Rotten Little Animals

by Kevin Shamel

  Scaredy and Stripey bounded to the backyard.

  Stinkin’ Rat stalked into the backyard, leaving a trail of pellet-turds as he walked.

  They filmed the zombie-cat blood and guts scenes while Dirty Bird sat in the tall cedar and whined to himself about his dumb luck. He didn’t see the lady walking her poodles stop right below him and stare at the zombie-cats tearing up guts in her neighbor’s backyard, and the zoo-crew filming it.

  But he did shit on her—stinking fear and vodka bird shit—and since the lady was heavily medicated and thoroughly disgusted, she staggered off vomiting on her dogs (who had to pretend like they didn’t know what the fuck was going on) and forgot the whole thing about the zombie-cats and camera-chickens.

  They stopped shooting for the day half an hour before the homeowner was due back.

  “I want all the zombie-cat extras to come back to the studio!” shouted Stinkin’.

  The kid was conscious when the film crew crowded into their van with the zombie-cats.

  He screamed behind the duct tape plastered across his mouth. Filthy Pig raised a hammy hoof, and the boy stopped screaming. His eyes went wide.

  “Get us out of here,” said Stinkin’ Rat.

  Filthy Pig donned his flannel shirt and stocking cap. The pig played human and steered ‘n’ geared with a handicapped conversion kit.

  They drove to their hideout.

  “Of course we can kill it. It’s all we can do. It’s what we have to do.” Stinkin’ Rat paced the plush carpet in his office. “Shit, Filthy’ll kill the kid and eat it. Right, Pig?”

  Filthy squealed his leprous laughter.

  Julio twitched his nose.

  Stinkin’ said, “Aw, come on, I’d have a nibble. Don’t tell me you don’t like human, Julio.”

  “It’s not that I don’t like human. I just choose not to eat it. I certainly don’t choose to be a party to murder. Even if it is a human boy.”

  Filthy Pig laughed harder.

  Stripey snickered, and Scaredy looked at him as if he were shocked, though he wasn’t at all, because he’d certainly shared a homo-flavored snack with his feline friend. More than once.

  Stinkin’ put his paw on Julio’s shoulder. “Well, regardless of your tastes, we have to kill that boy. It’s the law. It saw way too much. Fuckin’ Dirty Bird said way too much. But what’s done is done. We eat it.”

  Julio shook his father off. “I’m not eating any of that kid. And the law says we turn him over to the authorities, not that we kill him ourselves.”

  “But that involves paperwork. And again, cops on the scene. That means we’ll be shut down. Filming will halt. It’s so much easier to just eat the little fucker. Everybody does it.”

  “I don’t think anyone should eat that kid,” Itsy piped up from the doorway.

  Stinkin’ Rat narrowed his tiny marble eyes. “Why do you say that, Itsy? You seem to be the hungriest of us all.” The rat smiled a yellow smile.

  Filthy Pig snorted.

  Itsy laughed a short doggish laugh. “Oh, I’m hungry, all right. But not for little boy. My cravings are for much more than the tender flesh of a young man-thing.”

  The Yorkie jumped up on a chair. He said, “I’ve been thinking since we nabbed that kid. Thinking about a screenplay. A story about a bunch of animals that kidnap a human. I know it’s been done. But it’s never been done with a human kid acting the part of the kidnapped human. And I have ideas for a script already. Something edgy and realistic. Maybe about a film crew that kidnaps a kid.” Itsy’s big brown eyes widened. He stared down at Stinkin’.

  “Shh. Let me think.” Stinkin’ stood looking at Itsy for a long, quiet moment.

  The room was silent.

  The cats reclined in the corner. Itsy stood watching Stinkin’ Rat. Julio implored his father with his eyes. Filthy Pig farted silently. The only tell was his flaring nostrils.

  “I fucking love it!” the director/producer/kidnapper exclaimed.

  “What?” asked Julio as if he’d just been wakened from a dream.

  “Boss?” asked Scaredy.

  The rat said, “It’ll make us completely fucking legendary! Itsy, my boy, you’re my writer. Bang that shit out, and let’s make a movie!”

