Mungo addressed his audience."Gather 'round, kittens, and I'll tell you the story of the most amazing cat who ever lived, Merv Thing ..."

"Those ain't kittens," said Poly

"Don't listen to your mother."

"And I'm certainly not their mother! Those are Beanie Babies you dragged outta a milk crate! Look! That one has a horn! What sorta cat has a horn?"

"A magical cat ... Anyway, kittens ..."

"It's like some sort of mutant! For what would a kitten have a horn for?"

Henrey had strolled into the room during the antiphonic conversation between Mungo and Poly. He stretched back, stretched up, yawned. "In the future, when the apes take over, humans will live underground and worship the bomb. Those cats that chose to live with the underground humans, it'd be really good for them to have horns. Be good for tunneling and shit like that."

"That's crazy shizit. That's from some movie, only there were no sort of cats in that movie."

"Tha's because they didn't have the budget for the prostetics needed to put the horns on the cats."

"Really? That's fucked up. How much it cost to make a coupla horns? They could have paid Marky Mark a million dollars less and that woulda takened care of it, and the catering."

"I wasn't taking about that ape movie. I was talking about the historical ape movie."

"Wow. I have no idea what you talkin' on 'bout. You are so smart, Black Ass."

What we have here are three, ostensibly of the feline persuasion: Mungo, Henrey, and Polyhymnia. Mungo loves Poly, Poly loves Henrey, whom she calls Black Ass. Henrey loves drinking and horses. Poly calls Mungo jackass. Mungo stares at Poly while she sleeps, and eats. Poly chases Henrey down the hall.

Poly looked at Hank with admiration. "Henrey, I think you be tha Einstein of cats."

"It's true. He's very smart. He took an online IQ test. I, on the other paw, am the Leonardo of cats," said Mungo.

"Decaprio? Yeah, you got that double chin like he got. And sometimes you act retarded."

"No! Da Vinci! He only slept four hours a night!"

"You sleep a hell of a lot more than four hours a night, jackass."

"I know! But I sleep the kitty equivalent. Check it: average cat sleeps twenty out of twenty-four hours. I learned that from Bukowski ..."

"Who that? A friend of the food bitch?"

"No, a famous alcoholic and gambler."

"That sounds more like someone my little Black Ass would know."

"Well, yes. Bukowski wrote a book and Henrey was pretending to read it, so I borrowed it from him, and that was difficult, as he was always sleeping on it. Anyway, I sleep like 16-to-18 hours! That's a lot less than other cats!"

"I guess that explains why you seem to be around all the time ..." Poly bent her head down to one of her giant lynx-like paws and proceeded to lick between the many many toes. Mungo stared at her, then trotted off to the kitchen for a snack, leaving the pile of beanie babies on the floor.

Henrey addressed Poly one afternoon. "Yo, Poly, you should stop shitting in the bathtub. Food Bitch might quit."

"Why the Food Bitch quit because I shit in the tub, Hank?"

"She's the one who cleans it up."

"No, that the cleaning woman. Food Bitch make the food, Cleaning woman clean ups. That's the way of the world."

"No, they are one and the same."

"No! I know they look alike --they twins!"

"They're the same person, Poly."

"No! They smell different! Food Bitch smell like tuna! Cleaning woman smell like windex! They different!"

"You, my dear, are insane. And if the Food Bitch quits, who'll feed us?"

"The cleaning woman can fill in tils we hire someone. Economy bad right now. Peeps be lookin for work for real. Check it, we'll put up a sign. Help wanted: Food Bitch. How much we pay? I could make a sign in Word. I can put some clip art on it, make it fun."

"Cleaning woman and Food Bitch are the same! Ask Mungo!"

Mungo sauntered into the living room, his tail held in a high question mark. "Ask me what?"

"The Food Bitch and the cleaning woman--two people or one?," asked Poly.

"Are you talking about my mommy?"

"Hank say she gone quit if I don't stop shitting in the tub!"

"My mommy's going to quit? She can't! She's my mommy! Poly! You have to learn to use the litter box!"

"It get all in my paws ... I don't like it."

"You use it to pee. I've seen you," Henrey stated authoritatively.

"That's different."

Mungo stared at Poly sadly. Hank stared at Poly incredulously. Why was it different? It seemed the same to both of them. Whether you used the box for shitting or peeing, the litter appeared to be the same sandy substance. Poly looked back and forth between the two, then she heard a fly. She narrowed her eyes and tensed her body. Within seconds she was running, following the fly out of the room.

"Don't ask me why it's different!," she yelled back to them. "It just is! I don't know why! Come back here fly! I wanna be your friend!"

"I wish we could have kittens, Poly ..."

"I'm glad we don't got no kittens in the house, Munge. They always mewin and eatin and runnin ... and they stink. Besides, I had the surgery, so nomo kittens for me. Why you not go have kittens with someone else?"

"I can't have kittens! I'm mustilidae!"

