Easter's End

This is the first chapter of a potential three book trilogy. It's an adventurously comedic story about a ninja kitten. This is meant to be taken as a serious writing endeavor.

Chapter 1: How It ALL Began…

 

The following events are absolutely true.

 [DISCLAIMER: Okay, yes, this story is fictional. It’s just as fictional as Santa, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy herself. They are imaginary creations invented to instill the notion of good behavior in the youth of the world. They aren’t even real. Or are they?]

This is the story everyone knows; a timeless tale about a young wooden puppet sent out into the world to become a real live boy�"wait, no, that’s another story. This is the tale of a really badass ninja; a ninja so badass that his story deserves a three part book series. And maybe a movie deal? No, okay, whatever. Hypothetically, though, if a movie were ever made, my voice, the narrator, should be done by Morgan Freeman. But provided that either the budget doesn’t provide for Mr. Freeman or he has passed away, a suitable substitute could be found. Maybe someone British? Yeah, a brit would do quite nice…

Anyway, our main character is a man so profound and so spectacular that he is unlike any man alive. In fact, he is no man at all. He is a cat; a simple tabby, cute and fluffy. While extremely cute, he is currently the world’s deadliest, and cutest, assassin. Did I mention he was cute? But it wasn’t always so. There was once a time, much to Mr. Kitty’s remorse, when he wasn’t so special at all; a time when he was just as ordinary as that cat you have currently trying to climb over you as you read this. Primarily dark grey, his fur is streaked with bits of ash and white, coving a perfectly striped body. His eyes, gifted with the ability to see perfectly in night or day, also come with the ability to widen into two balls of irresistible cuteness; equally as deadly to be sure. His claws, deadly sharp, are also perfect for cleaning bits of catnip from his equally sharp teeth. He has the reflexes of, well, a cat, but can also do the Macarena quite well. But he wasn’t always gifted with that ability either, mind you. The Macarena is no easy skill. His powers came with a relic as old as time itself; or at least as old as your grandparents. We’ll just call it “The Key of Awesomeness.”

Tucked away in an old lumpy couch his former owner had owned, this key was the ticket to greatness. It would completely change his lives forever. But what could a simple key do for a cute little kitten? Besides opening any door in existence, this key would grant the young Mr. Kitty three awesome gifts: one, an incredible and cunning mind; two, the ninja skills of the Great Origami Ninjas; and three, the ability to make “human speak.” Mr. Kitty also discovered that he also would not grow old so as long as he wore the key around his little neck. These new abilities are all very unnecessary for your average house cat, but Mr. Kitty was no ordinary kitty.

Not anymore.

Mr. Kitty was born into a loving home with six other kittens nearly as adorable as Mr. Kitty himself. Legend tells that Mr. Kitty’s mother had been kitten royalty and had even shared a bed with the Queen of England herself in her youth. Mr. Kitty’s father had been just another street cat, though more charming and wittier than any other cat. They’d fallen head over heels in love and had run away together madly in love�"wait, I know what you’re thinking; hold on, alright. This isn’t some boring love story. Yada, yada, yada… they fall in love, have kittens whatever. S**t happens. That’s not important. Just know that Mr. Kitty came from awesomeness, even before he was awesome. Alright? Good. But good things have to end at some point and one day he was tragically separated from his mother and father and never got the chance to know them, but they were owned by a greedy street urchin and had no choice but to hope it was in Mr. Kitty’s best interests. They were wrong; at first, anyway.

Many, many years later, after Mr. Kitty found this “Key of Awesomeness,” he would catch himself thinking about the incredible odds against finding that special key.

            (But why did Mr. Kitty’s owner have the “Key of Awesomeness” tucked away in his couch?)

            Good question, Sir!

            (Thank you!)

A couch is nothing special. In fact, they come in a wide variety of makes and models, a plethora of textures and patterns. There are big ones, small ones, even couches made just for small children. Some even debate that benches are couches. But that’s just crazy talk, and we will have no blasphemy in this story! This particular couch was just an average, everyday brown, careworn and haggard heap. What set this couch apart from the rest was that it had been owned by a world-renowned explorer famous during the fifties. Also, it was cursed.

