Originally Posted by Mythical Pain
This is my first try at furry.
I expect it will also be my last, for I don’t like this tale at all.
Mrs Tidiwinkle, the year old tortoiseshell pussycat, screeched as only cats can, when Mr Pickles grabbed her tail with his teeth.
‘Nasty oversize mongrel,’ she thought, quickly escaping upstairs and leaving Mr Pickles vainly attempting, yet again, to force his head through the very stair gate bars designed to keep him out of the bedrooms.
‘I’ll rest on my servants’ bed,’ Mrs Tidiwinkle contemplated, but a sounds of a thump followed by a sharp intake of breath ****** her to stop and study the bedroom, through the crack in the half open door.
This pussycat noticed her people had discarded their coats, stood upright, and the food servant was kicking the dirt-tray servant between his legs.
Fascinated, Mrs Tidiwinkle resisted her instinct to stroll in and play cute.
Food servant seemed to concentrating her blows upon the dangly bits, the parts he always kept well away from sharp claws.
Suddenly, dirt-tray servant uttered a growl, carried food servant to the bed, then began to stroke and kiss her all over.
‘I always wonder how she licked herself clean down there. How clever, getting him to do it!’ mused the cat.
Abandoning all thoughts of sleeping upon her favourite bed, Mrs Tidiwinkle curled up with just one eye open to watch the continuing action.
***
Ten minutes later, the pussycat awoke, thinking,
‘If I touch that flee bitten dog’s dangly bits, perhaps he’ll be kind to me’.
Without further delay, Mrs Tidiwinkle found Mr Pickles standing with his paws on the windowsill.
She stood between his lower legs and powered her hard bony head into her target.
Far from being pleased, the shocked creature yelped, leapt onto windowsill, crashing into the glass with a resounding bang.
Mr Pickles howled as a demented banshee, cowered and shivered.
‘Funny, dog does not seem to like that at all. I’ll have to try again later’.
The wretched hound jumped from his perch, as the inner pane of the double glazed unit cracked.
He landed halfway across the room, shattering the coffee table that broke his fall.
Mrs Tidiwinkle spat as a dislodged screw parted her whiskers then ran up the curtains.
As heavy footsteps pounded down wooden stairs, the glass split three more times in quick succession.
Mr Pickles regurgitated his food, forming a steaming volcano upon the new carpet.
***
Within the sunny back garden, Mr Pickles sat as far as he could from Mrs Tidiwinkle, with his gaze firmly locked in her direction.
Each time the pussycat moved, he moved away from her.
***
By dusk, an apple-drunk wasp, buzzing one of his old bones handing from a branch, distracted Mr Pickles.
‘Let’s see if I can get it right this time. I’ll do it harder,’ resolved Mrs Tidiwinkle, silently positioning her head beneath his back legs.
To be fair, pussycat did not notice the wasp when her hard head pounded into Mr Pickles’ balls, but he most defiantly did.
Mr Pickles’ pathetic heart-chilling yelps, as he bounded away, brought the servants to the garden.
The tormented hound cleared the six-foot fence first time, and then howled as tyres screamed and a truck horn blasted.
Mrs Tidiwinkle strolled though the open door and decided the airing cupboard would suit for her nap.
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Alec Anaconda
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