  Julio looked from Itsy to his father. “Dad, are you serious? Are you thinking at all? Do you realize what that would entail? We can’t ask the kid to act in our movie. It’s illegal.”

  The elder rat smiled wickedly down at his son. “We don’t have to ask the kid to act. We kidnapped it.” He poked his son in the chest. “And since when have you worried about what’s legal and what’s not?”

  Julio waved his paws. “It’s the only real crime there is! We’ll be put to death! We’re already fucked, as far as we’ve come with this. We should have left him unconscious on location. No human would have believed him, even if he’d been dumb enough to tell anyone about an English speaking animal film crew—a, a, smoking bird and a foul-mouthed rat! Or we should have had him taken care of legally. But we put him in the van. And he’s still in there! We have to figure out what to do with him so he won’t talk, and it’s not put him on the payroll. He’s a human!”

  Itsy said, “It’s either that or kill him. Like you said, he’s a human. It’s the law.”

  Julio narrowed his eyes at Itsy.

  Stinkin’ told the room, “Look, Itsy’s right. We either have to kill the kid or make a deal with it. We’ll tell it the whole score—secret animal society, underground cinema, everything. We’ll tell it that we want to make a movie with it, and that if it goes along with us and keeps our secret, we’ll let it go.

  “And we’ll tell every other animal that the kid is a fucking robot that Itsy, our genius FX dog, came up with. We’ll say that we destroyed it after filming so that no one could steal it. Or that it caught on fire or walked off down the street, bumping into baby strollers and asking for a dollar or some shit. It’ll work. Otherwise we blow a chance at something huge. And kill the boy.”

  Julio said, “I don’t like it, Dad. If we get caught, we’re dead. And it’s not up to us to kill the child.”

  Filthy Pig said, “We’ll need everyone sworn to secrecy. Even the clucking chickens.”

  Stinkin’ rat smiled a nasty smile. “Oh, no problem with that, Pig. You’re all under contract—everyone.”

  Itsy said, “This will work.”

  The cats stared at each other.

  Stinkin’ Rat said, “Julio, get the whole crew in here.”

  After a few hours of discussion, misinterpretation of animal-law, reminders about contracts, some name calling and general abuse—everyone’s favorite being when Filthy Pig said to Dirty Bird, “Get a fucking sphincter, bird.”— the animals determined that they would indeed make a film about a film crew kidnapping a human child, with the human child they’d kidnapped playing the part of the kidnapped child.

  Everyone wanted a raise. The zombie-cat extras all wanted parts in the kidnapping movie and individual credits in the original zombie film when it was finished. Stripey and Scaredy wanted a month more vacation time per year added to their contracts. Dirty Bird wanted more vodka. Everyone told him to shut up.

  Stinkin’ called a meeting with Itsy to start on the script. He sent the rats to get some food and announced that there would be a production meeting in an hour or two.

  It fell upon Julio to approach the human. Scaredy and Stripey went with him to the van.

  The van was parked in what functioned as the crew’s garage—once three rooms in the basement of a burned-down church on the outskirts of town. Most humans didn’t know the tangle of trees and vines had ever been a building. The ones who explored never knew about the basement. Because it was hidden. Which meant it was dark. And no one had left on a light in the garage.

  Scaredy Cat flipped on the lights. The van started rocking.

  Stripey opened the back door of the van. It creaked loudly, echoing in the wide room.

  Julio hopped inside.

  The
boy shrieked and scooted to the front. The van smelled like pee.

  “Oh, yuck,” said Scaredy, arriving at the back door.

  “I know,” said Stripey.

  “It’s okay, kid.” Julio stepped further into the shadows toward the boy.

  The kid started kicking.

  Julio dove out of the way. He shit as he rolled, and little beads of rat poop bumped across the bare floor of the van.

  “Hey!” yelled Stripey, leaping into the van and onto the boy’s heaving chest. He sunk his claws in deep until the kid was shrieking spit from the sides of the tape across his mouth. “Stop kicking!”

  The boy stopped kicking.

  The cat took his claws out of the boy’s skin. “That’s better. Now listen to Julio. And don’t you move.”

  The rat approached the boy. “I’m going to take the tape off your mouth. Please don’t scream. It won’t matter if you do, no one will hear you but us. And it will only bother us. Nod if you agree to keep quiet.”

