American ShorthairThe ginger and cream tomcat strutted down the street, twining casually between New Yorkers on black berries and Jersey kids over the bridge on shopping sprees. He stopped at a little cafe off a main street, and artistically groomed himself next to a thin man in a French beret. The cat licked a paw in long, measured strokes: the thin man sipped his coffee, with his pinkie finger held up. They mutually ignored each other, in an act of modern poetry. They finished at the same time; the man and cat both stood. The man left his tip under the empty cup; the cat left with his tail in the air. Both faded back into the crowd.
RottweilerThe bluesman couldn’t place his finger on when the big dog first showed up. But, friends, that wasn’t no matter. He put down his sax for a little while, and sat down next to the building; took a drink out of the water bottle with the peeling label, and offered out a hand. The dog sniffed it. Its lump of a tail wagged. When he stood back up, it joined him behind the sax’s case, and took up the tune with a deep baritone bark. People threw in a few more dollars than usual. He treated them both to a sandwich at the shop down the block: Philly cheese steak, split fifty-fifty.
“You’re a mutant, aren’t you, boy?” He asked, scratching behind the big dog’s ears. Its tail thumped, thumped—stopped—thumped. He went to throw his napkins away. When he turned back, the dog was gone. The bluesman grinned. Picked up his case, and went back to his corner.
Pink Fairy mother effin’ Armadillo“What the
hell is
that?” The teenager laughed, pulling up his pants. They immediately sagged back down.
“Rat?” His friend guessed. “Pink, crusty rat?” In a move of sheer genius, he poked at the sleeping creature with a crowbar. One bleary red eye squinted open. It uncurled, slowly, its clawed feet scrapping at the trash-strewn alleyway floor.
He pulled up his pants. “That ain’t no rat.” Sag.
Poke, poke. The hand-sized animal cracked its neck. “[expletive train deleted].” It insinuated, little voice irate.
“Woah. I—what?”
“You heard me. What, you scared? I’m going to [graphic description omitted] your [physically impossible body part and/or item of clothing].”
“What the
f--?”
“[detailed narration of gangster’s family history, including childhood pets, omitted].”
“You want a fight, crusty rat? I’ll give you a ****ing fight.”
“[limerick censored].”
“Bad trip, man. Bad. Trip. Let’s just go home, okay? I don’t know where the hell you bought from this time, but—”
“No way. That little thing is—”
“[ten things you don’t want an armadillo doing with your baby sister]”
“...You’re dead, punk. You’re one of those ****in’ muties, right? I’m going to— Hey! Don’t you hold me back!”
The first gangster pulled up his pants. “We are going home. Now. Just... go back to sleep, crusty rat.”
“Let me go! I’m going to— Hey, hey! This ain’t over between us! You hear me? This ain’t over!”
One of the armadillo’s eyes twitched. Then it curled back up, and went back to [expletive deleted] sleep. Just like your mom.
Red HawkThe morning dawned the misty red of wispy clouds and pigeon death. High up on the rooftop of the financial building, the hawk sat, its belly greeting the sunrise. Warm. Content.
SparrowLunch, now. Lunch was a different matter. The little bird flittered over the ground, cutely cocking pausing to cock its head up, up, up at the very very large people on the bench. They brought with them tidings of joy: a stale loaf of bread. A loaf! Of bread! Oh, the stale crunchy goodness of man made white bread, bleached and unnaturally treated of nearly all of its nutritional properties, until it melted in the beak like day-old cotton candy...
Giveitgiveitgiveitgiveit—
A hand, so much slower than a hopping bird, tore off a piece: came up: arced: tossed—
In slow motion, the sparrow fluttered up to it, nabbed it, but was forced to let go: too heavy. Its path continued—
—to the duck pond.
Ducks. Oh, how he loathed ducks. Their cute, quiet demeanor. Their good public rep. Their annoying habit of
not breeding themselves into pestilence levels. Indeed: ducks. The goody-two-shoes of the animal kingdom. The sparrow
wanted that bread.
And so.
Not for the first time that day.
Calley shifted.
((ooc: Continued in
Duck, duck, mouse.))
