Cats, Sigh.	 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* "Cats, Sigh." copyright 1996 by AC Chapin For Celeste and
Gozer. 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.