"Something's Different, Something Changed" [APWC]

[APWC]

Dedicated to the real life inspirations for the story - all the nearly human felines I've known.

"Something's Different, Something Changed"

© TZ 2012

Introduction

Parker Street was always a peaceful, quiet, tidy and pleasant place to live until one day last Summer when the Rodericks moved into the "Bigg House." The Bigg House was built over five decades ago by the Biggs family and was the biggest house on the block. Everything the Biggs did, was BIG.

Mr. Roderick was a seedy fellow. His demeanor matched his attire and his big pink and black limousine. His speech was terse and his language rough. The Bigg House was quickly transformed into an enormous eyesore when the new owner painted it pink and pea green. The front yard was embellished with gawdy black statuary of mean-looking Pit Bulls. "Beware of the Dogs" signs were posted every 10 feet along the antique wrought iron fence. Everyday, a squad of dog-walkers with four Pit Bulls a piece would scour Parker Street for cats and kittens while leaving a trail of mushy brown doggie-lumps on everybody's sidewalks and gardens. It was apparent that the Roderick clan and employees had no respect for anybody or anything.

Cats and kittens began to disappear quickly and the remaining felines were secured by their wary owners. The neighbors knew the newcomer was responsible; but, they had no proof.

Meanwhile, the cats and kittens were tired of being held prisoner in their own homes and longed for the lives they once had in their owner's gardens and yards.

Tiggy was a resourceful tiger tabby with a photographic memory. Sure, his owner Ms. Plimpickle didn't give him an exciting, unique name like the other cats in the neighborhood; but, he was well loved and appreciated anyway. Ms. Plimpickle was a hoarder. She never threw anything away and her home was full to the ceiling with boxes of stuff, bags of stuff, piles of stuff and even MORE stuff. Tiggy had every square inch of the Plimpickle home memorized. When Patsy moved a box to get to another box, Tiggy would notice the new location even if he had not witnessed his owner moving the boxes.

"Something's Different! Something Changed! Something Moved!" Tiggy spotted the new locations within seconds of entering a room. When items went missing as they normally would in a chaotic mess of a home, Tiggy KNEW where it was. Patsy would call for Tiggy and mention what she was looking for, then Tiggy would go straight to it, sniff it and paw it. Nothing stayed lost or missing in the Plimpickle home. Tiggy knew where everything belonged, if it moved, and where it moved.

Now any reader would realize that Tiggy was naturally suited to help solve the "Roderick Mystery"; but, he certainly couldn't do it alone. Tiggy knew this too, and so did all the other confined felines in the neighborhood.

Bambi the neighborhood Bully Tom Cat took charge of the group of investigative felines. He promised them protection and no more bullying in exchange for their cooperation. That sounded like a good deal to all the felines as it was a no lose proposition on the face of it.

The only odd skill that Bambi had was computers. He knew how to turn them off and on by standing on the surge protector power button and would turn his owner's computer off when he wanted special treats - which he wanted often and wanted a LOT of. He didn't care if his owner had saved or not ... if Bambi wanted something, he wanted it NOW. Patience was not his virtue nor were any other common virtues in his possession. What Bambi wants, Bambi gets.

Zeno was the mechanical genius. His special ability was opening locked doors and enabling or disabling lights at will. He knew all the switch types from the wall switch to the dangling drop cord and how to use them.

Proppy had a pentient for cigarettes, cigarette butts to be precise. She was sleek and stealthy and smelled like a smoker's ashtray, rather than cattish. Proppy was quite the communicator and had the largest vocabulary of any cat in the neighborhood. Her job was to sneak out, spread the word, the plans, the propositions and decisions amongst the various households ... without being caught by a Roderick dog.

Tigger was a "Take Charge" sort of guy kitty. When the master of the house left for work, Tigger would change disposition and become the home and home's occupants protector until the real man of the house returned from work. He was the "Go To" cat for second opinions and a respectable backup leader.

Nozey was the most appropriately named cat in the neighborhood. He was nosey and curious about everything. He was also handy with light switches.

And last, the least talented of the felines, Sammy. Sammy's dream was to have manipulative hands like a human and she adored the stink of a wet steamy shoes. What she lacked in skills, she made up for in lovability as she was a hug freak. A hug would melt her heart in a second and the group agreed that it would be best if Sammy stayed behind lest she try to garner a hug from the old geezer Roderick himself.

Story to follow.