  The kid’s eyes grew wider than they already were. He nodded vigorously.

  Julio ripped off the tape.

  The kid yelled, “Help! Help!”

  “Calm down,” said Julio. He tore at the tape binding the boy’s wrists.

  “You’re a rat! You can’t talk!”

  “Calm down. It’s okay.” Julio freed his hands.

  The boy passed out. He came around quickly. Tears streamed down the little human’s freckled cheeks. “What’s happening?”

  Julio removed the tape from the boy’s ankles. He asked over his shoulder, “Scaredy, could you get the kid something to drink?”

  The cat nodded and took off.

  The boy rubbed his wrists, glaring at Julio and Stripey.

  The rat moved to the open door of the van. “Come on over and sit on the bumper. Scaredy’ll be back with something to drink.” He patted the corrugated floor.

  The kid shuffled to the door and kicked his feet over the bumper. “What’s happening?” He peered into the lighted room.

  Stripey slipped past and dropped to the floor.

  Julio looked up at the kid and asked, “What’s your name?”

  The boy looked down at the rat. “Cage.”

  “Well that’s a shitty name,” quipped the cat.

  Julio said, “Well, Cage. I’m Julio. This is Stripey.”

  Cage nodded, wiping tears from his eyes.

  Scaredy Cat came into the room pushing a cart with a mug and carafe on it.

  “Here ya go, kid,” Scaredy announced. He dropped to all fours and let the cart roll into Cage’s knees.

  “Ouch!” Cage righted the carafe and poured brown liquid into the mug.

  Everyone watched him take a sip.

  “What is it?” asked Julio.

  “Cold coffee,” answered Scaredy.

  Cage drank down a mug. He spit grounds from the tip of his tongue and poured another cup.

  “There was no water?” Stripey asked.

  Scaredy shrugged.

  “How can you talk?” Cage stared at the cats.

  “Well, we open up our little mouths and words come right out. How do you talk, human child?” Stripey sashayed in a circle, purring girl-style.

  Julio said, “All animals can speak.”

  Cage looked around at the animals. “No you can’t. Your brains are too small.”

  Stripey jumped onto the boy’s lap, knocking away the cup of cold coffee. He put his face up to Cage’s. “It’s not the size of your brain, it’s how much of it you use. Asshole.”

  “What do you mean we can’t?” asked Julio. “We’re talking to you right now.”

  The kid leaned backward, trying to get away from the leering cat. Stripey rode him down to the floor of the van. “I hit my head. This isn’t real. I’m hallucinating.”

  “What do you know about hallucinating?” asked Scaredy Cat, joining his friends in the van. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “I’m twelve. I watch TV, that’s what I know about hallucinating.”

  Stripey jumped off the kid’s chest, digging his claws in for launching. He and Scaredy hopped out of the van.

  “Ow!” Cage sat up. “Anyway, you animals might really be here, or you might not. You definitely can’t talk. I’m going to leave now.” He slid to the floor.

  Stripey climbed the boy’s jeans and t-shirt. He dug his claws into the kid’s abdomen.

  Cage screamed and flailed at the cat. Stripey scrambled onto the boy’s back. He gripped a hunk of scalp, hooked his rear claws into the hollows of the kid’s collarbone, and put a paw across one of his eyes—flexing his little needle-nails into tender eyelid skin to make his point. Cage stopped flailing.

  “Just sit down!” yelled Julio.

  Cage sat on the floor, in the puddle of coffee.

  Stripey let go of the boy, whispering into his ear, “How’s that for real?” He jumped off him.

  Scaredy said, “Just be cool, Cage.”

  The boy rubbed at the bleeding claw-pricks on his head and shoulders.

  Julio stood in the back of the van. He said, “Cage, we’ve got a problem. You see, animals can talk. It’s the biggest secret in the world. We stopped talking to humans a very long time ago. So long ago that you all forgot we could. We did that on purpose. We want you to think we’re dumb. It’s a trick we’re playing on you.

  “See, if a human finds out that we speak, if they find out that we drive vans, and make movies, and steal humans’ drugs, and trade in bestiality, and basically do countless things in the world that any human does not know we do, we usually kill that human.”

