Heartbreak and Hairballs
Short Fiction by Abram Dress
Once upon a time, there were two friends. One was a hero, the type of guy you could depend on to kill the wicked dragon, save the princess, and always remember your birthday. The other was a buffoon who would call your mother the wrong name, rub the genie lamp and wish for three monkey paws, and always pee outside the potty.
Their names were Prettywhiskers and Ranger, and they were cats. I won’t tell you which cat was the hero, and which was the buffoon. I know you’re a savvy consumer of fairy tale literature, and I trust you’ll soon figure out which is which.
The two friends had grown up together in the same little seaside fishing town. The humans of the town had a name for it, but what do cats care for people names? It was their home, and it was all they knew. In that small village, they had scuffled together as kittens, prowled and yowled together as adolescents, and eventually bunked together as roommates and coworkers at the village’s small rodent-infested boatyard.
Our story starts on a day at that boatyard.
Ranger sat high as a songbird on the mast of a fishing schooner where it rested in skids awaiting repairs. It was prime napping time, but one does not nap when there is work to be done. Ranger’s hungry green eyes squinted against the sun as he looked for evidence of rodent larceny.
A long track leading to the docks split the boatyard down the middle. On one side of the tracks, Ranger’s side, a gang of rats held dominion. On Prettywhiskers’ side, a community of mice thrived. The rat side, what some storytellers might call the wrong side of the tracks, was dangerous. Ranger volunteered to handle this side. He knew Prettywhiskers was not fierce, and could not prevent the rats from damaging the boats.
On this fateful day, Ranger saw a gang of rats sneaking through the shadows of derelict fishing boats towards the right side of tracks. He was curious. The rats always stayed on their wrong side, and the mice stayed on the right side. So what was this gang of rats doing? Scholars can say what they might about curiosity and cats, but Ranger was not a scaredy. When something needed investigating, he investigated. If rats were going to the right side of the tracks, then they might put Prettywhiskers… rather, the boats, in danger.
Ranger leapt down from his high perch, bouncing from masthead to crossbeam to mizzen to deck with an agility that would require a stunt double were this a movie, but it’s not, so he did it himself. He vanished into shadows, belly to the ground, sniffing the air for danger as he trailed the rat gang.
Meanwhile, Prettywhiskers was also high as a songbird. He napped in a sunbeam, baked by both the sun and the catnip he’d imbibed with breakfast.
Ranger leapt from the gravel up to a strut, hidden between the strut and the boat hull it supported. His jet black fur with white splotches blended in perfectly with the shadows and flicker from distant lamps. The rat gang hadn’t seen him. They gathered around the rudder of one of the most expensive fishing boats on the good side of the tracks, eyeballing it like humans around a turkey dinner. Were they going to chew it? Ranger couldn’t let that happen. Even though this was Prettywhiskers’ side of the yard, it was any good cat’s duty to stop rodents from damaging things.
“Avast!” he roared as he pounced into the mass of rats, back arched and tail puffed. “Begone, you pests!”
The rats cowered back, shifty black eyes bouncing between the members of their gang and the solitary cat staring them down. Being dumb, they misjudged the math of their large rat gang versus the single cat, so they ran as fast as their deliciously crunchy little legs could carry them, away from the expensive fishing boat and back to their own side of the tracks.
Ranger gave chase, and spent the rest of his day in the glorious hunt.
Meanwhile, Prettywhiskers rolled over and scratched his belly.
Hours later, as the two friends curled up together for the first sleep of the evening, Ranger gently groomed Prettywhiskers’ forehead. “How did the hunting go today, Pretty?” Prettywhiskers is a lot of syllables for an impatient cat like Ranger to use, so he always called his friend Pretty. There was also another reason. Ranger puffed his tail proudly. “I killed a dozen rats.”
Prettywhiskers purred and flicked his own tail. “Yes, Ranger, a dozen for me as well.”
If you spend time with mathematicians or bakers, you understand that the word dozen has different meanings, based on who says it. When Ranger said dozen, what he meant was a hunter’s dozen. A hunter’s dozen is rarely less than twenty. Prettywhiskers was using the term sometimes called a braggart’s dozen. It means zero.
“Would you twooo please stop with the chattering?” The cat friends did not sleep alone in the outbuilding. They shared the space with Kashkow, the boatyard owner’s business partner. “I need my beauoooty sleep.”
Some storytellers trust their readers. I don’t. So I must tell you: Kashkow was a cow.
Prettywhiskers stopped purring. “We’re sorry, Love, we’ll be quiet.” Kashkow is a lot of syllables for a lazy cat like Prettywhiskers to use, so he called her Love. There was also another reason.
“Thank Yoooou. My human is gruuuumpy. Damaged fishing boats. He’s such a sourpuss when he has to fire emplooooooyees.”
Both Ranger and Prettywhiskers flicked their ears nervously.
“Fire employees?” Ranger asked.
But Kashkow was already snoring, and within seconds, Prettywhiskers was curled up against her belly, also snoring. His orange forepaw rested against her chest and his whiskers curled in an extended smile.
Ranger couldn’t sleep. “Are we getting fired? But I’ve kept the rat population in check. What could have gone wrong?” But he knew. With green eyes full of love and disappointment, he looked at his sleeping friend. Yes, he knew.
That night, Ranger prowled… on the right side of the tracks. The mouse side. Prettywhiskers’ side. “How could he do this?” he angrily mewed. “How could he slack in his duties so badly that we are soon to be homeless?”
As he prowled, tiny mouse shadows flitted through the night, avoiding the dangerous hunter. Ranger should have noticed them, and hunted them, but he didn’t. He was so mad. “They’re mice. Not rats. How hard could it be to stop them from damaging the boats?”