Chapter I

Blaze smelled the rushing wind, "Storm brewing." he thought. The ozonish smell of rain tickled his drippy nostrils. "Me don't like." Blaze went indoors and lay on the large oval, purple and orange rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

Jag barked an alert from the basement.

"Something bad." Blaze dashed to the basement and so did the rest of the motley mob of rugged canines.

Flicker - flicker. The lights were dimming and resuming brightly again. Grey-outs. Most likely from power disruptions in the distance - the storm.

Jag was pawing frantically, digging as fast as he could at a corner wall. It was of no use. The thick concrete wall was impervious to even the largest of dog-nails.

The dogs all barked, and barked, and barked. The Roderick employees had gone home for the night and the Rodericks had gone out for a night on the town so there were no humans to quell the boisterous calamity of noise the dogs were making.

The basement door slammed shut. The canines were stuck in the basement until Rob Roderick and his family got home.

Then, the lights went out and stayed out. The dogs whined and howled for hours like cowardly wolves.

The Rodericks came home around 3 A.M. The power was still out so Rob grabbed a flashlight (torch) and made way to the basement door. A rush of dogs exited the basement, bowling Rob over like a single rubberduck pin on a 300 Club bowling lane.

Rob quieted the dogs while the Mrs. took the children upstairs to bed. Bertha's big rear scraped the wall on one side, and the handrails on the other side of the staircase. Metal spoons sewn onto the skirt of her square dancing outfit made an odd yet discordant cacophony of inharmonious noise along the way. The garish red, white and blue outfit was not suited to stealth.

John Paul, Phillip and Johanna were tired and glad to be home with their toys and warm cozy beds. All three of the children fell asleep the minute they hit the bed, still dressed in their town clothes.

Rob got the dogs settled in for the night and went to accompany Bertha in their luxurious bedroom. Bertha was struggling to remove her noisey outfit in the dark. Clatter-clatter - clang-clang. Finally, she flopped on the bed in her bustle and slip and fell fast asleep.

Rob lay awake, planning, plotting, scheming his next con-job.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter II

Proppy's reconnoiter wasn't much help. There was no sign of recent burials on the Roderick property. There were no cat or small kitten graves. Proppy gave her report to Bambi and Tigger separately. This was good news, bad news, no news. It was no news at all, that's what it was. Bambi had shrugged his shoulders like, "Oh well," and Tigger squinted his eyes in thought, then shook his head like, "I'm stumped."

The Feline Consortium was back to scratch. The Roderick Mystery was still a mystery. If they could find one or more of their missing feline neighbors, they would have a better idea of how to expose the perpetrator. If they hadn't been buried, they may still be alive, but where?

Sammy had a good nose, the best nose in all the neighborhood. She could identify over four dozen different herbs and spices by smell. She was also the most aggressive and toughest female fighter. She was fearless and would stare down a snake without a blink, attack a dog's nose without hesitation, and had successfully chased every stray dog off of her owner's property - at least prior to being locked indoors for her own protection.

With a couple of bruisers to back her up, "Bambi and Tigger perhaps?", she might be able to sniff a trail. After several days of meetings, it was decided to send Sammy on a "Smell Out". Bambi and Tigger would guard her and Proppy would sleuthe the way ahead of the team to avoid the canine bruisers.

Saturdays nights were drinking, carousing and square-dancing nights in the town - so Saturday nights were officially adapted for Mission Nights.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter III

The heat wave was oppressive. The Feline Consortium handled the heat without a problem; but, their canine counterparts were worn out from panting all day and went sound to sleep early this Saturday night.

7:30 P.M. - Proppy took the rooftop to treetop route for her first inspection. The Rodericks had left for the night and there was no sign or sound from the dogs. Proppy returned to the group and gave the "Go" signal with a single forward whip of her tail. She had to take the low route this time and stayed well ahead of the trio. There were no signs of trouble so far. They would scout the whole of Parker Street.

9:00 P.M. - The sun was setting with a wonderful pink skyline. The "Smell Out" had gone well enough so far; but, Sammy hadn't picked up a scent of the now, many weeklong missing companions. If they were still around Parker Street, they would be found. House to house, front yard to front yard, backyard to backyard ... the search continued slowly and meticulously. Nothing. There was not a trace of feline scent to be found. The last stop would be the Roderick's place. They waited until it was fully dark to reconnoiter the suspect's property.