  The boy tensed—eyes widening.

  “If that’s what we were going to do to you, Cage, you’d be dead already. Relax. You see, we all have a problem. All of us.” Julio began to pace along the edge of the van. “You may or may not have noticed that we are a film crew. You stumbled onto our shooting location.”

  “That bird!” Cage looked from animal to animal, remembering his neighbor’s backyard. Remembering the chickens with cameras and the smoking bird.

  “Yes. Dirty Bird. He was a little drunk. Anyway, it’s the law that we call the cops if a human finds out that we can talk. It’s THE law. We don’t have any other laws, really. Law of the Jungle, I guess. That and, ‘Never ever ever, no matter fucking what, let a human know about any of this shit I just told you about’. That’s basically it. For breaking that law, animals get death.”

  The rat stopped and stared at the boy. “Get what I’m sayin’?”

  Cage shook his head no.

  “We broke the law. You’re alive.”

  Cage sat for a minute and thought. Finally he shrugged.

  Julio looked to the cats. They shook their heads.

  Julio said, “We want to make a movie, Cage. With you as the star. We want to make a movie about us kidnapping you. And when we’re done, we’ll let you go. But you have to promise to never tell anyone—no humans, and especially no animals.

  “You can’t tell a single person that you had anything to do with the movie. You can’t tell them that animals talk, or where you were for however long it takes us to shoot the film… If an animal finds out about this, they’ll have you killed. And if they find out we didn’t call the cops on you, we’ll be killed. You have to swear to secrecy. That will keep all of us alive. My dad, the crew boss, says he’ll kill you if you don’t agree. And he will, Cage. He will.”

  “Then he’ll eat you,” added Stripey.

  Julio glared at Stripey.

  Cage grimaced. “You want to make a movie with me in it?”

  Julio nodded.

  The cats, flanking Cage, nodded.

  “Yes. We want to make a movie where you play a kidnapped kid. And we’re the kidnappers.”

  “But I’m not really kidnapped?”

  Julio looked at Cage’s big brown eyes. He looked to the cats. They shrugged.

  “Nope. You’re not really kidnapped. You’re an actor, that’s all.”

  �
��Okay,” Cage said. “Can I get something to eat?”

  Cage was led into the room, seated at a very low table and served an old warm Coke. He waved around the table at the assorted animals. They sat on cushioned stools. Cage sat on the rug. He still thought he might wake up, or that the animals might all disappear. Or at least they’d stop talking. But the rat introduced him.

  “Okay. Everyone, this is Cage. Cage, this is everyone. You’ll get their names later. Everybody welcome our new actor.” Stinkin’ nearly managed to say the word, actor without smirking.

  Cage jumped when Filthy Pig snorted loudly at his introduction.

  Dirty Bird raised his head from inside a martini glass. “Hiya, kid.” He pooped over the edge of the table.

  Rats murmured. Chickens tittered and shit on the floor. The actor cats ignored everyone and dug into a bowl of tuna liver.

  Itsy said, “Pleased to meet you, Cage.”

  The gang of zombie-cats stared from the corner. Some ate from buckets filled with something raw and bloody.

  “Have some food, Cage.” Stinkin’ waved his paw at the table.

  Cage picked up an ear of corn.

  “Not my corn!” screamed Filthy Pig from across the table.

  The boy dropped the corn.

  Julio handed him an apple. “Here, kid.”

  Stinkin’ climbed atop a drafting bench near his chair at the head of the table. He cleared his throat and let the chatter subside.

  “All right, everyone, we’re at work. Itsy’s writin’ the script. He’s got a few scenes done already, and I like it. Basically, as far as the filming schedule goes, we’re already filming.” He motioned to cameras planted around the room.

  Animals looked around, commenting on the cameras and the angles and the fact that some of them had noticed that they were on, and some hadn’t. The chickens, having set up the room, clucked loudest.

  Stinkin’ continued, “We’re going at this from a reality angle. Hidden cameras, shaky-wing camera action. Itsy’s got this great idea for human-view angles and such. But what that means is, we’d like to keep everyone in character as much as possible.” He surveyed the table.