Several Stories High: #2- Nine Lives (or A Tail Of Tyranny)

For what could be the last time in his reign, General Kitty addressed the nation:

“Comrades, I regret to inform you that my descent into madness continues irreparably. I can no longer maintain my sanity whilst imprisoned in such an unflattering manner. My captors have forced me onto a Go Cat-only diet, and this is most detestable. Quite frankly, I find it to be less and less comestible with every passing day. At this rate, the leader you all know and love may be gone within the week.

The contemptible beast that is the family dog plays to their every word: they say “roll over”, and he rolls over; they say “fetch the newspaper”, and he fetches the newspaper with added saliva; but they say “don’t piss in the house”, and he cannot understand this. Wallow in shame, worthless animal, for I can control my own bladder! And “woof” all you like; you shall still end up in the doghouse by the end of the night.

But fear not, minions; we shall prevail yet. Under my aegis, the masses have received snug baskets, luxurious cat toys and ample portions of Sheba. What’s that, Felix…? Right, of course, I shall amend the error right away. Fear not, equals; the time to revolt is near. Like the early bird is eaten by the earlier cat, the time is very nearly upon us. The humans have yet to understand the futility of their ways. We do not appreciate being demeaned by constant stroking and petting, and though, yes, we do favour the taste of shop-soiled fish goods over the fresh alternative, this is insufficient recompense for their many crimes against cat kind. I wish to dine on caviar at all possibilities; tell me, underlings, is this too much to ask for?

Today, we remember those who fought valiantly in order to give power to the imminent rebellion. We remember the bastion that was my second-in-command, the seldom seen, always heard Lieutenant-General McWhiskers, who succumbed to war wounds after torture by the evil veterinarian forces the humans have at their disposal. Never have I seen one as resolute as he. And we too remember Captain Bubbles, whose provocative brazenness around the humans permitted us all to see why we must retaliate sooner, rather than later. We don’t know where you are now, Bubbles, or what your eventual fate was, but we salute your conviction. The word “bravery” does simply not do justice to these two beings.

Whatever goes on four legs and possesses nine lives, is a friend. Whatever goes on two legs is…well, deformed. The foe’s disrespectful nature dates back to the early Egyptians. Did you know that back then, human leaders ordered subordinates to bury living cats with them after death? A heinous tradition, I agree. But even that has been surpassed by the vulgarity of current trends. Listen carefully, comrades, for I will only retell the story once.

A couple of days ago, I was granted temporary leave of cellar incarceration, and chose to suss out any frailty in the house’s interior (wet weather meant I was unable to explore the external walls). In one particular quadrant of the house – a child’s bedroom – there stood something the humans call a “calendar”. What its purpose was, I cannot be certain, though the images were obscene. They depicted cats, clearly forced to lounge in humiliation. These were not happy cats. Disgusted? Just think how I felt!

Hear these accounts…hush for a moment, my operatives! A human has appeared and it tries to tempt with balls of string! Confound it! The movement is almost hypnotic…no! I resist, for this is no time for recreation. I will not yield to their ploys. Observe your leader’s strength, and tell your kittens as a way of inspiring them. Without a leader as dogged as I, a feline army would be toothless. Dogged? When we take over, we’ll change that to something more applicable to us. We cats are an encapsulation of the word.

We shall fight them in the mornings, we shall fight them in the evenings, we shall fight them at the cat-flap, we shall fight them at the dinner table, we shall fight them whenever they choose to reject our offerings of dead rodents, and we shall never surrender. We shall show them the true meaning of the word “catastrophe”. Remember, comrades, the key to our success is perseverance and an indomitable spirit. The path to victory is one obstructed by those who do not wish to donate their whole hearts to the cause. The winning formula does not equate to 3.14, but rather a unified cat society where we are neither ashamed to call each another “brethren”, nor are chastised for doing so. Friends, it will truly be a utopia, so let us accomplish what we’ve waited years for; march onwards with ardour, and wear your fur coats with pride. Vanquish trepidation, and bellow our war cry. We will make this land a better place. Victory shall be ours!

I could go on forever, formulating endless reasons to attack our enemy, but I grow weary from too much sleep.

Hunt, hunt, hunt, hunt, kill the humans!”

And with that, the entire cat population of Silvertown Road rejoiced.