The meadow glows pale under the majestic moon, plains of mist tumbling and swirling elegantly among the depths of intertwining branches. Some way into the thick mystical undergrowth a stream was trickling silently as a ticking clock. Beneath the furtive shrubbery, untouched by human hand; sat, alert, an anxious stoat. Its eyes flicker back and forth, darting from tree to tree. Paws shaking nervously; Crumpet tilts his head.
The meeting had just let out, and everyone would make their way back to their home. Crumpet was lucky really, some of them had to travel miles just to be there, those on the outskirts of each region. A few turned up late, stalked in and crouched at the back. Fluffy was one of them, he was from a village near by.
'Bastard decided to give me a bath five minutes before I was meant to set off' she had uttered under her breath, 'just licked my coat clean this morning too… I hate that flowery shit they put on me, tastes bloody awful and it's a bugger to get off…' He shook his head vigorously, the crowd turned to look at him as his jingling collar disturbed the silence.
'Shhhh.' Crumpet hissed.
'And they bloody wonder why I object… got a fucking smack for clawing them, yet they make me smell like a frigging prick who's been rolling around in lavender or something… Jeez if calling me fluffy doesn't do enough for my masculinity in the first place…'
Fluffy pawed his whiskers back and sighed.
The speaker at the front of the crowd was an aged hedgehog, at 9 years old he had only lived to the age of an infant tortoise, but apparently you gain experience quicker the shorter your life expectancy. Something like that anyway.
Gavin was one of the very few of them who got to name themselves, you have to wonder what kind of a hedgehog he had to be to voluntarily call himself Gavin… He stood hunched upon a tree stump, spewing matters of great importance. Those in the crowd listening, wide-eyed at what he had to say. Gavin glared to the back of the crowd as another badger sneaked through the trees and squatted at the back. He sighed, mid sentence. '…Right then, any more late comers? Would you like me to start over? How about I give you a minute to settle in as well? Would a large popcorn and a Pepsi suit you fine?' He yelled, laced with sarcasm.
The poor badger stared, startled. 'Right then,' Gavin yelled before continuing, somehow even managing to remember exactly where he was. A moment later he stopped, once again eyes fixed upon the entrance to the opening in the wood. The crowd sighed.
'Look, if you can't make it on time just don't bother coming at all…'
Some of the domesticated animals had a tendency to refer to Gavin as John Cleese, Fluffy didn't know who this was but imagined it may have been some kind of fascist dictator.
The meeting had eventually ended. And despite several interruptions Fluffy had found it to be a lot to worry about, that was why he was sat, alone in his home, a somewhat depressed stoat.
Fluffy made his way home unhappily. The meeting hadn't had quite the same impact on him as it had on Crumpet; after all he wasn't one for prioritising matters of great importance highly. The bit that got him most was that he had to pass the message on to those who couldn't make it. He wasn't a people cat, let alone a dog cat.
'Bloody dogs… "Domesticated animals who are unable attend" …' He mimicked Gavin sorely. 'So I have to go out of my way just too bloody let them know that Project DaveDavid Fortesque III is the cat who runs the mission; his real name becomes apparent in chapter 3: Wiggles Fumblesworth III. His alias is actually the name of his owner, a lord, who is, in fact remarkably similar to Wiggles in many ways, not only is he cunning and astonishingly intelligent, but he is also vibrantly ginger… and enjoys relieving himself in the garden. starts on Friday. It's their own bloody fault they couldn't make it, shoulda been born cats…' he mumbled. Canine discrimination was popular among high class cats. Funny how most humans assume the 'No Dogs' signs in parks were put up by the council or something.
Some way away, in one of such parks, gathered a group of feline outlaws, members of the Major Mafia. These were organised criminals who had watched the godfather and Scarface while sat upon their owners lap one too many times. However their only actual crime was that they were organised; a ban on civilisation was the only law the animal kingdom was allowed, besides the second law... there are to be no laws beside that one. A parrot named Hubert Cradle once pointed out that this concept was paradoxical. He was shot for organised thought.
'I know we've been in the business for a while boss, but I…' He looked around the crowd, '…we think we need to develop some pseudonyms,' nervously muttered the skinniest and scraggiest of the cats.
The largest of the cats' gaze panned the group, they averted their eyes uncomfortably. The boss was glimmering white with long yet manageable fur.
'Is that right?' He asked pleasantly.
'S'right boss.' They added in unison, feeling mildly reassured by his tone of voice.
'So you're telling me… that the name my own mother gave me… is… unsuitable?' He stated calmly.
