Clarissa Rodestorm was no ordinary pilot. She was proud, smart, stunningly beautiful and brave, with auburn hair and blue eyes, one of the best results of the
"Dana Scully" effect.
Born in the misty heights of Mount Dangerhawk Montana (yes, really), she grew up leaping from tree to tree with a parachute stitched by her grandmother out of old flight suits and sheer determination. From a young age, Clarissa could recite the entire radio dialogue of Top Gun backwards while doing 70 push-ups—one-handed, blindfolded, and while field-dressing a squirrel.
She graduated top of her class from the Ultra-Aerial Combat Academy, where she rewrote the flight manual, taught the instructors how to dogfight, and accidentally flew into another dimension once during a training exercise (she apologized afterward, and the aliens were cool with it). Her favorite movies were all Top Gun movies, including the bootleg Top Gun: The Broadway Musical that only played once and resulted in five emergency landings.
Her reputation grew. Clarissa was a legend—a master of sky ballet, a whirlwind of aviator shades and sass. So naturally, when the U.S. government discovered an imminent alien invasion by something called "The Woolies," she was granted top-secret clearance, a new badge that said "AWESOME LEVEL: CLASSIFIED," and a cryptic warning: "You're getting a special package. Just… don't scream."
Exactly one week later, a box arrived at her apartment. Not a high-tech crate. Not a reinforced titanium case. Just a simple, slightly dusty wooden box labeled in bold:
"HANDLE WITH CARE, U.S. ARMY (PROBABLY?)"
She set it on the kitchen counter. It was very quiet. For about three seconds.
Then the box exploded into life, bouncing like a possessed toaster.
"HEY! LET ME OUTTA HERE! I CAN'T BREATHE! I'M TOO BEAUTIFUL TO BE CONTAINED!"
Clarissa stared at the box, then slowly leaned in.
"…Daffy Duck?" she whispered, confused and a little horrified.
"WHO'S DAFFY? IS THAT SOME KINDA DUCK? I'M A BOBCAT, LADY! A LIVING, BREATHING, BURGER-LOVING LEGEND!"
"What?" asked Clarissa.
"DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO I AM? I ONCE JUMPED OFF A WATER TOWER INTO A PILE OF MARSHMALLOWS AND WAS FINE! LET ME OUTTA HERE, YA FLAPJACKS!"
shouted the creature in the box.
Terrified but trained to handle literally anything (she once negotiated peace with a flock of angry jetpack geese), Clarissa opened the box. A cloud of Cheetoh dust erupted as a small orange blur yoinked itself into her kitchen.
It was… him.
The instruction manual was concise:
"This is Bubsy the Bobcat. We don't know where he came from. We don't know how he exists. We kind of hate him. But all we know is the Woolies fear him. May God help us all."
She blinked. Bubsy was currently turning her bathroom into a crime scene. Toilet paper flew like ticker tape, and he was stuffing Cheetohs into his mouth like he was trying to plug a volcano.
"Would you like to be my friend?" Clarissa asked, overwhelmed but still polite.
Bubsy froze mid-bite. "A friend? WOWIE ZOWIE! I HAVEN'T HAD A FRIEND SINCE THAT TIME I HIGH-FIVED MY REFLECTION AND WE SHARED A PAPS BLUE RIBBON BEER!"
He launched into a dramatic explanation: the Woolies had stolen his yarn. The military wanted to save the planet. He wanted revenge... and snacks.
"I have a collection of regenerating hamburgers and frankfurters in my shirt pocket," he added with absolute seriousness.
"I don't believe you," Clarissa said.
He reached into his pocket. POP. Hamburger. POOF. Hot dog. Steam rose. Mustard sparkled. Ketchup glistened like a patriotic dream.
They sat on the couch sharing hot dogs.
"I saw Elvis," Bubsy said, mouth full. "Near a hot dog stand. At a carnival. He was trying to pass himself off as Ronald Mcdonald, what a card that Elvis guy is. Hey you know ZZT Top said he was still real so who knows"
"I still don't believe you."
"Yeah, well, Elvis believes in YOU, Clarissa!"
Clarissa could not help but laugh.
Then, unprompted, Bubsy leaned in, eyes wide.
"Also—I saw Nancy Sinatra once."
"…Excuse me?"
"She was singing These Boots Are Made for Walkin' at a hot dog stand. Her boots… walked off without her. I had to chase them for seven city blocks. They juked left. They juked right. One of them roundhouse-kicked me into a churro stand."
"…Are you telling me her boots had sentience?"
"You're talking to a bobcat who speaks English and you still have questions? FORGET it gal pal, we're long past questions, I'm already hearing wedding bells. You're
gonna marry the box I came in-not me" explained Bubsy. Clarissa now felt like she was talking to someone who couldn't decide if he was Daffy Duck, Deadpool, or Gex the GEcko.
They stayed up all night. Playing games. Guessing cards. Bubsy never guessed wrong—Clarissa was pretty sure he was psychic. Or maybe just cheating. Or maybe she was dreaming.
He kept cracking jokes. "What could possibly go wrong?" he shouted while juggling her alarm clocks. He sang, he yodeled, he did a weird impression of a llama. Clarissa laughed so hard she almost shot root beer out her nose.
Eventually, she slumped on the couch. Exhausted. Bubsy tried to cuddle up. She shoved him away.
"Nope. Boundaries."
"B-but I'm warm and fuzzy! Like a criminal's coat pocket!"
"Still nope."
"Don't you want me to whisper sweet nothings in your ear? Don't you wanna know who REALLY framed Roger Rabbit?" asked Bubsy.
"No," replied Clarissa.
But by morning, Clarissa had somehow snuggled up to him, and now Bubsy was awkwardly trying to wriggle free like a trapped plushie.
"BY THE WAY DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE WOOLIES!" shouted Bubsy, who looked intoxicated.
"I'm definitely not worried about-them-the woolies!" said Clarissa.
"Yeah I'll protect you babe. I know how to deal with them! It's nothing business oriented, just personal!" said Bubsy.
Clarissa blinked. "The military says they're trying to blow up Earth."
"Yeah, but the yarn thing hurts, Clarissa."
Cheetohs covered the floor. Burgers lined the countertops. A mustard trail led to the fridge.
They heard a knock. The landlord.
"Quick! CLEAN UP!" Clarissa shouted.
Bubsy dove into a laundry basket yelling "TO THE BUB-CAVE!"
They opened the door.
The landlord… was not the landlord.
It was a Woolie. Eight eyes. Three mouths. Wearing a very convincing cardigan.
Clarissa gasped.
"No-no-he ain't mah landlord" said Clarissa.
Bubsy's eyes widened.
"Oh furball," he whispered. "They've caught on to me. I'm so damn good looking it's a curse I guess" said Bubsy.