Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 22

Heartbreak was only the beginning of Catsby's incredible tale. After Dandelion ran away in tears, he made up his mind. He would prove his worth to her. He would find a way to support them both, and—most importantly—do so without removing his fursuit.

The task wasn't as impossible as it seemed. Dozens of animals had made their own way in the world over the years. Some ran for political office, like Stubbs, a cat elected mayor of a small Alaskan town in 1997. Catsby wasn't very politically minded. No, he decided the likeliest route to success as an animal would be as an actor. While he may have passed for a cat in the window, he knew that he still had much to learn before he could pass as one on the big screen. There was one furry who'd made his way in the fleshie world without removing his fursuit, and he'd done it in Hollywood. Sir Catrick Stewart. Catsby would find him.

Before he could leave the pet store behind, a bearded and bespectacled gentleman approached him. "Hello, little kitty cat. My name is Doctor Schwing. What is your name?"

Catsby cocked his head and stared at the man.

"Oh, don't be shy," Dr. Schwing said. "I only wish to parley with you."

"I'm afraid I don't know the meaning of that word," Catsby said, embarrassed at his lack of culture. Petty continued napping.

"I mean, my good cat, I only wish to speak with you. Just a moment of your time."

Catsby shrugged. He had nothing else to do. Plus, this man was the first upright ape who'd understood his meows. "My name is Jay Z. Catsby."

Dr. Schwing clapped maniacally. "Excellent, excellent. What an amazing name for a kitten. Tell me, dear Catsby, were you born to a mother on the grounds of a factory farm? Do you remember a barn, perhaps?"

"My brother here might. What kind of doctor are you?"

"The only type that matters to you and your kind," Dr. Schwing said. "A veterinarian."

A chill ran down Catsby's spine.

"Don't worry, Mr. Catsby," the doctor said, sensing Catsby's alarm. "I'm not here to hurt you. I know your experiences with vets haven't been that pleasant, thus far. While I do not make apologies for those in my profession who hurt fair creatures such as yourself, you have my deepest sympathies."

"Easy to say, for a man who still has his balls," Catsby said.

"I cannot give you back what's been taken, but there are certain procedures that can be done. If you help me, then I can help you. You have my word."

Catsby sighed. What did he have to lose? Nothing. He'd already lost everything, including the love of his life. Perhaps this Dr. Schwing could help him get to Hollywood. "Tomcat here was born in a barn. I'm sure he'll be willing to help you. What do you want with us, anyhow?"

"I'm on a mission of vengeance. It's not a pleasant business, I'm afraid, but I think you'll see how necessary it is once you learn the particulars. The men who run the factory farm you were born on are real bad motorscooters. I'll need your brother's help to get past the front gates—I figure someone will recognize him, and let us in. Once we're in—"

A teenaged employee approached Dr. Schwing. "Hey, stop talking to him like that."

"Like what?" Dr. Schwing asked.

"Like that. Using them big words. Knock it off."

"Let's calm down, okay? I'm simply a customer, trying to conduct a transaction."

The boy's face reddened. He showed no signs of backing down. "We don't want your business. Whatever you're into, take it elsewhere. These cats aren't for sale."

"Let's not be ridiculous." Dr. Schwing pulled his wallet out and began counting out hundred-dollar bills. "For everything, there is a price. Am I correct?"

"Don't make me get my manager," the kid said. His resolve was unwavering.

Dr. Schwing returned the bills to his wallet. "Get your manager."

The boy scowled at the doctor and sped off to the back of the store, brushing past a handful of customers oblivious to the mounting tension. Catsby looked at Dr. Schwing blankly, confused as to why this man would go to so much trouble to buy their freedom. Dr. Schwing smiled down at Catsby, a gentle smile that let him know that all his questions would be answered, in time.

The employee returned with a middle-aged woman. She had short hair and an even shorter fuse, and carried a cordless phone in her hand. "You'd better leave, mister, or we'll call the cops."

"I was simply trying to ascertain—"

She started dialing on the phone, but before she could even make it to the second number on the keypad, there was a loud crack like a firework had gone off inside the building. The phone lay on the ground in pieces; in Dr. Schwing's hand, smoke trailed from the tip of a handgun. The two employees were too shocked to move or speak, but customers ran out of the building in a mad dash.

"Let's go, Catsby," the doctor said, lifting Catsby into his arms. "Wow, you're...a...heavy one."

"Why don't I walk, and you carry Tomcat?"

Dr. Schwing picked up Tomcat Petty, who opened and closed his eyes as if to say, "Whatevs." The poor dumb animal had snored through the whole commotion, not even opening an eye after the gunshot.

Catsby finally had a purpose to his life.

He was somebody.

He was...CATSBY UNCHAINED.