There was a pause, 'Well…' A smaller yet equally chunky and well groomed cat uttered.
'Well!?' The boss raised his voice.
'Not unsuitable boss,' another stepped in. 'There's nothing wrong, sir, with the name… Muffin…' A few members struggled to keep from laughing. 'Only, if we want to be discrete about this whole thing… maybe we should have… you know... an alias.'
The group nodded.
'Oh!?' He ascertained. 'Very well then. What do you propose I am referred to as?'
'Snuggles?' one suggested.
David Fortesque III was a spoilt house cat, much to her dismay. She was picked out of a litter of six by her master's somewhat sadistic wife, whose knowledge of David's quick attachment to pets and hatred of her husband led to the conclusion that buying a cat, then poisoning it, would be a pleasant and exciting way to entertain her self. Due to a series of complex and well calculated manoeuvres on young David(the kitten)'s behalf of which I won't go into detail however, Mrs Fortesque wound up drinking that fateful bowl of milk before presenting her last word to an empty room: 'That's one bloody persuasive kitten.'
Unfortunately however for young David, (who's knowledge of human affairs was not quite perfected) she had not quite apprehended the full scale of her actions, and her dearly loved master found to be the only person in the house while his adulterous wife was poisoned, wound up in a cell.
It was however to David's advantage that she found herself with a large empty home inhabited by only twice a day for five minutes or so by a plump woman bearing cat food. Although David appreciated this offering she was not one for greed or materialistic values, and so only ate what was required to sustain life, offering what was left to the strays that had a tendency to 'visit' around about the time Gerty came to call each day. They had a tendency to arrive, act in an obnoxious manner while shamelessly stealing food, then leave, stopping only to show their gratitude through a stream of piss down the back wall. And that was just the humans.
Fluffy made his way over the last fence he would have to climb on the way home with great appreciation as he wasn't the slimmest or most muscular of cats, let alone in the slightest bit enthusiastic about the prospect of (as a cat) having the privilege of the ability to travel mostly as the crow flies. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of an idiot crow would fly anywhere when they could sit on the roof of a truck anyway. At any rate he would prefer to pay a friend to barge the bloody things down than have to jump the bastards. As he walked away from the farmland into the depressing glow of small town civilisation he continued to mutter incessantly to himself about the high expectations people seemed to have with regards too the effort he would contribute to trivial matters such as preventing the decline of life on Earth. He was much more interested in what he was having for tea. And so he stopped to wonder about this.
He plodded down the dimly lit road, enjoying a good old game of 'road swill' along the way. The game is popular among rebellious young cats and a few bored adolescents, comprising of a quick dash across the road, projectile root vegetables, a cats' judgement upon which drivers look to hold morals (and would actually stop the car at the prospect of mutilating a cat), and a look of sheer terror as said driver discovers the cat they just ran over to be a squashed turnip. An alternative and more sadistic two player version of the game is played with annoying family members or enemies. It was a hobby he had recently perfected and vastly enjoyed participating in. It wasn't long before he reached his warm country home and walked impressively hard directly into a locked cat door. He pulled himself up and had a quick look to check no-one was looking before brushing himself down a bit and continuing round to the front of the house. He was blushing internally, metaphorically of course.
As Fred looked down into the garden next door he observed next doors large mangy looking cat, who for a lack of a better term he would describe as 'foomfy'. The cat walked smack into a cat flap, much to Fred's amusement, and seemed to look considerably embarrassed about it as well. It was this kind of thing that led him to believe cats were more intelligent than we think…
In actuality however it is dogs that are more intelligent, so much so that they act like idiots. This I consider also to be true of George Bush… well at least the latter I think applies here.
It's well known in the animal kingdom that the stupider the animal seems, the more intelligent, and, or the better they are at deceiving others. Cats, you see, are particularly bad at disguising their intellect, and as a result appear intelligent to humans. The same can be said of most primates and dolphins. Dogs on the other hand are one of the most intelligent species, holding the ability to communicate with many other species, fully understand the workings of human society, and conceal their techniques flawlessly.
Cats however possess too great a consciousness of their dignity, and often allow this to be expressed in their behaviour. As a result it appears to most humans that cats do perhaps have some concept of social embarrassment, where as dogs are indeed slobbering morons. Cats tend to use this too their advantage, and for one of many reasons use this as a justification for considering themselves superior. Failing to realise however, that due to the general consensus that appearing stupid to humans was the best way to go, by seeming intelligent, they appear to the rest of the animal kingdom not only idiots, but absolute twats.