"I know you stink, but maybe you find a bitch got no sense of smell ..."

"No! I'm a weasel/wolverine hybrid! I can't have kittens!"

"Oh, now this make no kind of logical sense. If you a weasel and a wolverine, how come you look so much like a cat?"

"I'm not really sure, but that's what happened. One day, a smart young weasel was out for a walk in downtown Montreal, when he espied a lovely wolverine! He introduced himself. "Bonjour! Je suis Jean-Christophe!"' The wolverine giggled and answered, "Je suis Annabelle ..." They shook paws and the weasel said, may I take you out on a date? And Annabelle said "Oui," and they went for metz chinois and then they got married and first they had one litter, and then they had another, and I'm from the second litter. But I can't breed with cats."

"OK, so let me get this straight. Not only are your parents not cats, they speak some weird language too?"

"That's french, Poly."

"I know that, stupid! I been to Loosianna! French a weird language alls I sayin!"

Poly sat and stared for a bit. Then she bent down and licked her left paw. Then she scratched her left ear.

"So, all your siblings look like cats?"

"Oui!"

"And your parents?"

"My dad looks like a weasel, and my mom looks like a wolverine."

"Huh. "

Poly sat and stared some more.

"So, if you a weasel, why you not go get us some chicken?"

Hank came running into the living room, breathless. "I heard from my nephew who was hanging down on 181 and he sad he saw some cannibal pigeons!"

"What? That's horrible!," exclaimed Mungo.

"He said they were eating Kennedy Fried Chicken!"

Poly's ears wiggled when the word chicken reached them. "Hey! That no fair! Why pigeons get to eat fried chicken and I don't?"

"We'll send you back out on the streets, Poly, and you can eat as much chicken as your little black heart desires."

"Gre-zate!"

Mungo was puzzled. "But wait, Henrey, pigeons aren't chickens. How is that cannibalism?"

"They're all the same. It's like this: Poly ain't orange and white, but she's still a cat, so if you ate her, that'd be cannibalism."

"Well, I'm not a cat, you know."

"Oh, cut the crap. Look, you look like a cat. Forget it, if I ate her, it'd still be cannibalism."

"Henrey, honey, if we strizanded on a mountain in the Andes and I die, I'd be honored if you ate me."

"Yeah, good, I'll keep that in mind ..."

Mungo got a little excited. "I wouldn't let you die, Poly! I'd shelter you from the cold with my massive orange furry form. I'd build you an igloo to keep your giant feet toasty. I'd train penguins to serve you!"

"Penguin butlers! How elegant! How many penguin butlers?"

"One to start, but he'll train others."

The birds were noisy that day, flapping and squawking like an old man returning cold soup at a diner. Mungo rushed to the window to see what the hub bub was all about. Seconds after he got there, a stupendous bird, almost Mungo-sized, gold of feather and eye, red in tooth and claw, alighted on the fire escape.

"Whoa! You're the prettiest pigeon I've ever seen!"

"Ha! I'm no pigeon," said the bird, in a voice not unlike that of James Earl Jones's voice, "I'm a peregrine falcon. I eat pigeons!"

"Well, Perry, pleased to meet you. I'm Mungo Baguette, weasel/wolverine hybrid."

They stared at each other for a bit. Then the bird bent his head down to prune a bug out of his chest.

"It's 2001! Are you the Millennium Falcon?," wondered Mungo, eyes widening at the thought of meeting a genuine celebrity.

"I believe you are referring to a character in a movie. However, from what I've been told, that falcon was a mcguffin," stated the falcon with an air of authority.

"Wow! I know the puffin, but I don't know the mcguffin. What sort of bird is that?"

"I am not sure, but it comes from Malta. Now, where are those free-range pigeons you breed? They're mighty tasty. Much better than the ones from 181. You know, those cannibal pigeons ..."

"The chicken-eating pigeons? But you're a pigeon-eating falcon! What's the difference?"

"Many things. Take preparation for one. I eat my pigeons freshly killed and raw. Pigeons, pigeons who eat chicken, eat chicken that's been raised in squalid conditions, killed in bacteria-ridden environs, frozen! And then breaded and fried! It's rancid by the time they eat it!"

"Oh. My. I kinda like fried chicken myself."

"You're a weasel. It's to be expected. I must go now. I grow hungry."

Mungo waved to the falcon as he swooped away. "Come back soon, Perry!"

"Gather 'round kittens! And listen to the story of ..."

"Oh bra-RITHER, here he goes again. Thems plush toys, Munge!"

"Don't listen to your mother. I mean now. You should normally listen to her ..."

"They cain't listen! They don't got no BRAINS! They got BEANS! And I ain't their mother. I had the operation."

"Pol, you should just humor him," said Hank as he strolled into the room. "He's got no boundaries and a very fragile ego ..."

"I don't have an eagle! I know a falcon, though."