9:30 P.M. - The Canine Gang was stirring from their long nap and respite from the day's heatwave. It was time to lap water and water the lawn, stretch their legs, scamper and play a bit and have a bit of fun while the masters were all away. This was the only time that the whole Roderick family was gone at the same time. This was fun time. Time to dig up the freshly planted flowers, water and mark their perimeter, and generally chew up anything that was small and unfortunate enough to fit in their sharp jaws.

Proppy gave the "Halt!" warning - a quick and angry whipping of her long, sleek, black and beautiful seal point siamese tail. The Feline Consortium stopped and stood as still as the wicked statuary in the front yard. It was too late! They were seen!

Over a dozen growling pit bulls raced towards the feline quad. The cats took the 'staying alive is worth more than valor' move and booked up the trees and over the pointed black wrought iron fence. They raced to their respective homes and called it a night ... not a good one at that.

Midnight - Proppy re-mustered the Consortium for a second attempt. They still had several good hours and the dogs had calmed down, probably sound asleep. They were asleep alright, out in the front yard! Foiled again, the cats didn't even approach the property when they got the signals from Proppy that it was a "No Go". They snuck back home and steamed for a whole week.

The following Saturday night was much better. Seems the neighbors had complained about the house full of dogs without a kennel license and all was quiet. If the dogs still resided at the Roderick residence, they were locked indoors and unable to use their doggy portals.

Sammy smelled the black statuary and made a low kitty growl. Did she not like the smell of the tarrish black paint or did she have an artist's eye which disagreed with the malform itself? Well, the statues were here before the cats and kittens disappeared; so, they probably weren't cremated and turned into ugly paint.

Sammy continued on and picked up a scent in the driveway. The mutt-ugly limo had protected a large patch from rain and the scent was still there, weeks and weeks later. Sammy smelled it! Their missing companions had gone for a ride in the seedy pink and black limo; but, where? They needed proof.

It was time to head home. Next week, Proppy would present their findings to all of the Consortium members and make calls for suggestions and ideas.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter IV

There were no dog walkers, no trails and mounds of mushy doggy poo and better yet, the news had finally broke the story about the pit bulls removal from the Roderick household. Seems Rob had protested the removal and later tried to acquire a kennel license. Luckily for the cats at least, zoning restrictions would not permit a kennel in a residential area. Rob argued that the dogs were not for sale and therefore did not constitute a business. The matter has been appealed and there would be an undertermined amount of breathing time for The Feline Consortium and their owners.

The seven feline investigators were free to go outdoors again, for now at least. They organized a "Watch, Track and Plan" mission and took turns watching the household, tracking The Big Pink Pimple as the limo had come to be nicknamed, and making plans to search the interior of the Roderick home for clues.

The children's routines were normal. Scouts and chess for John Paul, piano and ballet lessons for Johanna the youngest, and acting and modeling classes for Phillip the middle child.

Bertha Butt as the mother had been nicknamed behind her back, also had a fairly normal routine. Bridge, Coffee Clatch, shopping, shopping and even MORE shopping. That woman loved to spend money, or at least to window shop and dream of spending even more money. She apparently had an endless appetite for money and the glittery trash it would buy. She had a dozen different black with white polka dot dresses, and they all looked so much alike that it seemed she never changed clothes until Saturday night square dancing when The Big Spoon Flag came out.

Rob's routine couldn't be called a routine at all. He left on various days, different times of the day, and headed in various directions. There did seem to be an unusually large amount of late evening and night trips. His occupation was unknown. Rob would need to be tailed to get sufficient information.

One morning, a small, new angel white, pink-eared feline arrived on Parker Street. She was homeless and had hitched a ride in the engine compartment of The Big Pink Pimple. She introduced herself as "Pinky" and The Feline Consortium membership now swelled to eight. Pinky taught the other members about hitching rides in engine compartments and gave warnings about other relatively unsafe parts of vehicles - like the cozy but dreaded wheelwell.

Nozey noticed that a tiny black box stored in Rob's pocket would open the doors. He also located access to the interior of the vehicle from the luggage compartment. The luggage compartment (trunk, boot) had been burglarized at some point and the remote opening mechanism had been replaced with a manual push button. This was great news as the felines could hitch rides even more safely; but, they were confined to being under and behind the seats. This could get interesting!

Zeno (Nozey's brother) wanted the tiny black box that opened the doors. He had a plan. He explained his idea to the group and he asked for two volunteers. Proppy agreed because she was the fastest and the best tree-climber in the group. Sammy agreed because she thought physical contact sports were right up her alley.

