Just a little fun, written almost completely in the car coming from this
week's harrowing apartment-hunting foray to Charlottesville (got an adorable
place with a loft).  As always, comments, fried ice cream, sashimi with
ginger, comments...

Cats, Sigh.

by AC Chapin

It wasn't so much that Fraser was there at four-thirty in what only Fraser
could seriously call the morning, when even the worst of the street crazies
had rolled off under their benches to snore. It was those damn eyes
that were driving Ray Vecchio bugshit. The perfectly neat brown uniform,
the unrumpled hair, the evidence of a recent and flawless shave, he could
forgive those; but Fraser's eyes looked as clear as if he'd had a solid
eight hours, then a good hot shower, followed by a long leisurely breakfast
with nice strong coffee, and then a brisk walk, somewhere where the air
smelled like snow.
And then Fraser was polite about it. He went through the whole 'good-morning-how-are-you-sorry-to-intrude'
bull. At length. On the porch. In the cold morning air -- air that
smelled like it ran on four wheels and had come out of Detroit sometime
before there were any rules about fuel emissions.
Ray tried to communicate his complete hatred for anyone so
damnably awake in a single sleepy-eyed glare as he let the Mountie, the
cardboard box the Mountie was carrying, and the Mountie's equally awake-looking
wolf into his house. In case the glare hadn't taken (and, with Fraser,
it never did) he stated, in his best pre-coffee snarl, "I hate
you."
Fraser just gave him that stupid puzzled half-smile, like he was trying
to decide whether or not this was some American expression of affection,
but was also just a little bit worried Ray was serious. Or he might
have been pondering some huge existential question, or he might have
had heartburn -- with Fraser's face, who could tell?
"It's four thirty-nine in the morning. I finally finished the
Kawalski report three hours ago. Tell me why I'm awake."
Fraser carried the cardboard box into the Vecchio family room
and placed it on Ray's desk. "Here, I brought her with me."
Ray rubbed at his eyes and then dropped his hands into the
pockets of his robe. Why fight it? "How'd you get here anyway?"
"A passing bakery van--"
At least it hadn't been 'a passing elephant' or 'a passing
sleigh.' "Never mind. What's in the box?"

"Diefenbaker seems to have found her in the alley adjoining my
building." Fraser gave Diefenbaker a hard look. "I told him,
you see, that he couldn't have -- "
"Found *what*?"
Fraser held the box out to him.
Ray peered inside. The content's of the box peered right back. "Oh.
She's--"
"Yes."
Ray dropped into a chair. "Well, why'd you bring her *here*?
What do I look like, a midwife?"
"I seem to be out of milk and tuna. I thought--"
Mooching Mountie. "Yeah, in the fridge."
Fraser put the box back down on the desk and went to raid the
kitchen.
Ray closed his eyes and drowsed for a minute or two. When he
opened them, he blearily saw movement on the desk. "Hey, she's
out of the box. She's pacing around."
"Good." Fraser called from the kitchen.
"Why good?"
"It means--"
"FRASER!"
"--she's ready to give birth. Ray?" Fraser appeared, carrying
two bowls full of refreshment for the new mother.
Ray turned to look at him. "There's a kitten here, Fraser."
he said, in case Fraser's ever so awake little eyes had missed it.
"That's is what one would expect from a pregnant female cat, Ray.
There will probably be several more."
"It's all covered with slime, Fraser. It's really just generally
pretty gross." Because who knew, sometimes even Mounties missed
things. It was the obvious things that were easy to overlook.
"That's usual."
"It's on the Kawalski report."
Fraser blinked. Twice. And took a step back. Milk sloshed up over
the side of the bowl and dripped down his arm. "Ah." Diefenbaker
hid under a chair.
"I hate you."
The worst part was all the terribly awake Vecchios who came down the
stairs over the next few hours and used the word 'cute.'

Boots:

Jack's fantastic, what can I say? I mean, the guy comes home just *stinking*
of bad guys and right away, I mean, before he even grooms himself, he
changes my water and puts out extra food. It's the dry stuff, sure,
but hey, I'm going to complain? He grooms same as me, which is good
to see, I mean, not that I'm knocking the Ones who took care of me and
the rest of the babies, but they were kinda . . . scruffy, y'know? Sure,
I know I'm not exactly the Fancy Feast spokesmodel, but I keep myself
groomed. I kinda think Jack likes me this way, a little funny-looking.
I think he likes the way my feet are all different colors. Jack's lonely
sometimes, y'know? I try to help -- we're a team.

Chick:

Tengo grande familia, yeah? Mi favorito nino, Mario; I ride in the
front pocket of his chaqueta all day. Diefenbaker, el lobo mas
sympatico, vives arriba -- no problema. Mama dices: "Ninos! Es
la ahora por comida." I come running. Yeah.

Ginger:

You have ever eaten feta cheese? There is a wolf lives next door to
me, he doesn't like it -- stupid wolf, eats corn chips. I love feta
cheese. Only one thing better -- climbing Mr. Fraser. He comes in to
use the phone and I climb him, quick as hell. I'm good. Then my man,
he scratches at my ears and purrs with me.

Martie:

She tried the skim yesterday, bought a whole gallon. More fool
Mackenzie -- I wouldn't touch the stuff. "That or water, kiddo,
get used to it." she says. I laugh with my tail. She leaves me
with water and I'll unravel her printer ribbon.

Lestat:

You can stop laughing. It's not like I actually bite. I just -- god,
this is embarrassing -- I sometimes try to nurse in my sleep, bad habit.
Okay. Stop laughing. No, she feeds me fine; I get to lick out the
ice-cream cartons. She purrs to me: "Just like me. I want to be,
close to you."