Hank looked at Mungo, then sat down, leaned to the right, bent his head down and began to groom his organs. Poly heard the wind and ran to the window. Mungo began to tell his story.

"Once upon a time, in a galaxy far far way, a galaxy called Brooklyn, a magical creature was born. And he was called Merv, for no good reason at all, except that it was a good name and seemed to suit him. Merv had many many adventures, and this is one of them, the story of the Immovable Beast ... by Mungeaux Hemmingbird

It was always about food. Morning, noon and night (or 'morny noony na,' as Henrey used to say, in imitation of Charango, who was Ecuadorian and had less than impeccable skills in the dialect of the American language that we spoke up in The Heights): tuna, liver, chicken. Meow Mix. Science Diet and Science Diet Light. Purina Dental. 9Lives Shredded! And 9Lives tuna mit cheese. We all had our favorites, Merv's favorites being all and any of the above. If it once had but didn't currently have a pulse, he'd eat it. So, yes, that means the occasional dead cricket was ingested. Along with the human body we found in Fort Tryon Park, but I guess that's another story. Due in part to genetics, but mostly due to his insatiable appetite, Merv was huge. Humungous. Gigantic. Supersized. When he went to the vet, he had to be brought in a dog carrier and weighed on a dog scale (not a truck scale on the New Jersey Turnpike, as the rumor once had it). He was so big that the bed would shake when he climbed the ladder to the loft where Henrey and I spent our lazy fall afternoons. If he was human, he'd be Andre the Giant. And his posse. As a cat, his size was inconceivable, and as a beast he was utterly immovable by anything other than a meal.

I can't quite remember the circumstances that brought Merv and Charango to the Heights that autumn. Something about unpaid rent at the summer house, loud all-night parties, many many kittens being birthed by 'hood strays, all of them white with black spots, all unmistakably huge and Mervoid. All I knew for sure is they got kicked out of their summer place a few weeks prematurely, and their winter residence was in the midst of redecoration and not really safe for kitty living yet. I thought it'd be neat to have them over for a few weeks-kind of like a long protracted sleep-over party with pranks and catnip and running around and eating. Lots of eating. But I didn't clear it with Henrey first, and he was a bit peeved when the two showed up at the door one September afternoon. I always forget that Henrey doesn't like other cats.

The two huge cats strode in and snooped around the apartment. I showed them all the good spots: the bed, the windows, the table where you could sit and watch the finches feed all afternoon, the correct spot at which to stand for optimal hallway-bolting when the door gets opened... Henrey, poor little tiny Henrey, growled and sulked on his spot on the bed. You could tell it was his spot by the circle of black hair around the little hog wallow in the mattress. Henrey, at 10 pounds, is a good-sized cat, but at 10 pounds he's dwarfed by 15 pound me. And he appeared positively minute next to the 18 pound orange tabby called Charango. You couldn't even see him if he was behind the 24-pound monster called Merv.

Cats generally sleep 20 out of 24 hours. I learned that in a Bukowski book. I try to limit myself to 18 hours, but I'm like the Da Vinci of cats (this refers to of course the story that Da Vinci slept like four hours a night). Merv would try to get in at least 22 hours of sleep a day, plopping down in a spot on the couch and not moving for hours, only breathing. Occasionally there would be a big "hrrmph!" sound and a slight shift in position. Charango and I would try to taunt and tease Merv, doing all those cat things: tap and run, swat the tail... but nothing would wake the animal. Blue jays would get into squabbles right outside, their loud yells echoing through the apartment, only to be muted by Merv's snores. Merv would take to the couch (he used to call it his throne) right after breakfast and sleep right through til dinner at six. Mom would come home from work and I'd be dancing around her feet, telling her all about the day, and suddenly this huge hulking form would stumble out of the living room, blinking at the hallway light, lumber into the kitchen and stand patiently by his bowl. Charango and I would get all excited and try to get him to play with us, but he'd just sit on the linoleum, huge green eyes luminescent and misty with the thought of Sea Captain's Choice. And then he'd just plow right through his food. Even if Henrey came over and growled at him for being too close, or if Charango or I nosed our way into his bowl, he'd just eat and eat, unstoppable, like a hurricane or a riderless tractor.

Henrey hated the snorting and snuffling sounds Merv made while he ate, and the way his food flew all over the place. "He both looks and sounds like a cochon," Hank would say.

"Why don't we leash him and take him to the park to see if he could find some truffles?" I asked.

"Eey already tried that a few years ago," Charango chimed in. "We found mon cheries y ferrero rochers, pero no truffles. But more than a pig, Merv is a bull."

"Aww, cut the crap, ShaCha." Henrey often called Charango ShaCha, after the chinese entree. "How could that wombat be like a bull?"

"I know you have not seen eet yet, and you may never see eet, but every great once in a while Merv will get eet into his mind to run. And when he does, watch out!"

"You mean it's like when they run the bulls in Spain?"