To begin the story of this fateful couch we must travel back to the future… Wait, no, wrong story again. We must journey to the moment of creation…

“And God said let there be light...”

No, too far back; the creation of the couch, I mean…

In a factory somewhere in China, I’m not certain where or when, they were making couches. In just one day, they would unleash a terrible curse of epic proportions in just a single moment of utter ignorance and incompetence…

“Alright everybody, gather up! We’ve all been doing well this month and we’re prepared to offer you a bonus two penny for the week!” The plant foreman shouted in Mandarin Chinese.

“Sir, we can only afford one penny for every two workers…” His assistant quietly whispered, in fear.

“Scratch that folks! One penny to share amongst you all! Go crazy!”

“Nicely done, sir!”

“Now while we’ve met our quota five years in a row, I’m predicting that this model of plain brown couch will sell through the roof next year! So we’re tripling production effective immediately! Now get to work!” The foreman yelled, forceful. “Daddy wants a new yacht next year…”

“But sir…” This came from a tattered looking serf.

“Yes, what do you want?” The foreman asked, annoyed.

“Sir, the penny… you promised us a penny…”Clearing his throat, the foreman began to walk away.

“Ummm… I don’t have it, sir.” His assistant said, puzzled. “You never gave me any penny.”

“Oh right, here we are…” As the foreman handed it over, the exhausted worker let the beautiful penny fall though his blistered and mangled fingers. Slowly, dramatically, it crashed to the floor face down. A quick moment of desperation found the foolish worker bending down to pick the unlucky penny off of the floor.

“NO!!!” The foreman and assistant screamed, in unison. But it was already too late. The damage was done. The curse was unleashed. As the exhausted worker looked up, a newly made couch came crashing down atop him, causing the penny to fly free and land on the couch, only to disappear. The rest, along with the now cursed couch factory was history.

Now let’s skip ahead a little bit: the first sale. The cursed couch was sold to that explorer dude sometime in the 1950’s somewhere in America this time…

“My good sir, I am seeking your most eloquent couch; something to really dazzle my guests and impress the ladies!” The journeyed collector seemed to over accentuate unnecessarily, “Do you have such a couch?”

“No.” The furniture store clerk said flatly. Without bothering to glance up at his strange patron, the clerk pointed at a sign on the wall behind him and added: “The sign says ‘Everything under a buck, you’re in luck!’”

Pointing at a stained but new looking couch against a back wall, the explorer asked: “Well, what about that one? It looks decent enough.”

“You’re looking at the couch over there? The one by the wall?  HA! You want that couch? It’s bad luck. The worst kind around, I swear it. I’ve had that couch for a couple years and my store has gotten worse. Did you know this was a new furniture retailer? The sign use to say ‘Better than the Rest!’ Yeah… we use to get all the great models! Now we’re lucky to get furniture without feces!”

“Really? That’s such a shame. I would have paid fifty dollars for it.”

“Really?!” Seeing a golden opportunity to finally sell the unlucky couch, the salesman tried a different tact. Flipping on an overhead light and squinting his eyes, he exclaimed, “Oh heavens, I am mistaken! I was thinking of another couch altogether! That couch is in the back. This couch is in terrific shape and very much for sale. It’s totally not unlucky at all! As you can see, there are a couple of reddish-brown stains, but I assure you that they’re definitely not blood stains from the couch landing on the worker who made it. It is very clean and totally sanitary! In fact, some even say it has magical properties!”

“It has magical properties for a certainty?” The explorer asked, uncertain.

“Umm… yeah, totally, why would I lie about that?”

“I don’t know. What was that bit about it killing its maker?”

“WHAT? THAT?! NO! That’s the other couch. You don’t want that one. Nope, this one right here is totally the one for you!

“You could be lying just to get me to buy this couch…”

“WHAT? That’s crazy talk!” The salesman exclaimed, nervous. “This couch is the last couch you’ll ever need!”

“In that case I’ll take it!”