Dawn:

There is nothing quite so pleasing (or rare) as a human who lives on
a regular schedule. We've formed quite an efficient partnership. Admittedly,
she worries constantly that I'm suddenly going to drop dead or run away
or spontaneously develop fleas; I can only assume she's had trouble
in the past, probably with a dog. But you know how these humans are.
If you'll excuse me, I need a bath, and then we're having cream

Eleanor:

I keep my own council. Maybe I dream of my babies. Maybe I liked the
big house where I birthed them. Maybe I like it here. Not that it matters;
all places are one to me. I should go -- Harding'll be getting out the
cold cuts soon.

Blue

"I didn't know cats could have so many."
"Up to a dozen in a litter, so I've heard."
"At least we're just down to you, runt." The last kitten
pounced clumsily at Ray's finger and fell on its back, paws flailing.
The children of the Vecchio house had insisted on naming him Blue, undeterred
by the fact that his eyes finally lost their azure and became that orange/green
that is the cat equivalent of hazel.
"Are you sure Mrs. Bannacek will be willing to take him in, Ray?"

"She always does."

Ray knocked twice when they reached the door with the filigree
'AB' set into it. An old lady answered, and peered suspiciously at them.
"Ray?"
"That's right, Mrs. B. How you doin'."
"Not bad." She nodded and peered very frankly at Fraser over
Ray's shoulder.
"This is my friend Fraser, Mrs. B."
She nodded briskly. "The Mountie, yes." She waved them through
the door and then hurried ahead of them to clear a stack of wildlife
magazines off the seat of a sagging forest green couch. "So glad
to meet you. I've heard so much." She hurried around the room
consolidating stacks of magazines from various places into an uncertain
tower on the coffee table. "So?" She asked, when she was
satisfied with the pile and had dropped into a chair.
The kitten had been riding in the roomy pocket of Ray's jacket. As
he lifted it out, it yawned enormously.
Mrs. Bannacek smiled and took the kitten into her wrinkled brown hands.
"At least he's not soaking wet and bleeding."
"He hasn't had a bad moment his whole life." Ray said dismissively,
but he was inexplicably blushing.
Mrs. Bannacek peered at the kitten's belly and ruffled its fur. "Go
make us coffee, Ray. It's all where it should be." Ray shrugged
at Fraser and walked out of the front room.
Mrs. Bannacek stroked the kitten and looked at Fraser. "Had his
shots?" Fraser sat down on the couch. "Yes, I'm terribly
sorry to have incon -- "
"No trouble, you know. I have seven others."
Fraser looked around. Not a sign of a cat. What he at first
thought might be one turned out to be a sort of fluffy grey pillow leaning
against the leg of Mrs. Bannacek's chair.
"All napping now. Except Diana here." She prodded the pillow
gently with her foot and it decided to be a cat after all. It blinked
sleepily at Fraser, then stretched, walked two or three steps, and curled
up to sleep again. "Must have known Ray was coming." She
idly scratched at Diana's ears.
Ray reappeared with a tray of steaming mugs. "You're almost out
of coffee, Mrs. B." He put the tray on the coffee table beside
the magazines.
She shrugged. "More in the pantry."
Ray sat beside Fraser on the couch, watching Mrs. Bannacek
examining the kitten. The furry lump called Diana immediately walked
over to his feet, moving stiffly, and tried a few abortive little jumps
toward his lap. Almost without looking, he gathered her up and settled
her on the cushion beside him. She began purring.
"Long time no see." Ray muttered.
"She misses you." Mrs. Bannacek announced, checking over
the kitten's ears.
"She's nineteen, Mrs. B. She doesn't know me from a bag of Purina."
"You took her from the bad boys. You took her from the rain. She
remembers."
Ray shrugged and scratched Diana under the chin for a moment,
then picked up his coffee. "Hurry up and drink your coffee, Fraser.
We gotta split."
The kitten wrapped all four paws around Mrs. Bannacek's hand and made
ridiculously ferocious faces.

Diana

The boys were cutting off my tail with a pair of scissors when he showed
up. I guess that's just what babies do, play hunting games, but when
you're the prey, you can't be expected to like it much.
He was scared so bad he could hardly breathe, but he said
"Stoppitfrankiejesusstoppit." When they went to hit him .
. . I ran away, alright? I ran away. I was a baby, what was I going
to do? He tracked me down again that afternoon. It was pouring and

miserable and I was bleeding all over the place and so was he. He scooped
me up and let me claw his arm all the way to Anna's house.

Diefenbaker

"I don't want to hear one more word out of you. They've all gone
to good homes, and you certainly couldn't take care of one." "Oh
yes, you say that now. But the first little accident, and it suddenly
becomes my problem. Or you'd get bored, and it would become my job to
feed it. We went through this with the cub in Inuvik, if you'll remember."
"You're natural enemies, for goodness sake."
"Yes, that's quite true. You did follow the letter of my
instructions. I suppose, if you're going to be difficult . . . fine
then. You are not to bring kittens home. Not even if they follow you
home. Not even if you follow them home. Not even if they walk beside
you, on either side. Not even if they ride on your back. Not even if
you get someone else to bring them in for you. And not even if they
haven't been born yet. Does that cover everything? Good."
"And Diefenbaker -- no rabbit kittens either."
*whine*

AC Chapin sdragon@Glue.umd.edu http://www.glue.umd.edu/~sdragon What's
purple, commutative, and worshiped by a limited number of people? A
finitely venerated Abelian grape.