"Exactly. Y just like there, sometimes people die..." Charango got a sort of wistful, far away look in his orange eyes. "There was one time, before I was born, that he went on a rampage on a Brooklyn street and accidentally killed three people. Witnesses say he was yelling, 'I have the power of Grey Skull!'"

My eyes were as big and round as Pamela Anderson's breasts. "Did he go to jail?"

"No, pero the judge thought he was too cute to put to sleep."

*******

Early one morning I awoke to the sound of a deep rumbling, the feel of a shaking bed. I looked around for Henrey, but he was nowhere in sight. I looked down off the loft and saw two quick forms darting down the long hallway-one white and black and huge, followed by a smaller, lithe black and white form. I shook the sleep from my head. I thought I must be dreaming.

"Run, fat boy, run!," I heard Henrey yell.

"You can't catch me you skinny-assed spider monkey!," yowled back the deep-voiced Merv.

After watching for about 15 minutes, I went to hang out with Charango. "Thees could go on for hours," he told me. "You might as well nap now..." We took a three hour nap and just as I was waking up the romping began to slow down to a trot. Henrey was winded and panting, but Merv was... well, Merv was Merv. His big white face still had the beatific expression of a bodhisattva, his breathing no more labored than when he was eating. Henrey slid to a stop, did a quick groom. He stood up on his hind legs, as if he was about to begin pontificating. And he did. Pontificate, that is.

"As you all know," he began, addressing me and Charango, "I've been head cat here in the Heights for a few months now, since that fateful day that I beat Mungo in a fair fight..."

"That was not a fair fight! I let you win!," I yelled, poutily.

He waved me off. "And I, as head cat, have a duty to my fellow cats to declare when an important event has taken place. The large, bovine-like cat that we all thought of as an over-stuffed plush toy, a fuzzy door stop, a fur-covered ottoman, got up and raced me, who is, by the way, in magnificent health and top physical form, for four solid days." Henrey always had a skewed sense of time. "Today is a day I think we all need to etch in our cat memories, and pass down to our kittens in the form of stories... a day to be commemorated in songs, animated christmas specials and action figures. For today is the day that the immovable beast..." Here, Henrey paused dramatically. "moved!" Henrey went back to grooming. Merv went to the dry food bowl, ate 2 cups of Hill's Maintenance and vomited. Charango and I went back to sleep. And soon, so did the beast."

**********

The kittens applauded. "Wow! What a fantastic story! We need to hear more about the beast!"

"Oh, you will, my little ones, but now we must go to bed." And one by one Mungo grabbed a plush toy in his mouth and trotted it back to the milk crate, where the plush toys slept.

"That animal wack. He wickedy wizack. Ya feel me?"

"Oh yeah, I feel ya," answered Henrey. He plotzed on the chair and in seconds he was asleep.

"OK kittens, this is a story written in a long ago time called the go go 80s, when people were very rich and highly pretentious ..."

"Here we go again. Aren't we just delaying his eventual breakdown by playing along?"

"You been watching too much Oprah, Poly-girl. Besides, this is a funny story."

"How you know, Black Ass?"

"I know this one. He always prefaces it the same way. It's called Bright Lights, Big Kitty by Mungo J. McNugget. Go get yourself a wine cooler and listen."

You are not the kind of cat who would be at a place like this at this time of the morning. But here you are, and you cannot say that the territory is entirely unfamiliar, although the map is a little furry. Or that might be the hair in your eyes from the exotic asian chick grooming your head. She's little, about 1/8 your size; you figure her to be a Turkish van.

The locale is either Animal Crackers or Little Creatures. At least it's not PetCo. You hope. It might all become clear once you got yourself over to the treat aisle for a little Bob Hope. Then again, it might not. A small voice inside you insists that there is more of a possibility of a second breakfast than there is the chance that you could get some thumby to open up a vat of peaches and herb. You shake the turk off your head, stretch up in imitation of a 2-D halloween window decoration. You amble over to aisle 2, pronounce the situation hopeless, and decide that the fishy smell coming from the back of the store might actually be something better than some thumb's dirty laundry. The van scrambles after you, mewling rambunctious warnings.

If this were a movie, there would be some bad wacka-wacka disco guitars entering the soundtrack at this point, the screen stuffed with an even bigger version of you than the real-life XL you, camera shooting you from below, giving you a slightly menacing demeanor. The camera would show the complete lack of concern you have for the caterwauling bitch trotting behind you. Your tail, upturned and flicking, would be visible from behind your head. Your nails could be heard clicking heavily on the floor. Your expression would be impenetrable. No one would see anything behind those wasabi-colored eyes.