The cash changed hands and with it so did the couch. Since ownership had now changed hands so too had the curse. The explorer was now stuck with a lumpy couch that would incessantly cause his back to hurt. For several awful years, he took the couch with him all across the globe. Each year, it would bring him more and more pain and sadness.

This explorer supposedly searched all corners of the earth in hopes of finding rare artifacts to add to his collection. The couch, however, had different plans. The couch’s wicked curse would warp his luck so that no treasure would be found. Every temple that he visited had already been visited. Every trinket of value would soon be lost. Keys, money, it all would soon disappear. The explorer would soon find himself broke, bankrupt and selling his worldly possessions…

Fast forward to a garage sale in 1988; the long forgotten explorer’s couch was just another tattered old couch. We see Mr. Kitty’s future owner, eight year old Thomas Lame, urinating on the couch.

“Ahhhh….” Thomas sighed quietly in relief, as the yellow liquid flowed freely from his full bladder completely dowsing Mrs. Templeton’s brown couch.

“What in the world of fluffy kittens are you doing?!” The elderly woman screeched. Ever since she’d arrived several years earlier, she’d earned the much unwanted moniker “Cat-woman.” Mrs. Templeton was no “Hale Berry Cat-woman,” however. Instead, she was the stereotypical old lady neighbor and owned over 20 cats. Many considered that maybe it wasn’t completely legal to own so many, but since no one wanted anything to do with Mrs. Templeton, they let it slide.

One might then begin to wonder what the big deal was if the couch had already been a part of the garage sale. Simply put: it wasn’t. In fact, it wasn’t even outside. Mrs. Templeton had actually only recently acquired the couch at a different garage sale. The previous owner, a retired explorer, had apparently grown tired of the couch and all the troubles that came with it. He was more than happy to give it away free of charge.

But why was little Thomas peeing on the couch? Why not in a toilet, or just on a bush? Well, Thomas begged and begged for directions to the restroom, but he could not find any one who cared enough to point Thomas in the right direction.

After several minutes of hobbling back and forth with his legs crossed, pleading for an answer, he finally received the secret to the bathroom.

He entered the garage and hurried through recklessly, and upon entering the old Victorian home, he tripped over a litter box. Looking around, he noticed more. The house seemed to have hundreds of them, everywhere. In reality, it was probably something more like ten, but Thomas was slow and didn’t yet know his numbers. Looking up at the walls, Thomas saw something the majority of the world considered strange: countless framed pictures of cats in various costumes, posing in ridiculous fashions. To young Thomas, the pictures were breathtaking.

Regaining his breath, Thomas looked down just in time to see a small ball of fur crawl from behind a cat statue: a kitten. As he followed close behind it, the kitten merged with the others, some twenty or more cats or varying colors, shapes and ages. There were orange ones and black ones; cats that had short hair and ones that were so fluffy that little Thomas just had to grab them and squeeze them vigorously. There were even some that had no hair at all. Thomas thought those were ugly, but in a cute way.

Thomas quickly became overwhelmed with joy and focused on the cats; and unfortunately for these cats, Thomas always harbored a fondness for cats; but Thomas’s grandparents had hated them, so he’s never actually seen one in real life. His parents, when they were alive, had never allowed pets of any kind in their home. Thomas continued petting them vigorously, and in that moment, the young boy made a solemn decision: he would never ever leave this wonderful place. He happily played with the helpless cats for almost an hour, tossing them sky high and “attempting” to catch them. Slowly at first, he began to remember his immediate problem. In a panic, he rushed to the bathroom only to find it occupied. As he knocked repeatedly on the door, he realized it was much too late and his bladder couldn’t wait. As the dam readied itself to burst, he climbed his way up the couch, intending to pee out of the open window, but in typical Thomas fashion, he slipped and fell back to the floor. As he got to his feet, he realized the bladder levies had broken, and a rush of bright yellow urine exploded out. As his bladder emptied, he heard Mrs. Templeton exit the restroom. And poor Mrs. Templeton watched as Thomas thoroughly soaked her beloved couch; she began to scream at him. What followed were several minutes of the worst beating of his life, so far.

