Paw-litics of Nature – Part 2

             Like dark liquid running from a spilled inkwell, the two wretched cats behind Blue, advance forward, until he can feel their fetid breath assault both sides of his nostrils.  They begin vigorously sniffing at the sack of foodstuffs that lay in front of him.  Upon opening it, one of them exclaims, “Look at this spread, fit for a King!” 

      “Help yourselves fellas;” says Blue cheerfully, “I can always get more.”

No sooner are both cats devouring the food then they are propelled up into the air by the Alpha cat. He pounces onto the scene, slapping them out the way before they can gobble up all of the food.  “What’s wrong with you two?” the Alpha roars.  “These are his leftovers!” He points his paw at Blue, exposing his razor sharp, jagged claw.  “If he can provide a banquet like this for us— imagine what he’s eating every day!”

We are watching the scene from our Bay window, using the remote, Dear Reader.  Blue is so naïve!  He and I may have our issues, but I would not want to be in his situation and I feel for him as I know he means well.

“Looks like trouble for Blue,” says Pinkie. “He should just stop talking and run home.”  

I see the Alpha cat approach Blue.  We continue to watch…

“Who are you?” the Alpha asks, facing Blue directly and staring down at him.

Blue tells him his name and extends his paw. 

“I’m Rage,” says the Alpha.  That’s Bludgeon and Boo behind you.  And these two besides me are Wrench and Gunner. He grins showing off his sharp fangs. 

“It’s very nice to meet all of you,” says Blue politely.

Rage lashes out, “Enough with formalities! What is your business here?  What feral colony do you have allegiance to?”

“Uh-h-h, I just wanted to bring food for the flood victims, I don’t belong to any colony...my mother is Lady Hun, I live with her in her house.”

Rage asks, “Who is this Lady Hun? Sounds highbrow to me, what kind of hoity toity cat is she?”

“She is not a cat, she’s human”, explains Blue. 
The cats exchange riveting glances with one another and collectively flash Blue a look of disdain.

“Well, if she's your Mother, then what does that make you?” This question is asked by Boo.

“My Mistress calls me her ‘furry child’” says Blue proudly.

They all laugh.  But, Rage glowers. “You know, you’re a cat of course?”

“Well, I am sort of cat, but not an ordinary cat. I am a very special Russian Blue.” Blue is beaming as he says this. They all burst out laughing.

Boo grimaces. “Is that right?  Then what are we?”

“Well, you are….I don’t know…alley cats, maybe feral, abandoned strays perhaps…”

“We are all the same!” says Bludgeon.

“No, I am not like you,” Blue says, defending himself.

“How are you different?”  The cats are all eyeing Blue for answers.  Blue starts nervously babbling at a rapid pace:

“I live in a beautiful house where I am loved, pampered and cared for, have food to eat, toys to play with, get regular doctor visits.  I am cultured, educated, not vicious or violent. I am not preoccupied by the daily drudgery of survival or territory, so I can enjoy life and work on developing myself.  I—

“Enough!  You self-centered, egotistical little brat!” Rage swipes Blue across the face with his claw.  Blue yelps in pain and begins gathering the food back up into the blanket and starts to carry it away, but Bludgeon and Boo block his path. He backs away and Wrench and Gunner hiss at him and he is so fearful, he loses his grip on the blanket. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Rage.

“I’m going home” says Blue, “This food was intended for the flood victims, not you!” 

He attempts to escape, but his efforts are in vain as the gang of cats surrounds him.

“You know something? You need to learn a lesson, and  today is your lucky day, 'cause we’re going teach you,” Rage tells him in a threatening tone of voice.  

“Hold him down,” Rage orders the other cats.  They obey. Blue struggles to get free from their grip. 

“You think you’re special?” Rage says tauntingly. “You think you’re not like the rest of us?”

“I did not mean that the way you think” pleads Blue.

“You may not know it yet, but you are a CAT, my friend, one that is no different and no more ‘special’ then the rest of us.” 

“I just meant that I live indoors in a nice home—“

“Then, why are you on our turf?”

“I just wanted to be charitable to those less fortunate.”

“Who is less fortunate, us? We don’t need your lousy charity or your judgments you ignorant, spoiled, fat cat! Were you anywhere to be found when those wayward teen-aged boys were torturing our feline brethren to death for fun, or the pound took away our friends to be exterminated?  No, you’re just a cat when convenient.”

“You misunderstand me…” Blue pleaded.

“Oh, you're superior to us, and we’re too dumb to rationalize anything, is that it?”

“No, I—

”Shut the frankfurter up!” Rage stuffs an old dirty sock into Blue’s mouth.  "How does that taste?"

The cats take turns clawing and biting Blue. 

Rage brashly shouts, “Bite his ear off!”  Blue, in full panic mode, starts squirming, emitting muffled screams, and tries to wrestle free.

    “Oh no, poor Lad!” says Pinkie, sympathetically.  “I can't watch.  He takes such pride in his appearance!” 

I feel sick to my stomach as Blue is beset by these fiends.  I see blood dripping down Blue’s tear-streaked face.  

     “Grab him by his whiskers and get him good and dirty, shove him in the swamp water!”

 The cats push Blue into the muddy swamp and howl with laughter. 

“Now, that’s what I call a cat,” laughs Rage. “He’s smelly, dirty, bloody and flea bitten!”

“You sure make the rest of us look purr-ty!” laughed Gunner.

The cats mercilessly snicker at Blue, “What did you say, you were a Russian Blue?”  

       Blue is lying prone, semi-submerged in the muddy swamp. It smells rank and he is covered in it from head to hind paw. He feels the incessant stinging of his wounds, but nothing hurts as much as his wounded pride. He feels so violated and misunderstood, he wants to die right then and there. 

“Grab that blanket with the food, and let’s go. Our work is done here.”

“You’re just going to leave him?” Wrench asks Rage.

“He’s no threat to us, and I’m certainly not going to drag him along and be burdened.”

“Let him fend for himself!” Rage stomps through the muddy swamp to where Blue lies and bends down to whisper to him: “Next time I catch you around here, you won’t feel so…SPECIAL”.

       Hours pass before Blue gets up. All he can hear is the sound of crickets and the sea beyond.  It is dark and although he can normally see, the mud obscures his sight. He feels hunger pangs, but plods along, feeling heavy with the mud from the swamp all caked in his fur.  As he gets back on the sidewalk, he catches his reflection in the shiny finish of a stark white van that is parked on the roadside.  He shudders and tries to shake off much of the mud that is sticking to his fur.  The smell is horrifically foul.

          Blue feels lost.  He has taken a wrong turn, and is exhausted. He finds an abandoned house to hide under and take a nap, engulfed in a wave of sadness.  

                             To Be Continued ....