The aroma of fish gets stronger as you approach, but this is fish of a kind that you've not had before. An exotic treat, jewel-like, shiny baubbles undulating in clear cool liquid. Someone, maybe it was your mother, told you about this a long time ago: that fish were like you at some point--alive, with heads. Somewhere, a file dated sometime 1986, this data resides in your hard drive. It makes you misty and almost melancholy, thinking about all the things that your mother told you that you were sure were lies: that the cops could confiscate your skateboard if they found nip seeds imbedded in the wheels, that your half-brother Mungo was half-weasel/half wolverine... now, you see fish, alive, swimming, with little heads. Maybe all those things were true.

Yes, you miss your mommy. Mommy had thumbs, as did so many other women who came after her, the humans you referred to as 'your wives.' The women who would gladly share their chicken vindaloo, or even order you your own mugli paratha--the king of breads for the king of cats. Now, at the end of the evening, morning about to rudely bump into permanent midnight, your only chance for bread is the Tom Cat bakery truck loitering outside Coffee Shop. You amble outside, up to the big silver truck with the familiar blanco y negro cat painted on the side. The smell of hot fresh bakery items makes your eyes water behind your very cool oakleys. At least you hope they're still your very cool oakleys and not those terrible ray bans you carry for emergencies. Your huge empty stomach, collapsed like an uninflated silicon implant, speaks its strange language.

"Hey! Hey you!," yells the driver, his manhattan roots showing through his heavy accent, "Don't eat the damn tire, Jabba!" The driver laughs at his tiny attempt at wit. You look up angrily. Although he still can't see yours, you lock eyes with the driver. He looks very much like the tom cat on the truck. He throws you a baguette. "Here. My brother wants you to have this." You lick the toasty, buttery crust. You're enveloped by warm dough. You will have to go slowly. You'll have to learn everything all over again. Except the litter box part. That you remember.

****

"Wow! Thas a complizicated story. What does it mean? What's wasabi? What's mugli paratha? What's an oakley?" Poly slurped at her purple Calvin Cooler.

"I'll make up a vocabulary list for you. Let me get a swig offa that, would ya?." Minutes later, Hank was asleep.

"Sometimes Poly reminds me of my first love, Georgette.," said Mungo to Henrey one chilly rainy morning.

"Oh, yeah, the cat with the golden bow ... She was pretty ... pretty nasty! Remember I had to come out and yell at her one day?"

"Yeah! What did you say to her? I didn't understand it ..."

"I told her I was going to report her to immigration if she wasn't nicer to you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She was under the impression that Pennsylvania was a different country and she was in New York illegally."

"Bizarre! She did have that accent though ..."

"She claimed she was Alsatian! That's a dog! A French dog! Or something like that."

"Oh! I thought that meant she was hungry all the time."

"She was."

"She was."

"Kittens, stay awake while I tell you the story about the time I saw my brother's picture in the newspaper."

""He talking about you, Hank? You get arrested for something?"

"No, this is a story about something that happened before I lived here. There's a photo online somewhere. It really does look like Mungo. It's weird."

"Ok kittens, don't let them bother you. I'll start the story ..."

"Mungo! Quick! Come see!," my mom yelled excitedly one day from the living room. I was in the kitchen, eating most likely. I trotted over. She was reading the Daily News! It must have been purchased by my at-the-time-dad, because, even tho she loves Mutts, she'd never spend the 60 cents on the News... Anyway, she was pointing at a picture of a woman holding a cat. "Look! It looks like you!" I squinted for a little while at the blurry grey newsprint. It was a cat that looked just like me! I then recognized it as my now all- grown-up littermate, Lewis. "What does it say?"

"It says his name is Elliot and his mother is a filmmaker. She had to call in the kitty psychiatrist!" This amused my mother to no end.

"But his name is Lewis!"

"Mungo," my mom explained gently, "cats get new names when the get adopted. Like, your name wasn't Mungo..."

"Yes it was!"

"No, I named you Mungo."

"No, you named me Po. And then you named me Wrigley."

"And then I named you Mungo!"

"No! Then I told you my name was Mungo and you finally listened!"

"Oh, c'mon, that's insane. Who named you Mungo before I did?"

"My cat mom! You see, we were her second litter, so she already knew that we would be gone inside of 6-8 weeks, off exploring the world. So she named us after great explorers... Lewis, Clark, Mungo and Park. Mungo Park being only one, but she ran out of names she liked..."

"Didn't you have any sisters? I thought you had sisters..."

"She named my three sisters Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria--Maria for short..."

"Oh, I see." I think at this point my mother was humoring me. "So, this is Lewis?"

"Yeah! We should have him up! For a visit!"

"That'd be fun," my mom agreed, "but I bet his mother has an unlisted phone number."

I pawed at the picture of Lewis/Elliot. "True...He's a little tubby, isn't he?"

"Lewis is a big boy, my little Mungo."

Then a dove came to sit in the feeder and I got distracted.

********

"I dunno. I'm under the distinct impression that 1. He makes these up and 2. He's crizazy. He still calling those Beanie Babies kittens, when some of them are clearly not at all close to feziline."

