Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  Thud-thud-thud.

  The footsteps grew louder.

  Mom’s assailant would be upon them any second now.

  “Hissss.”

  Stanley bushed his tail out, scratched his claws along the tabletop, and turned to the door, ready for war.

  Dad pushed into the kitchen and immediately made for the refrigerator. “How’s your face?”

  “Fine,” Mom said.

  Stanley’s head moved from left to right as he followed the skinny man in the polo shirt and jeans to the fridge, in search of his next alcoholic beverage.

  “Don’t tell anyone what happened,” he said. “Aww, shit. There’s no goddamn beer left.”

  Fwump.

  He slammed the refrigerator door shut in a haze of anger.

  “Meow,” Stanley called, all the while showing his fangs.

  Slowly, Dad turned around and looked at the tabletop, to find his pet Bengal had taken sides with his mom.

  “Oh, you,” Dad said. “What the hell are you doing there? Get out.”

  Mom yelped at the man in self-defense. “Don’t talk to Stanley like that—”

  Dad smacked the woman upside the head. “Shut up, bitch.”

  “Hisssss.”

  Dad made eyes at Stanley and went to strike him. “Oh, what? You want some too, do ya?”

  Stanley growled like a beast, as was true to his nature, and watched on as Dad lowered his face to eye-level.

  “You wanna say something about it, you asshole?” Dad asked before belching a rancid waft of alcoholic gas in the cat’s face. “Or maybe a trip to the river in a sack with some bricks?”

  Stanley swished his tail and lowered onto his haunches, ready to ravage the bastard making threats at him. To this beautiful Bengal pussy’s mind, he’d tolerate a drunk or a foul-mouthed idiot.

  But not both.

  “Stupid asshole cat.”

  “Meow.”

  Stanley pushed himself off the edge of the kitchen table, whipped through the air, fanned out his claws, and went to strike Dad in the face.

  But it was too late.

  Dad stumbled back, lifted his right knee and kicked Stanley in the stomach.

  “Meeoowwwwwaarrghh.”

  Little Stanley somersaulted in the air, out of the kitchen, and tumbled onto the soft, plush carpet in the hallway.

  “No!” Mom screamed.

  Dad chuckled, evilly. “Yeah, that’ll teach the furry little asshole to get up in our business.”

  Stanley rolled over and over and pushed out his front, right paw for balance as he screamed toward the corridor wall.

  Clutch.

  In Stanley’s attempt to save himself from injury, one of his claws prevented him from smashing into the wall—and instead daggered into the electric plug socket.

  Spitch—spatch.

  “Meoyaaow!”

  A half-second of pure voltage pushed Stanley into the air, electrocuting him to within an inch of his fur.

  He landed on all fours, and used his renewed energy to bolt up the corridor at speed, past the kitchen, right through the cat flap, and into the back yard.

  “Meeeoowww.”

  “Yeah,” Dad hollered after him in a state of inebriated anger. “Get the hell outta here you furry little asshole.”

  Chapter Two

  Stanley ran so fast his own legs couldn’t keep up with him.

  He tumbled through the cat flap and launched into the back yard. As he flew through the air, he extended his front paws out and yelped as his claws scraped across the gravel.

  “Mwah!”

  He nearly crashed into the knee-high brick wall that barricaded the grass.

  After a second or two, he flipped on all fours and looked up at the night sky.

  The moon was full, and provided the only shimmer of light.

  But what a magnificent light it was.

  The blades of grass seemed to come alive in front of the shed at the far end of the yard.

  Stanley lifted his head to the moon, still reeling from the electrical shock he’d sustained in the house, and let out an ear-piercing howl.

  “Meeeeeoooooowwwwwww—whaaaaat?”

  Stanley blinked and spat out a ball of fur, and several clumps of chicken, which made the garden jump to life.

  “Wha—wha—” Stanley gasped, suddenly able to speak the bizarre language he’d heard the human use. “Whuh-whuh—Agghh.”

  A pair of yellow eyes blinked from the fence that separated their house from the one next door.

  Blink-blink.