Because of a popular 80’s slogan, the boy’s grandparents were forced to buy it. Okay admittedly there was no such slogan, but they were still forced to pay for the couch to be refurbished. But his grandparents had recently talked about getting a couch, so a clever deal was struck. Truly, there was nothing even remotely clever about it. Thomas’s grandparents would take the couch and buy a replacement piece of junk from a local flee market. Also, Thomas had to fill out a long form saying he would never pee on another couch, carpet, or any other thing that was not, in fact, a toilet. Honestly, you would think such a thing was self-explanatory and that no such contract was necessary, but not with little Thomas. Thomas also happily volunteered to help the old lady take care of her cats on a daily basis.

His offer, however, was quickly and viciously declined.

Thomas K. Lame was a loser. Scarred by the sudden death of his parents in a horrible popcorn accident, Thomas had developed a nasty urination problem early on in life. Other than his bladder problem, there was nothing special about this little urinator. His older brother Bill, the bully that he was, would never let Thomas live it down. Without the nurturing environment that Thomas needed, he would develop into such a horrible excuse for an adult.It was only natural that he would eventually become stripped of all dignity. The hotdog suit he would wear for his day job would do little to help.

At the tender age of 29, Thomas felt himself finally ready to be moved forcefully out of his grandmother’s basement. And by “moved,” I mean kicked. His grandmother was simply tired of taking care of his loser a*s. So Thomas left the only home he’d ever known and moved himself into his dream home: a tiny one bedroom apartment. And naturally, he was allowed to keep the couch.

On his first day alone, realizing that his landlord had said “cats are cool, but by god if the little s**t scratches my walls or sprays everywhere, I’ll cut you;” or something like that, he decided that he’d get a furry little friend. So on a normal day, Thomas bought a normal kitten from a drug dealing neighbor. I know what you’re thinking: Why is this hardened dope dealing criminal selling adorable selling kittens? No one knows, but it probably went something like this:

“Hey man can you get me something?” Thomas hesitantly asked the shady individual.

“It just depends on the price you’re willing to pay,” The dealer whispered, surprisingly articulate, “But I have been known to acquire certain items. Do you require an ascent or a descent?”

 “What? No, I don’t do drugs! Are you kidding me?”

“Okay no alterations, understood.” Spreading apart his trench coat, the dealer said: “What about knives? Shanks? Shivs? I have in my possession the greatest assortment of cutlery on this side of the tracks. Cut your enemy, or saw off a piece of steak! With the right blade anything can happen!”

“No, Grandma always said knives were for grownups…” Remembering a horrible juggling accident that left him with only one grandparent, Thomas lost his train of thought.

“But aren’t you like 30?” Opening a flap in his trench coat, he said: “That’s fine. How about some guns? I have an excellent assortment of semi-automatic handguns! You’d be crazy not to buy one!”

“No guns either…” As Thomas remembered another accident that got him expelled from elementary school, he trailed off yet again…

“Okay no guns, gotcha.” The dealer then opened yet another flap and impatiently said: “Grenades? Mines? What do you want, dude?!”

 

Spotting a box of kittens, Thomas pointed at one and shouted, “I want him!”

“Ummm… you want a kitten? Oh okay, but it’ll cost you…”

“Really?” Thomas interrupted, “The side of the box says ‘Free kittens!’”

“Oh yes! Sadly, we are fresh out of that breed of kitten. Such a shame really, I saw the look on your eye when you saw him; such excitement and joy. Too bad, really; he is quite a special kitten.”

Reaching in his pocket, Thomas pulled out his full wallet and asked, “How much do they cost? I only have 534 dollars and seventy four cents.”

“What a coincidence!” The dealer exclaimed. Eyes bright, and with an evil smirk, he said: “These are a rare breed from Egypt! They cost 535 dollars each! But I’m willing to give you a discount and forego the taxes!” Not expecting Thomas to believe him, he prepared to give the kitten away for free.

Thomas, being highly gullible, started forking over his entire savings. “Sounds great, I’ll take that one!” He proclaimed, pointing at Mr. Kitty.

Admittedly, there was nothing special about Mr. Kitty at the time. Aside from how cute he was, of course.

