PA 3.5: End of a Tail

Purrfect Apawcalypse: Spectrofurobia! Chapter 3

Like icy sparks, the cool tingle of metal against Patches' forehead let him focus on something else as the headache he had been nursing all day slowly pulsed back and forth. His paws flexed and clenched involuntarily to clear the aching stress pains, digging his claws into his paw pads while he imagined jabbing each of the sharp bits into Angel's throat and tearing it in half.

Leaning against his- Angel's locker felt so wrong. Once, he might have coo'd in twisted delight at being so close to the personal effects of his obsession, it now was just a reminder of his failures and his position as an unlovable enemy of the world. He showered for a whole day straight and drenched himself in foul-smelling cologne, but nothing kept the smell of Angel's fur off of him for long- it irritated him.

"Hey there Angel!"

Patches grumbled. His thoughts seized, and his migraine doubled at hearing the lispy, confident voice of the most popular pink-haired cat in school, short of Mitt. His eyes lazily swivelled towards the siamese, taking in Whisk's light blush and charismatic demeanour. He tilted his head towards the cat in recognition, but nothing else.

"Oogh, not feeling too well today, are we?" Whisk commented, smoothly leaning against the locker next to Patches' with an outstretched arm. "You know, you could have the nurse take a look at that- or maybe I could, if you'd want~"

Patches stared straight ahead, headache pounding at the flirt, rage building in his core before it subsided with the understanding that the white siberian couldn't do anything to him.

After a brief pause, Whisk began to play with the fur near his lower lip, one eye addled and the other softly shut. The siamese stared on with a smirk as Patches groaned out a sigh, fiddled with the combo lock on his locker, and then threw it open. He jumped when a pile of sludge leaked from the locker and onto his feet, coating them in a greasy chunky foul-smelling substance Patches recognized as cheap, offal and wheat-based dog food. It was the same substance dripping from half-opened tins onto his binders and homework he had taken from Hachiko, but more importantly, onto the books he was reading. Pages were torn, and the goop sandwiched in their place, staining the pages that were some of his only possessions.

"Heh, what? Did you spill your lunch or something, Angel?" Whisk snarked. Patches' head snapped, fixated on the cat's face. "Actually, that reminds me- speaking of things that are full of shit, remember how you stole Angel's body and tried to get your own back? Well, the magic club had a good discussion this morning..."

Patches could barely hear the annoying tick chattering before him. He was consumed with just staring blankly into his smug eyes, pricking at his skin with his claws to try and force himself to calm down and stay in reality.

"See, Coco came to us with some news- it turns out, Felix told us about the idea you had to switch your bodies, and Ginger even offered a lock of her hair, for Angel's sake.

"Naturally, I was excited, finally, to have things set right, and for justice to be served. Mitt prepared the ritual, Coco arrived, and then she told us the damndest little thing-"

Whisk leaned forward, providing shade for Patches. The siberian white kept staring, unmoved by the story or the taunting.

"See, Coco told us that he- Angel, doesn't want to have his body back. He wants to stay like this, apparently forever. That's how much he hates you."

Dullness turned to widened eyes and a racing heartbeat. Patches was dead inside a moment ago, but these words- this harassment, he wouldn't tolerate it, he didn't have to.

The cat stared down, smug and upset, sadistic smile forming as he watched Patches' face curl and contort with rage. He leaned back and tilted his chin up, keeping his sharp eyes on the cat and letting a low chuckle rumble up from his chest.