  Stanley wiggled his nose and pressed his chin against the knee-high wall.

  “Bunny? Bunny, is that you?”

  Scritch—scritch.

  A fluffy, white-and-brown tail lifted out from the sea of green, and stretched up to meet the yellow eyes at the other end.

  Her name was Bunny. The beautiful tabby cat from next door, who sported a bountiful plume of fur on her back, hopped over the grass. “Yeah, it’s me. Stanley?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bunny butted heads with him as she spoke. “What are you doing out here this time of night?”

  If any human being had witnessed the exchange, all they’d hear would be a series of differently pitched conversational meows. But to Stanley and Bunny, everything said was understood without fail.

  “I’ve been living here three years, now, and I’ve had enough of the prick.”

  Bunny leaned on her butt, splayed her hind legs, and proceeded to clean her genitals with her tongue. “Prick? What’s a prick?”

  “Huh?”

  Stanley watched her clean herself and decided to lighten the mood, knowing full-well that he was about to launch a dastardly plan.

  “I can do that for you, if you like?” he joked.

  Bunny looked up from her wash and eyeballed him. “Piss off.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  She protected her modesty and swished her tail around. “What you got planned?”

  “You’re gonna find out,” Stanley said. “Everyone’s about to find out.”

  “Stanley, your eyes have turned a pissy kinda yellow. And I know what that means.”

  “What?”

  “You’re angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” Stanley said. “Just determined.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  The brave Bengal warrior crept forward with an intense anger. “No More Mr. Nice Pussy.”

  Another pair of eyes lifted out of the darkness blanketing the top of the shed. The stars in the night sky seemed to shift around as a transparent force pushed along the roof, and sat itself above the door.

  “Yo, Stan?”

  Stanley and Bunny looked up to see a gorgeous, athletic cat with fine white fur had called out to them.

  The moon illuminated the cat’s fur as he flapped his ears.

  “Hey, Terry,” Stanley said.

  “S’up, Stan?” the cat atop the roof hollered back. “Saw yo’ ass bustin’ outta the cat flap. What’s up?”

  “My male human. That’s what up.”

  “Aww, shit, fella,” Terry said. “What he do now, yo?”

  “He’s hitting my female human. And he tried to hit me.”

  Terry meowed with disapproval and waved his tail around. “That’s some messed-up shit right there. Yo’ fluffy ass want me to holler at my boys, man?”

  “Yeah. Bring ‘em out.”

  Terry turned around on the spot, dug his claws into the gutter, and meowed at the top of his lungs directly at the moon.

  Bunny wiggled her nose and turned to the cat flap. The light from the kitchen seeped through, underpinning a distant argument taking place deep within the bowels of Stanley’s house.

  “Are you sure about this, Stan?”

  “Sure, I’m sure.”

  Bunny frowned and lowered her head. “It’s just that, we play with them, but we never hurt them.”

  “Screw ‘em,” Stanley said. “If getting fed means I have to put up with his bullsh
it, I’d rather starve. And I’m fed up with bringing him trophies.”

  “You’re fed up with bringing him trophies?”

  “Yeah,” Stanley said. “He doesn’t deserve them. Frogs, mice, rats, whatever I can find. Screw him. He can go hunt his own roadkill.”

  Before long, Terry’s friends pervaded the backyard.

  Sweep, a half-Persian, black-and-white fuzzball with sharp claws, and a Burmese old man named Zephyr, with half his tail missing.

  “Hey, guys.”

  “Hey.”

  The rest of the felines were an assorted mix of every conceivable breed, size, and color; all residents of Chrome Valley, and all eager to help.

  All thirty of them.

  It seemed every cat on this quiet road in Chrome Valley had turned up to help.

  Black stood up and clapped his paws together, getting all the cats’ undivided attention. “Yo, listen up. This is my boy, Stanley. He’s the man, y’all. He needs our help, so y’all fluffy little asses is gonna listen to what he says.”

  Suddenly thrust into the spotlight, and the center of an ocean of blinking feline eyeballs, Stanley braved his announcement.