Zeno, Proppy and Sammy waited until Mr. Roderick headed for The Big Pink Pimple which happened just after sunset. His right hand dug deep into his pant pockets, out came the tiny black box.

"NOW!"

Sammy, a very large silver tabby, ran up the driveway and lurched onto Rob's chest. The startled, half-bald Rob dropped the remote key. "It worked!"

As Rob struggled to get away from Sammy's bear hug, Zeno snatched the prize in his teeth and ran away safely.

Proppy ran decoy to distract Rob even further. She landed on the hood of the limo, snarled at the cat-hating Mr. Roderick, then bolted for the nearest tree.

Zeno's sideliner, mini-mission was successful and the trio all made it home alive. This time anyway.

Rob was angrier than a wet hen! He went indoors and retrieved another copy of the key remote and drove away, still steaming like an old coal train.

The "Watch, Track and Plan" mission wasn't complete yet; in fact, it had barely begun.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter V

The Forest Hills area was only semi-rural and all the natural wildlife creatures still lived in the region. The grey wolves had been extinct at one point; but, a protection group had bred grey wolves from Mexican stock and released them into the Forest Hills region with limited success.

Ms. Plimpickle was slow to give Tiggy his freedom because she was over-protective of him. Years ago, he had had some serious run-ins that almost cost him his life. He had survived the flesh-eating bacteria from a copperhead bite and later survived being bitten almost completely in half by a grey wolf that Tiggy had tried to befriend. Tiggy loved dogs and a grey wolf was simply another canine to him.

Tiggy had been born to a feral cat and was feral himself until he was rescued at the young age of 3 to 4 weeks old. Ms. Plimpickle had bottlefed him and had nearly civilized the wild kitten by the time he turned 6 human years of age. He was still skittish and was the worst "scaredy-cat" in the area. He was particularly scared of shadows and sandals. He would hide at the sound of a page turning or anything else. When Tiggy hid, he could not be found by anybody, nor by any animal. He was the best hider in all of Forest Hills. Ms. Plimpickle loved and over-protected her 'baby'.

Bambi loved pigs as much as Tiggy loved dogs. Bambi was born and raised to 12 weeks of age in a pig stye. He snorted like a pig when he didn't get his way, or when he didn't get the extra treats he thought he deserved. Bambi was the biggest and fattest of the Parker Street cats. He was an obese, greedy bully. He had the lushest, softest coat of any cat the veterinarians had ever seen or felt. His orange tabby coat was so thick it hid his many scars.

Tiggy, Bambi and Tigger were all orange tabbys. They were not related and didn't look alike in any way. Tiggy was a short, petite anorexic who disdained eating food of any sort, Bambi was obese and would eat his own mother if given the chance, and Tigger was just right. Even their skull shapes were distinct, with Tiggy's being the tiniest with an extra long nose and extra skull plate at the back of his head.

Bambi and Tigger got along well enough; but, Bambi hated Tiggy more than any cat he had ever known. Bambi's historical bullying of a cowardly cat didn't help their past relationship. Now, with The New Deal, Bambi would have to curtail his bullymanship and Tiggy might have an opportunity to overcome his cowardice. Tigger and Tiggy had their love of dogs in common, and Tigger would come running to a human's whistle for the dogs.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter V (Continued)

The orange tabby trio headed over to The Big Seedy Watermelon, that is the Consortium's byword for the Roderick's huge, pink and pea green house. Bambi stood on the key remote to open the doors of the limo and Tiggy hid under the passenger's seat where he could discretely observe and memorize the instrument control panels, particularly the GPS screen and odometer. Bambi relocked the doors and returned the key control to Zeno's place while Tigger hid underneathe the most rear backseat via the trunk.

The wait was several hours long; but, worth it. Rob came out and drove away with the two stowaways, Tiggy and Tigger. Tiggy watched, memorized, watched some more, observed everything and memorized everything. Tiggy was a bloomin' genius.

The Big Pink Pimple lumbered along for two hours until it pulled into a weed infested, run-down, back-country estate with a weathered and broken wooden fence. Tiggy made a mental note "Drat's Hole" as the label on the GPS indicated.

So far, so good. After Rob exited and locked the vehicle, only Tigger had the opportunity to escape via the luggage compartment whose back panel opened behind the rear-most seat. Tiggy stayed behind in the limo. Hiding for hours and even days on end was no problem for him.

