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Dogs And Cats

Powerful Essays
The cursed cat. He was grinning at them, that insolent face just

grinning and staring, those disgusting whiskers twitching, the disgusting muddy

fur, the disgusting hole in his ear.

Scampi and Mustard stood at the bottom of the tree, tongues slowly

moving in and out. It was over, both of them knew. They stared right back at the

mangy cat with hate in their eyes. Its tail was curling back and forth.

"Can't we wait this time?"

"No."

"But-"

"We could stand here all day, but we'd have to leave sometime. What's

the use?"

Scampi smacked the tree with his little paw. Nature was most unjust. The

cat began cleaning itself arrogantly. The nerve, thought Scampi. Here's this new

cat, obviously fresh out of the bad part of town, no owner, no home, no nothing,

thinking it can roam around like a king.

"There's a chain of command around here!" Scampi snarled.

"Okay, it's over." Mustard sighed and lay down. This was the third time

in a week that they'd failed. He had been around long enough to know when he was

beat.

"No respect. Where's the respect?" Scampi circled the tree in a haze of

anger, his tiny legs beating furiously on the grass. The beagle could never

quite get over a loss. Mustard lay his head on the ground and watched the

passage of time on the street while Scampi vented.

Soon, Roy the Basset and his owner walked by. Mustard nodded hello.

"Who's that?" Roy asked, looking in the tree.

"Dunno. New in town."

"Which house?"

"No house."

"Freeloader, hm? Give him one from me." Roy's owner shushed him. Poor

guy. Owner was one of those uppity types who had to have everything perfect.

Mustard rolled on his belly. They had better catch the thing quick, or

the whole neighbourhood would ridicule them. The brazen cat had been rooting

around in gardens for a while, a slap in the face even to the cats, of whom

there was admittedly a minority on the block. But who knows about cats? They

never knew how to handle these things. It was up to the dogs to keep the balance

of the neighbourhood in check. Today had been the worst by far. They had spotted

the hobo a whole block away, quite by chance, so there was no real way of

planning an attack. That wasn't really Scampi's style anyway, so they started

running. The cat took off for the hedges around that corner house, tr...

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actually bore no resemblance whatsoever to their only model. The only

characteristic common to all was that loop on the bottom with a small, thin

piece inside.

"That one," said Fontenelle. "It looks the simplest."

Scampi was engaged in a staring contest with the cat. This one was very

good. Scampi's eyes hurt him terribly. A considerable amount of time had passed

and he had not moved a muscle. The sound of his friends returning broke his gaze.

They were dragging a long, brown, mostly flat piece of wood. That was

the one end. The other end looked dark and not wooden at all. It was made up of

two long tubes connected to the wood by some kind of contraption with several

small, interlocked parts.

No one said anything as they sat around it, taking it all in. It was

brilliant in its design and complexity. Mustard felt a sense of having crossed a

line. What they were doing now wasn't simply revenge, they were treading into

the realm of the owners. A faint glimmer of understanding about what Fontenelle

had said came to him: Exactly what were the owners capable of?

They would certainly find out before the day was through. Mustard was

sure.
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