  “Hey, everyone.”

  No response; just forlorn, expectant looks came his way.

  “Uh, see, I got this issue. My male human is being a twat. He got me electrified, and nearly killed me. And we need to teach him a lesson.”

  Stanley raced through the grass and climbed up the door of the shed. He swung back and forth from the handle as he spoke to everyone.

  “In here. We need to get some shit, so we can screw his shit up. Help.”

  Bob, the white tomcat, bolted forward and scratched his way up the wall. “Yeah, man. Whaddya need?”

  “Hang with me, Bob.”

  Zephyr and Sweep ran up to the shed and pounced against the door, adding significant pull to the handle.

  Creeaaakkk.

  “It’s working, it’s working,” Stanley yelped as the handle folded downward. “More pressure.”

  One by one, the remainder of the cats jumped in the air and clung to Sweep’s foot who, in turn, hung from Zephyr’s who, in turn, hung from Stanley’s.

  “Okay, I think it’s opening! Pull, pull, pull.”

  Creaaaak—clunk.

  Bunny settled on the wall as she watched the door unbolt its housing and swing out. “Woohoo! You go, Stanley!”

  All the cats meowed with excitement as the shed light snapped on, and Stanley led the charge inside.

  Terry followed his friend into the shed and marveled at the setup. “Shit, Stan. Is this your human’s get-up?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  “Damn.”

  A lawn mower.

  Exercise machines.

  Powers tools and drills.

  A giant, blue tarp big enough to cover a car…

  …and an as-yet-unused pile of house bricks.

  The shed was replete with an array of potential weapons. But Stanley had his eye on one specific tool: the skipping rope.

  “There.”

  Zephyr and Sweep followed Stanley’s paw over to the rope and nosed around each end.

  “This?” Sweep asked. “What about it?”

  “You and Zephyr are gonna use it.”

  “Why us?”

  Stanley said. “Because I trust you. Hey, you remember when I asked you to shit in the Pickford’s house, over at number 47, because they were being a pain in the ass and always complaining about us using their yard as a sunbathing lounge?”

  Zephyr’s eyes grew as he listened. “Yeah?”

  “Well, it’s kinda like that. We’re gonna get revenge. And I trust you, and nobody else.”

  By now, many of the cats had entered the shed and heard what had been said.

  “Okay, guys, listen up,” Stanley said. “Here’s the plan…”

  The End

  “Hey, Dad. Wake up.”

  The inebriated, snoring man shifted around on the sofa in an attempt to fight off the fine fur brushing against him, and opened his bleary eyes. “Huh?”

  A pair of vicious-looking eyes stared right into his. “I said wake the hell up, wife-beater.”

  “J-Jesus Christ—”

  “—Shut the hell up.”

  Poised on his Dad’s chest, Stanley slashed the man across his cheek with his four claws.

  The skin tore apart and bled up a storm.

  “Now, how do you like it, asshole?”

  Dad clutched the half-consumed Rollneck Kojak bottle and went to strike Stanley with it.

  “Why, you little—”

  “—Come get me, you drunk dickhead.”

  Stanley hopped off the man’s chest and onto the floor, narrowly missing the swipe from the bottle.

  Dad climbed to his feet and chased after the furry little creature as it ran toward the kitchen.

  “Get back here.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” Stanley quipped as he raced by the kitchen door. “I got this.”

  “What—” she asked, as she saw her husband whizz past the door. “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I’m gonna kick this rodent’s furry ass to the moon and back.”

  “Ha!”

  Stanley screeched on his paws and turned around to deliver the best attempt at a middle claw at the man. “What you waiting for, ass-hat? Come and get me.”

  “Oh, I will, you fluffy little shit, don’t you worry about that.”

  Stanley giggled, evilly, swung around and bolted for the back door—and headed right for the cat flap.

  “Zephyr, Sweep, now.”

  Fling.

  Stanley barrel-rolled through the cat flap, landed on his feet in the backyard, and pounced over the knee-high wall.

  He scrambled to his paws next to Bunny and watched Zephyr and Sweep pull the two ends of the skipping rope taught.