"So, if he only spoke with the catlike ones you could accept this bizarre behavior?"

"Good point," agreed Poly

"Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, it's a great day for your birthday ... bock bock BOCK!" A dancing green chicken danced on the television screen.

"Oh! It's our favorite commercial! Hank! Come here!"

"Oh man, Mungo, look at that. A giant chicken! That's a great birthday present."

"I like the cake made out of flowers ..."

"What would you do with that?"

"Well, what would you do with a giant chicken?"

"Eat it, of course. It's giant! We could feast for days! It'd be like that email about the dogs in the elk --we'd turn feral and we'd have chicken blood all over our muzzles! We'd sleep in the carcus!"

"Oh, that's horrible. Besides, how would you kill it?"

"Chickens are particularly stupid. Everyone knows that. It'd be easy to outsmart him."

"Poly, c'mere! Check out tv for a second."

Poly sauntered into the living room. "I don't know why you two watch that thing. Rot your brain it will."

Mungo pressed the TiVo remote and rewound the commercial to the beginning. The three sat and stared at the set while the giant chicken sang the birthday song.

"Now which would you rather have?"

"What, the big house or the teddy bear with chocolates?"

"No! The giant chicken or the cake made of flowers!"

"That ain't no giant chicken. Ain't no such thing. Thas a man in a chicken suit and I don't need a man, so I take the flower cake."

"That's a giant chicken," said Hank, salivating at the thought.

"Black Ass, you know I loves ya, but that a man in a suit. I seen chickens in their natural state--frozen--and they ain't never that big."

"Maybe it's a mystery animal! Like the alien big cats in the United Kingdom ...," mused Mungo. "I love that show, Mutual of Omaha's United Kingdom ..."

"No, that a man in a suit. Sometimes instead of a man in a chicken suit, they send a man in a gorilla suit instead."

"Well, that's rather disappointing." Henrey hung his head slightly, and then decided to groom a bit of schmutz off his left front paw.

"I'm sorry, Black Ass. If it's any consolation, I got a coupon for a 12 piece bucket with biscuits for the place down 181."

Hank ran to the phone. "Speed dial 2 ... I love speed dial ..."

"I was reading in this book that pigeons used to be serving birds!" Mungo held out the slim volume to show Poly. It was called Feral Pigeons.

"Servin birds! Didn't someone do a song about that? Oh everybody heard about the word, bird bird bird, bird is the word ... I learned that song when I was a kid."

"Serving Bird? I didn't know that was the name. Anyway ... pigeons were brought over here from Europe as serving birds!"

"Damn! Europeans been enslaving everyone. What's up with that?"

"Well, I was thinking ... maybe we could train one of the pigeons outside to be a serving bird!"

"Ooh, ya think?"

"Possibly. They seem pretty smart. Let's go ask ..." Mungo trotted over to the window where the fire escape was, a well-known pigeon hang-out.

"Hey, any of you want to come inside and train to be a serving bird?"

"Coo? Coo COO? Coo!"

The birds looked at each other, baffled. Why is this giant cat inviting us inside? Must be a trap. They went back to their gutteral cooing.

Henrey trotted over for his afternoon shakedown. "What's up here, kitties?"

"We're trying to convince one of the pigeons to be our servant, but they won't come in."

Henrey walked over to the window. "Ok guys, it's like this. One of you comes in, or we kill you all."

The pigeons conferred for a bit. Finally, one stepped forward and slipped through the security gate. "Crooo?"

Mungo spent days training the bird, and fitting it with special devices to make its job easier. "Look! I made it a little head piece so it can carry a tray, and I put a string on the fridge door so he can open it ... it's cool!"

"So, give us a demo!," said Hank.

"Yeah! Get me some sardines!," said Poly.

"And a beer!"

Okey doke, c'mere little bird ...," the bird tottled after Mungo, following the big orange cat into the kitchen. After a few minutes, Mungo came back carrying the tray, with the pigeon following. "He doesn't quite get it yet. He's still training," said Mungo, serving Poly her plate of fish and Hank his cold beer.

"Yo, get me some dental diet too yo. I like to keep me teeth sharp.."

Mungo trotted back to the kitchen, the bird scurrying behind. Minutes later, Mungo returned with a bowl of dry cat food and handed it to Henrey. The bird jumped on the couch and began sharing Henrey's snack.

"Yo Munge, da bird is famished! Go get it some seed n shizit," demanded Poly.

"yes ma'am!" Mungo ran into the kitchen.

Hank patted the pigeon on the head. "We got ourselves a good little serving bird, huh Poly?"

"Poly's tiny mouth was full of sardines. You said it, Hank," she answered, mumbling like Marlon Brando.

A big yellow happy face. Or maybe a twinkie, or an angel food cake. Something bright and fluffy and happy, bouncy and sweet. If he had a theme song it would have a buoyant, fun bass, like the theme from "What's Happenin'." If he was a video game, he'd be Dig Dug without the death.