Snaffu #1!

Tigger exited the vehicle; but, was unable to close the boot lid! He ran as quickly as he could to hide in an old wooden egg crate. The old geezer Roderick hadn't noticed the limo lid wide open like a shark's gaping maw, not yet anyway. Tigger was safe.

The old field started to fill up with broken down vehicles, mostly old pickup trucks in serious need of a paint job. One of the new arrivals slammed the trunk lid closed on the pink limo and sidled up to Rob, whispering something in his ear. Rob looked back at the limo, shrugged his shoulders and resumed facing South as before.

South of where the crowd gathered, was a large dirt racetrack surrounded by more weathered, broken down wooden fencing.

A large chicken carrier truck pulled up with cages full of pit bulls! The noise was unbearable! All the men clapped at the canine arrival.

In short time, the dogs were set in lanes by their handlers. Rob was taking the bets.

Another shriveled old guy with a cane was putting a megaphone to his mouth. He made a less than funny welcome speech and set the megaphone down. He grabbed a pistol in his now freed hand and pointed it at the sky. When Rob gave him the nod, he fired the pistol.

A cat was thrown onto the raceway.

"Little Motor!" Tigger recognized his missing persian calico neighbor.

The pistol was fired and the gates were raised. A dozen pit bulls raced to grab the cat. Little Motor took off as fast as her fluffy feet could carry her; but, it was of no use. She was quickly surrounded by the dogs who fought and brawled amongst themselves. She froze in terror. Death was imminent. Tigger closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to watch. Then, he bolted straight at the mob of dogs, tearing over their backs with his razor sharp nails. Fast and furious! Tigger attracted the canine gang's attention and sped away further South, across the other leg of the dirt track, over the fence and beyond with a flickity wave of his tail.

Little Motor succumbed to the injuries she had already sustained, and Tigger disappeared into the woods. Tiggy, still shaking and trembling in fear beneathe the passenger's seat, had a grim report to give to The Feline Consortium upon his return home.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter VI

Tiggy gave his report to the wordsmith Proppy. When he described the odometer, speedometer and GPS display - his information became irrelevant because the letters and numbers were merely graphic images, uninterpretable in feline language or concept. Tiggy scratched the images in the dirt.

D-R-A-T-'-S H-O-L-E was intrepreted by Proppy as:

D - Half of Moon
R - Woman With Broom
A - Rooftop
T - Table
' - Scratch
S - Snake

H - Food and Water Bowl
O - Sun or Full Moon
L - Dustpan
E - Water and Food Bowl

The odometer reading was a blurry rush of numbers which were meaningless images to Tigger even though he had a photographic memory and remembered it all:

0 - Kiss/Cat's Nose
1 - Night/Cat's Eye
2 - Ear/Cat's
3 - Butterfly
4 - Territory/Marked
5 - Bell Collar/Cat's
6 - Ball of Yarn
7 - Laser Light/Cat's Toy
8 - Yet Another Food and Water Bowl/Cat's
9 - Yet Another Ball of Yarn

Tiggy could see the futility of this information; so, closed with an verbal and sound effect description with mimicry of the sounds he had heard them at Drat's Hole (he saw nothing while hiding under the passenger seat). As he told his story tears balled up in his eyes and Proppy teared up when she heard.

The story was passed on to the group. They still had no proof to expose Roderick's complicity. The "Watch, Track and Plan" mission, not yet completed, wasn't as useful as they had hoped. The mission would be completed with an interior survey of The Big Seedy Watermelon on Saturday night.

The week seemed to go by slowly but there was a pleasant surprise on Thursday, Tigger returned to Player Street! Tigger had made the five day trip and brought Dopey with him! The Siamese companion Dopey was one of the missing neighborhood cats. Little Motor and Dopey were the most prolific breeders on Parker Street. Their kittens were still missing and were not found at Drat's Hole where Tigger had returned and rescued Dopey before they made their long journey home.

Tigger also brought Little Motor's bloodied collar home with him. This collar was their first piece of evidence. The Feline Consortium gathered at Tiggy's house because they knew Ms. Plimpickle was the only human who had any chance of understanding cat language. Tiggy was appointed the speaker because Ms. Plimpickle was his master.

Ms. Plimpickle heard the Meow Chorus in her front yard and went out to see the assembly. Now, it was down to a complicated game of charades. They had Ms. Plimpickle follow them across the street to the Roderick's place.