Day after day, Thomas tried unsuccessfully to think of the right name for his new pet. Names like Snowball and Powder and Fluffy, and many more came to mind, but none seemed quite right for this adorable little fur ball.  Lost in thought, Thomas had completely forgot to feed the poor kitty. He’d even asked for the help of his friends (all of whom were imaginary) and his new neighbors (who went out of their way to avoid him). Finally, after eating a taco, he came up with the name Mr. Kitty.

Now Thomas had never been a particularly bright person; quite far from it, actually. He was not dumb for lack of trying, but rather, he had a horrendous brain and, for the life of him, could not focus on anything. His teachers had only let him graduate after having finally given up on him. They just thought, “What’s the worst that could happen…?” So it was that one morning, in search of food, Mr. Kitty found the “Key of Awesomeness.” It has some other name, I’m sure, but I have no clue what it is. It’s a key, and it’s awesome. So that’s enough for me.

“Meow,” he whined hungrily, “Meow.”

Climbing down from a bookshelf, he stretched and attempted to give Thomas those adorable kitty eyes.

 “Meow, meow, meeeeow!” Mr. Kitty whined. He just wanted some food, any food at all. But no, he wouldn’t get any from his owner today.

Thomas was distracted, slipping on his work uniform (a hotdog suit, remember). Unable to communicate with his owner, Mr. Kitty watched as he headed for the door.

“Mr. Kitty I know you probably can’t understand me or anything, but I love you,” Thomas said, and looking down at Mr. Kitty he joyfully added, “Oh, and food’s in the cabinet, help yourself, buddy!”

Thomas was right; Mr. Kitty couldn’t understand him because he was just an ordinary cat; and he certainly couldn’t get into the cabinet, let alone open a new bag of cat food. Unwittingly, Thomas had abandoned the poor kitty to fend for himself. The ordinary Mr. Kitty was left to find food on his own. He wandered for hours until finally a faint odor reached his kitten nostrils. He couldn’t identify it, but he liked it. Jumping onto the couch, he found the source.

As Mr. Kitty started to nibble on a half-buried taco, he enjoyed the beefy taste of the mostly real meat. Thomas had always been a slob, but this was just plain unsanitary. It had been sat on and mashed into the old couch; it was half eaten and another half rotten, but Mr. Kitty didn’t care. It was food; food at last. As he finished his amazing taco, he sniffed even deeper into the couch cushions hoping desperately to find more. But he stuck his head too deep into the couch and his collar snagged on something hard. Panicking, Mr. Kitty yanked back roughly, flinging it into the air. He looked up, ready to chase whatever it was. The necklace landed perfectly around his neck. On the necklace: a brass key.

Scared, Mr. Kitty tried desperately to free himself of the heavy chain. Immediately, though, he felt something stir inside himself. He began to change. In his bones, he could feel it. It was as if he were becoming someone completely different: smarter, faster, and stronger than ever before. He could now stand on two feet with ease; also, his kitty thumbs were now opposable. He only now knew the definition of opposable. He was a brand new kitty; reborn and ready for action.

Mr. Kitty would now be young forever and more gifted than any cat ever; even more gifted than those cats that play the piano on the internet. He’d be left with a difficult question: “What should I do with my time?” There was no way he could go back to his old life. He just wasn’t the same cat that he was. Sure, he still looked much the same; and definitely still adorable, but now there was more to life than being cute to get food. There would be no more scratching at his post so vigorously, either. Scratching and scratching all day, single-mindedly in utter bliss… When he was normal he would just start scratching a little at first, but before he knew it, he’d be scratching at his post so hard, that his little kitty arms would quickly grow sore. But no matter the soreness and pain, he’d love feeling the raw post between his kitty claws. Changed as he now was, he could do this no longer. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to. Well, he did, but he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t but he just had to! Really, he still scratched a bunch. Whenever he had time. He tried to justify it by saying that it was only to hone his claws; to keep them ready for anything. But deep down, he knew better. But aside from scratching all the time, he needed something productive to do. He needed something to give his life purpose. And so, after much thought and consideration, he tried to play golf. Admittedly, golfing was not easily done kitty paws. However, Mr. Kitty was determined, and he’d always heard that with enough hope and effort anything was possible….