Mungo is not a small boy. Mungo is like a six year old on christmas morning.

Henrey reminds many people of Sammy David Jr he's lithe and debonair, and has a sense of sophistication about him. This is perhaps why he's allowed entrŽe into the exclusive strip clubs and gambling dens of Manhattan, despite the fact that he owes a lot of people money.

When you look at Polyhymnia Mundactyl, you might at first think she's sweet. She has tiny ears and large round eyes and giant paws to trek across the snowy terrain of northern manhattan. However, once you've been around her for a bit you'll probably be reminded of Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

When Poly first moved in, Hank gave her a tour of his office. "This, this is the floor. No one sleeps there. Well, Mungo does sometimes, by the watering hole, but I don't know why. Let me explain what goes on. I have a sleeping system, made up of a variety of locales and blankets and pillows, which are referred to as 'tiers'. The floor is tier one, and we already covered that. This over here," he said, pointing to a footlocker with a navajo style blanket over it, "this is tier 2A. The blanket is acrylic, and the air conditioner is there. Tier 2A is my summer afternoon tier. This," he said, motioning to the dresser in front of the window, "is tier 2. This is my main area during daylight hours. You might say it's my office. See the chair next to it? That's where my visitors sit."

"Cool!," said Poly. "So I can visit you in the office?"

"Yes. If you have an appointment. You'll notice on tier 2 there's a blanket covered pillow. The blanket is a flannel blanket from Land's End ..."

"You mean Inwood?"

"No, you ill-mannered hooligan. Land's End is a mail order facility that has excellent blankets. You'll notice that the blanket looks unnaturally thick. That's because it's wrapped around an ergonomic pillow that has been molded to my form over the many years I've utilized it."

"Wow!," said Poly with an air of amazement.

"Now, this," Henrey said pointing to the ladder," Is the way to tier 3."

"Whoa! Steps!"

"Yes. Tier 3 is where I spend my nights. I have an ongoing art project, a black hair circle, that I work on up there. It's my private studio, and you can only come up if invited personally by me."

"Golly!"

Ploy stared for a bit, then looked down at the floor, then shook her head vigorously to disloge something in her ear.

She looked at Henrey enticingly.

"So, you inviting me up? To see your circle?"

"No."

"Mungo, you drool like a dog," noted Poly as she strolled past on her way to the window. "You drooling over me honey?"

"Many anipals drool ...," mused Mungo. "The dog, the walrus, perhaps the wombat... I don't know about that one ..."

"You ain't none a those, jackass! You a cat! Cats don't drool by definition! You look it up in a big book, baby. It say, "Cats-- a non-drooling animal ... what's an anipal?"

"An animal friend, silly! I'm not a cat anyway. I've already explained that to you ...," stated Mungo hautily.

"Oh boy, here he goes again," said Hank as he lifted his head briefly during a rare waking moment,

"Wolverines drool, weasels too. I saw that in a cartoon."

"Which? The one with the pantless baboon?"

"No, an historical cartoon, with a giant rooster."

"Giant rooster!," chimed in Hank. "Yo, Pol-gal, I thought you said there was no such thing as a giant rooster."

"I said, and I remember because I have a phonographical memory, there is no such thing as a giant CHICKEN. I never made any definitive statements regarding giant ROOSTERS."

"Oh!." Hank stared for a few minutes. The afternoon sun made his pupils narrow to snake slits and he looked quite devious. "Maybe we can call for a giant rooster!"

"Yo, Poly-gal, how much you get paid?," asked Henrey during dinner one afternoon. "If you don't mind me asking ..."

"Paid? Paid for what?"

"For working, silly. You got a job here, right? Although I haven't quite figured out what it is yet."

"A job? What I need to work for? I got a home and food!"

"Don't you want money?"

"What I need money for? Can't I steal from the food bitch if I need something?"

Henrey thought about this for a bit while he chewed. "Why, yes. Yes, I suppose you could. However, oftentimes, the food bitch does not have enough cash on hand to make stealing worthwhile. That's where you salary comes in."

"Wow. What you get paid?"

"Well, Poly, I have a pretty sweet deal. I'm in the union, and I work on Sunday afternoons only. So I get triple overtime."

"Gre-zate! So, what your job?"

"I just do cat things. Walk around, sit on a lap, chase a fly, purr ..."

"I can do all that except the purr thing. Where do I apply?"

"Talk to Mungo. He's management."

"I don't think he like me. He not hire me."

"You crazy? He adores you! He stares at you while you sleep!"

"I thought he was plotting to kill me ..."

Poly finished her dinner, and Mungo's, and went to speak with Mungo who was reclining on the living room couch, chewing on his left paw. She stared at him for a bit. He continued to chew.

"Uh, Mister Mungo?"

Mungo looked shocked to be addressed as Mister. "Yes, my sweet?"

"I would like to apply for a job."