Zeno dropped the remote key, Bambi stood on it to make it work. Ms. Plimpickle noted the sound of the limo doors unlocking. She took the remote key, assuming the cats had found it and wished it returned to its owner. Sammy lept up into Ms. Plimpickle's arms and gave her a huge bear hug to stop Ms. Plimpickle. Proppy waved her tail back and forth to say "no". Ms. Plimpickle understood.

Tiggy took Ms. Plimpickle to the black pit bull statuary, round and round, then Nozey, Zeno, and Dopey each stood beside one of the statues hoping Ms. Plimpickle would understand their roles in the "play" coming up.

Tiggy walked to the middle of the street and lay down playing dead, while Nozey, Zeno and Dopey pretended to attack Tiggy. Ms. Plimpickle looked concerned and confused until Tigger came over and dropped Little Motor's collar onto Tiggy's play-dead body. Ms. Plimpickle picked up the collar, looked at it, read the lettering "Little Motor" and knew this was Mr. Greene's missing cat ... looked at the dog-actors Nozey, Zeno and Dopey and then glanced at the statuary. She gathered that the cats were playing the role of dogs and that the dogs had killed Little Motor. When she asked the Consortium, "Did Mr. Roderick's dogs kill Little Motor?", Proppy waved her tale forward and back quickly to indicate "yes" and Tiggy meowed "yes". Tiggy seldom meowed, so, Ms. Plimpickle knew she got the right answer.

Last, they escorted Ms. Plimpickle to the park at the corner street where there was a large sandy area. Tigger scratched and pawed the letter's "Drat's Hole" in the sand. Ms. Plimpickle gasped! Drat's Hole had been raided for illegal dog-fights, cock-fights and other cruel animal games in the past. It was a couple hours drive away.

Ms. Plimpickle went home, grabbed her station wagon keys, and got in her station wagon. The entire Consortium hopped in and went along for the ride to Drat's Hole.

Story to be continued - following.

Chapter VII

It was almost sundown by the time the catmobile arrived at Drat's Hole. There was an old Chevy pickup truck near the open shed and a man with an oil lamp in hand. Ms. Plimpickle got out of her station wagon and grabbed her cell phone, uploading video captures in a live stream. The cats all snuck out, quickly camoflauged in the tall overgrown grass.

A middle-aged man in his red plaided shirt whipped out a shotgun from the other side of a standing cabinet and cranked the handle as he aimed straight at Ms. Plimpickle. Ms. Plimpickle dialed 911 and kept her live stream going. The man fired and buckshot sprayed the ground in front of her feet. He loaded and cranked again. His next shot hit her in the face. Ms. Plimpickle screamed and dropped the cell phone as her hands embraced her torn face. He reloaded, cranked and fired again; hitting Ms. Plimpickle once more as she fell to the ground wriggling and screaming in pain. He walked toward her, reloading on his way.

Nine cats pounced on him from every direction. The grizzled geaser dropped his shotgun. The cats kept him busy defending himself until the Sheriff and Deputies arrived. The cats scattered and hid while the Deputies arrested the geaser Mr. Fletcher. Other Deputies scoured the scene and found Little Motor's body, half decayed but the fluffy persian fur stuck to the ground was blowing in the breeze was like a waving flag. More Deputies arrived and so did Animal Control officers who rescued the kidnapped cats from their cages. The Sheriff called for an ambulance for Ms. Plimpickle and got her story while they were waiting for it to arrive.

The Feline Consortium hid in the grass quietly, watching, not wanting to be scooped up by the Animal Control Officers. After all the emergency vehicles had left and a tow truck had hauled away the catmobile, the Consortium had to make their way home. Tigger and Dopey knew the way.

It took nine days for the felines to make it back to Parker Street. The catmobile was parked in its' usual spot, a bandaged Ms. Plimpickle was out in her robe, picking up the morning newspaper, Mr. Green was walking toward her. The Roderick's driveway was missing one big ugly limousine, the yard was missing its statuary, and a big "For Sale" sign was plunked in their place.

The Consortium ambled over to the Roderick's place and Tiggy said, "Something's Different! Something Changed!" and all the cats meowed in a happy chorus.

The End

In honour of:

Little Motor
Dopey
Zeno
Nozey
Proppy
Sammy
Tigger
Pinky
May they rest in peace.

And to the living:

Bambi
and Tiggy