GOLF COURSE:

“Alright folks, we have a real nail biter today!” The announcer called out, excited, “Welcome back to our annual Human/Sentient-Animal Golf Benefit! We have been here for three days now and it’s the final hole! Our leaders are Phil Dimeson Pro Golfer and Hanky, the talking Monkey!

“Ape.” Hanky said, standing next to Mr. Kitty. “For the last time, I’m a freaking ape.”

“Right.” The announcer continued, “Hanky the… Ape. Hanky and Phil are playing for the Make-A-Dream-Come-True Foundation! Hanky, can you tell us a little about yourself?”

“I’m an ape.” Hanky said, annoyed, “Google it.”

Laughter roared and the announcers face went red with embarrassment. “Uh, anyway, in second place and the only competitors even remotely close enough to catch up to our leaders, only two strokes behind; a man who is the greatest golfer of all time and a cat: Lion Forest and Mr. Kitty! They are playing today for a charity we all know and love so well: United Path!”

 “Um, sir, may I have a word?” The announcers’ assistant said, walking up to the man. After speaking into the announcers’ ear for several seconds, the intern walked away. There was a look of surprise and annoyance on the announcers’ face.

“As it turns out, Lion Forest will not be continuing in this competition. His wife found him cheating on him and is chasing him around with a golf club. Needless to say, he’s busy.”

“Who will be my partner, then?” Mr. Kitty asked, worried.

“Hmm, replacement….” The announcer looked around. Pointing at a dirty, soiled man, he said: “Him.”

“That’s a homeless man. How did he even get in here?”

“I am not homeless! I have traveled the world in search of�"“

“No one cares, old man.” Mr. Kitty interrupted impatiently, “Let’s do this.”

It was a complete and utter slaughter. As it turned out, Mr. Kitty was a horrible golfer and the homeless guy had apparently never even held a golf club because he held it like a baseball bat and kept screaming, “Touchdown!” Mr. Kitty left that day in utter disgrace.

Sadly, Mr. Kitty quit golfing forever after that. He resumed his search for purpose. He searched high and low. He even tried to be a telemarketer. But needless to say, that didn’t work out either…

CUBICLE:

“YES, YOU CAN OWN YOUR VERY OWN TIMESHARE!” Mr. Kitty yelled into his headset, feigning excitement. “DO YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS?”

“Can I hang up now?” The prospective customer begged, fearful. He’d been kept on the phone for too long and too many times. “I don’t have the kind of money to purchase property in my own country, let alone Belize. Where even is that? Isn’t that where drugs come from?”

“Sir, that is racist. Sure, they may have lax laws when it comes to drug control, AND SURE, they may have corrupt law enforcement, but who doesn’t?! What I’m offering is peace of mind. For only a couple tens of thousands, you can own your very land in a mostly peaceful country. How does that sound?”

“I think I’m going to hang up now…”

“LISTEN, IF YOU HANG UP THE PHONE I WILL USE MY PARTICULAR SET OF SKILLS AND I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL KILL YOU!”

“I… okay, forty thousand in student loan debt and now debt from property I can’t afford to visit…”

With that, Mr. Kitty knew he would be a salesman; and he was perfect. No one ever said no! How could they? He could find them and kill them if they did. Well, this career path didn’t work out because as it turned out threatening the lives of buyers and their families was against “policy.” Law suits were rolling in, and Mr. Kitty was going out. Luckily for Mr. Kitty, he wasn’t a person, not technically anyway, so he was not subject to the lawsuits. One customer had even gone as far as to say that Mr. Kitty was the equivalent of the Devil, but that was just hype. But his last customer did give Mr. Kitty an idea:

ALSO CUBICLE (Different Time, Obviously)

“Hello?” A curious voice came through Mr. Kitty’s headset.

“Listen, timeshare, yada yada will you buy it?” Mr. Kitty said after his buyer answered his call, weeks into the job, and fed up. “Before you say anything else, let me tell you about myself. One, I’m a determined seller. I do not take no for an answer. Two, I have the means to track you down and hurt you. Three, I like catnip.”