  Spring.

  “What are we doing?” Bunny asked.

  “Watch.”

  Rumble-rumble-rumble…

  The footsteps thundered toward the back door, picking up the pace.

  Whump.

  It swung in and smashed against the inner wall, just as Dad sprinted out into the backyard. “Where are you, you little—”

  Trip.

  Dad’s left shin caught the skipping rope. “Agh!”

  He somersaulted on the spot, ass-over-chest, and smashed to the ground, head-first.

  Spatch.

  “Whoa, daammnn,” Terry said, as he watched from the shed roof. “That’s messed up.”

  The rest of the cats, including Zephyr, Sweep, Stanley, and Bunny, all yelped as they watched Dad’s face slam against the raised tarp sprawling away from the back door.

  His face had hit the knee-high wall underneath, and busted most of his teeth clean out of his head.

  “Wuughhh.”

  Dad rolled onto his back and coughed up a mound of blood. “Wh-whuh—?”

  “—How does it feel, asshole?” Stanley said. “Oh, what’s the matter? Can’t you speak? Can’t you say no? Can’t you say Please, don’t hit me?”

  Dad groaned as he writhed around on his back in complete and utter agony. The tarp underneath him shifted up and down as he tried in vain to claw his way out.

  “You, y-you f-f—”

  “—Okay, guys,” Stanley said. “Wrap him up.”

  Dad gasped through his bloodied mouth, paralyzed both physically and in utter fear. “Whuh—whuh—?”

  Zephyr and Sweep, and scores of others, pushed their front paws on Dad’s side and rolled him over, and over, and over…with the tarp wrapped around him.

  “What are you d-doing?”

  “Shut up,” Stanley roared as he watched his Dad disappear. “Be a good little boy and stay.”

  Bonnie butted the brick away from the blue sheet as the others rolled Dad into his makeshift plastic giro.

  Terry hopped off the shed, and raced over to the backyard gate. He kicked his hind leg up and blasted right into the iron railings.
<
br />   “Opening the gate now, yo.”

  “Cool, man,” Stanley said, before turning to the freshly-wrapped man in a tarp with the bricks inside. “Right, lift the bastard up.”

  Zephyr and Sweep pressed their chest to the ground and slithered under the top end of the wrapped man.

  Once under, several of their friends joined them, and lifted the head-end up on their backs.

  “Jeez, this bastard’s heavy,” Zephyr said.

  “I know,” Sweep replied. “All that beer, probably.”

  Terry hopped up and down and meowed. “Over here, guys. C’mon.”

  Around thirty cats pulled the other end of the tarp up from the bottom and middle sections, and helped Zephyr and Sweep lead the way to the gate.

  Stanley and Bunny raced ahead and caught up to Terry.

  “Yo, Stan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are we taking the dude?”

  “The Matthews Bridge.”

  Terry bolted into the back alley and looked out for any sign of trouble. Apart from a few puddles, dumpsters and trash cans, everything seemed quiet.

  “All clear.”

  “Good. Come on, let’s go.”

  A few minutes later, and the thirty-strong gang of bad-ass pussies were on the main road carrying the tarp-wrapped bad man toward his fate.

  Stanley marched forward with Bunny on his arm.

  The smog-laden Matthews Bridge loomed twenty feet away in the distance, lit up by several street lamps.

  “Quiet tonight, huh?” Bunny said.

  “Yeah. Just the way I like it,” Stanley said. “Hey, maybe after this we can hump each other?”

  Bunny smiled at Stanley, and smirked. “Maybe.”

  Terry hopped up and down and waved the others up the sidewalk. “Okay, nearly there.”

  “I’m getting t-tired, man,” Zephyr said. “I think I’ve got the geezer’s shoulder digging in my spine.”

  “Aw, stop being such a pussy, it’s only a few more feet,” Sweep said. “I’m managing just fine.”

  “Okay, how about you let me lick your head when we’re done?” Zephyr asked. “Seeing as it’s so damn easy?”

  “My pleasure. I could use the massage.”