Why was he so mad? Is a single mistake really worth getting so angry at your best friend? Let’s step back. When the friends had scuffled together as kittens, Prettywhiskers almost always broke something important to the humans and got them both in trouble. When they had prowled and yowled together as adolescents, Prettywhiskers had always found romantic liaisons with the most pampered lady house cats, leading to the friends being kicked out of their first home.
But there was a kindness to Prettywhiskers that Ranger could never look past. A kindness that made the hunter love his friend a great deal. “A fat lot of good that’s done us,” he mewed.
He stopped and peaked his ears. What was that?
Gnawing.
Ranger sprinted towards the noise, slowing only as he came close to the most expensive fishing boat in the yard. The same one the rats had been investigating earlier that day. There was nothing there. No mice, no rats, no witnesses who could explain what had happened to the rudder. But it didn’t take a witness to tell Ranger that the rudder was destroyed. Chewed to sawdust and splinters. “We will be homeless.” Ranger hissed and spat at the darkness. “Because of that buffoon!”
You see, fairy tale reader, love has limits.
“What?!” Prettywhiskers held up his golden paws to defend his face from the flurry of hissing strikes. “I was sleeping!”
“You’re always sleeping!” Ranger threw another barrage of paw-strikes. “Sleeping, and snuggling with that cow lady, and snorting your nip!” He lunged with an upper-claw, drawing blood on Prettywhiskers’ chin. “Because of you, we’re going to lose our home!”
“What’s gooooing on?” Kashkow rumbled to her feet, flinging both cats away into the straw.
After a couple minutes of mewling and yowling and mooing, she understood. “The boats on the moooouse side are damaged. No boats on the rat side, just the moooouse side.”
“But what does that mean for us, Love?”
“The huuuuman will fire you if it’s not fixed immooodiately.”
“I’ve kept the rat side under control this whole time. The more dangerous side. And all you had to do was keep some little mice from eating the boats. What’s wrong with you?!”
“I’ll fix it,” Prettywhiskers said, and he sprinted off into the night.
It didn’t take long for Ranger to pack his things, because cats don’t really have things. He paced back and forth for a while, mewing to himself.
“He says he’s going to fix it…” Ranger looked up at Kashkow. His green eyes were very sad. “I don’t think he will, will he?”
Kashkow shook her big, horny head. “Nooo.”
“Why didn’t you tell us earlier, Kashkow?”
Kashkow’s eyes were wet and Ranger saw in those eyes the same thing he felt in his own eyes when he looked at Pretty. “I looove him. I just wanted one last night of cuddles. Was that so wrooong?”
“No, but it’s the last not wrong thing you’ll ever get to do together.” Ranger walked into the night with no intention of returning.
But maybe just one last tour around the wrong side of the tracks for old times’ sake.
Meanwhile, Prettywhiskers was brave.
Ranger wandered through the boatyard. He sniffed the crisp sea air one last time. He marked his territory at all appropriate points one last time. He sat on the prow of the fishing boat where he had often admired Pretty basking in the sun. One last time.
Then he flicked his tail to the night sky and strode towards the shipyard exit with all the pride he could muster.
“Rat King, you promised not to hurt him.”
Ranger stopped. Was that Pretty’s voice? He dropped his belly to the ground and slunk towards the sound. There, on the wrong side of the tracks, in a circle of fishing boats, Pretty sat, surrounded by hundreds of rats and mice. His tail wrapped protectively around his legs and he squirmed in fear, but he didn’t back down from the hundreds of fierce teeth barred at him.
“We didn’t hurt him. We hurt the boats.” The rat who spoke was as large as a cat. His beady eyes glowed with black malice.
“You knew that would hurt him. That we would be fired. And you tried to blame it on me!”
“He hunts us.”
“You don’t care.”
The Rat King shrugged. A rat shrug is disconcerting. Nonchalance doesn’t belong on a creature with such evil in its eyes. “I don’t care. I enjoy watching the sport.” Another shrug. “But you have skimped on your deliveries.”
At this, all the mice and rats nodded and chittered in anger. Several ran over to empty bags of cat food that lay sprawled near a boat.
“I will work harder from now on.”
“One cat can’t carry more. Even with the help of your big horned lady love.”
Kashkow and Prettywhiskers had been working together to bribe the mice and rats? Had Ranger just been a fool, thinking he was the one carrying the effort of their job when really he’d just been deceiving himself?
He stepped out of the shadows. “Two cats can do it.”
The rodents backed away in a wave. Whispers of ‘the hunter’ and ‘bloodpaws’ and ‘the beast that mews at night’ came from their terrified rodent lips. Rat King didn’t back up. “We want more cat food. Twice as much.”
“Twenty percent more.” Prettywhiskers had regained his swagger with the appearance of his best friend.
“Deal. Also, you will not hunt us.” Rat King paused. “Unless we ask you to.”
And thus, in the dark shadows of the shipyard, a deal was struck that would last the ages. Or at least nine lives worth of ages.
At the wedding, Prettywhiskers was joyous. “When Kashkow and I have kids, we’re naming them after you!”
Ranger happy-kneaded and sad-purred. He decided not to tell Pretty about how procreation works. There would be no little cat/cow children, but he knew his friend would have a lot of fun trying.
So the two friends, through adversity, challenge, and bovine affection, came to see the love they truly held for each other, and they lived happily ever after.
–END
Author’s Note: This was round 2 of the NYC Midnight short story contest. After “Home From the Dark” got me through Round 1, I got a new set of prompts. The new story had to be a fairy tale, and it had to include an eviction and a buffoon.
Copyright 2024 Abram Dress