting? How's he gonna make it to the wedding now that Sylvester's pissed again? AUGH! No sleep for weeks!