“What?”

“Ignore that last thing.” Mr. Kitty said, “My point is I will kill you if you say no.”

“Then…. Yes?” The buyer said, growing excited, “Yes! YES! I was just thinking about buying a timeshare in someplace beautiful and tropical; someplace like Hawaii or the Bahamas. Where is it?”

“Belize.”

“Oohhh…. Well not my first choice, but I guess I don’t want to die. I’ll buy it!”

“Any questions?”

“Just one: If you can kill me so easily, who don’t you become an assassin? It seems to me you aren’t happy with your current career. I am currently seeking skilled assassins to fill open positions in a booming new enterprise!”

“I’m in! This place is a s**t hole! What’s your company even called?”

“It’s kind of clever, actually. It’s called WE KILL 4 U. But we can’t have just anyone join our organization. Tell me a little about yourself first.”

“Well, my fur is mostly grey, there’s some black and white mixed in for variety though. My ears usually poke up, but sometimes when I’m trying especially hard to be adorable, I can make one fall down, but just a little bit so as to appear accidental. My claws are sharp, perfect for scratching my state-of-the-art scratching posts. Oh, and my tail is long and fluffy.”

“All this nonsense… Are you a cat?”

“Mr. Kitty, sir, ready for action!”

The man didn’t say a word for several minutes after that. All Mr. Kitty heard was laughter; endless, horrible laughter. But finally, he spoke, broke up with more laughter.

“You’re a cat! No s**t? Gary, come here! This cat on the phone is trying to sell me timeshares and he wants to be an assassin! HA!” The man paused again for a few minutes to regain his composure. Finally, however, he continued: “Listen, Mr. Whiskers, I don’t know how to put this gently, so I won’t even try. There’s no possible way you could ever be an assassin. You should be licking milk out a bowl and chasing that long tail of yours!”

But the man was wrong, of course. Fatally wrong. It only took Mr. Kitty a few short days to track the man down. Mr. Kitty, in hindsight, was pretty ashamed it took him even that long because the man had told Mr. Kitty what his business was called. In Googling it, he would have found that the man happened to own a small startup company only a few blocks away from where Mr. Kitty lived. Instead, however, Mr. Kitty had tried to divine the man’s identity and location by using an old Ouija board and a sad attempt at magic. Mr. Kitty was no magician, not even close. He’d even resorted to sniffing out the man, but that failed too. He was a cat, not a bloodhound, and he’d never smelled the guy. Remembering that people use to find addresses in old “phone books,” he dug one out of an abandoned kitchen junk drawer and blew the dust off its cover. The company “WE KILL 4 U” was already the subject of several federal investigations. It turns out that killing people for money was a crime. And the name of the business was possibly a little bit too obvious; especially when your business phone and address is posted in the yellow pages. Since the man was no assassin, and had to skill whatsoever, he had not actually taken any contracts yet. Being still a free man, it was easy for Mr. Kitty to wrap his adorable kitty paws around the man’s throat. And he sprayed. Mr. Kitty had never sprayed on anything, he’d always thought it was beneath him, morally. But on this occasion, he sprayed a lot. No one laughed at Mr. Kitty and got away with it.

And just like that foolish man, every target Mr. Kitty took down mocked him. With his tiny frame, grey and white tiger-stripes, and adorable whiskers, he hardly looked formidable at all. But that was always their last mistake. But make no such mistake, folks. Mr. Kitty is deadly.

Deadly, and adorable.

Really adorable.

What comes next is the beginning of an adventure to bring justice back to the Holidays; a humble mission to remind people why we celebrate them and why you shouldn’t always believe what your parents tell you. For all you know, they might not even be your real parents. There, I said it Mom and Dad. I know I’m adopted, so you don’t have to lie to me anymore… Anyway, we can get so much out of this story: many morals and many important lessons. Instead, though, let’s just take it for what it is: a badass story about a badass ninja... who happens to be a cat.

Yeah….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

It's silly. It's goofy. But I have an idea in my head how where this story will go and it is magical. If no one agrees, well, at least the adventure is with me. Tell me what you think, thanks. Please share if you like it!