"Oh! Would you like to be my assistant? You can train on the job!" Mungo's mind was filled with visions of sun-drenched afternoons of the two anipals chasing flies through the apartment.

"I don't know if I want to work that closely with you. You got any other positions available?"

"Well, Hank's been asking for a secretary. You think you can do that?"

"What's the pay?"

"We have to ask Henrey. I'm not sure. It's a union job."

"Ex-zil-cellent!" Poly stared for a minute. "Can I ax you something?"

"Certainly."

"What's a job?"

"So," said Poly one morning during breakfast, "I hear you don't get paid what Hank get paid."

"Well," started Mungo, looking up from his bowl, tuna with cheese collecting on the corners of his lips. "That's not quite true. Hank gets a better hourly wage than I, but because I work many more hours I get more money."

"Why that be?"

"Well, I love my job ..."

"No! For REAL."

"He's in the union. Like you."

"So, why you not?"

"I'm management. No union for management."

"That a sad story, Mungy." Poly chomped on her food a bit. "Look, you ever need money, I give you a good rate on a loan, ok?"

"T'pring! T'pring!," sang Mungo.

"You better watch it, Poly. Mungo got that look in his eyes. His hormones are back."

"What that mean?"

"Mungo experiences the urge to mate every 7 days. It's called pong furr or something."

"Ain't that from that tv show the food bitch watch sometimes? Star Track?"

"Yep."

"So it's fi-zake!"

"No! It's historical. Not everything on tv is fake."

"So what that mean, pong furr?"

"It means he has to mate with his chosen one. And that's you."

"That why he saying Ta-pring like he some retarded telephone?'

"T'pring is the name of his bethrothed."

"His robe? I never seen him in a robe. Why his robe have a name?"

"No, his mate. Only he just applies it to whomever he wants to make it with at the time."

"So, he callin' me Ta-pring."

"Yes."

"That a stupid name. It sound like a space alien or a bad 80s rock band."

"That was T'Pau."

"T'wow, Hank. You smart. I like you. You wanna pong furr wif me?"

"Check it out, Munge! Food bitch left the window open!," Hank called from the fire escape.

Mungo jumped up and joined him.

"I'm gonna go visit the old man next store," Hank told him

"Why for?"

Hank was scratching on the window. "He's old, he's got his own food bitch, and maybe he'd leave me some money if I'm nice to him."

"Really. How old is he?"

"OLD! He's gotta be like, I dunno, 20."

"20! That's not old! Mommy is in her 30s."

"She's a wolverine."

"No! The mommy you call food bitch."

Henrey stopped scratching at the window and thought for a second. "In her 30s? Dag. That's unnatural."

"Humans live longer."

"They're like monsters! You think she'll die soon? Huh. I feel kinda bad I put her on probation."

"I think she's pretty healthy except for the sneezing."

Henrey walked back in the apartment . "Maybe I should just be nice to her instead. You think she has money?"

Poly answered from the couch. "Why she be working as food bitch if she have money? That stupid. I bet she poor."

Henrey climbed back out the window. "Yo, old man! Let me in! I wanna be your friend!"

"What that mean, 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.'," asked Poly.

"It means you're cool. Like your shit don't stink," answered Hank

Poly thought for a second, and bent her head back to lick her tail. "Strue my shit don't stink. But I sure know butter melt in my mouth. It good."

-So, Poly, How many brothers and sisters do you have?

-I only knows about my littermates, and there was 4 of us, but we had enough toes for five. It was crowded in there, all those toes.

-Really? How many toes?

-Eighty -eight! My mamma used to joke that we had enough toes to playa piana..

Mungo thought for a second, or three minutes, and he stared at the floor. Then he did the flop and drop, then he sat up and gnawed at his front right paw.

-Poly, can I ask you a personal question?

Poly looked taken aback. She thought for a bit, and then said,
-OK, ax me, and I tell you whether it's ok.

-What happened to your claws?

Poly looked relieved.

-Oh, that! The mean people I used to live with, they was even worse that Foo B, they took my claws out, and then I got mad and would bite them and they got ridda me.

-Why did they take out your claws? That's horrible!

-They stupit, thas why. They like they furniture more than they like me.

-Really? Furniture doesn't have claws ...

-Or sharp little teef! They suck, those people. They pulled out my claws.

-Must have taken a long time, you have so many.

-I dunno. I was asleep at the time.

-Wow. That's surely a testament to your sleeping.

-I sleep good. Not as good as Hank, but good.

Mungo looked at Poly, then wen to the window and watched the moon rise.

-We should stay with the Foo B., said Poly thoughtfully, -I bet she never take my claws out ...

-No! She wouldn't! Henrey would have her murdered!

Poly strolled over to Mungo and whispered,

-Really? He know people do that?

-Yeah, that's what he says ...

-Wow! Maybe I have him take care of my old people!

-I bet he might even get you a discount!

-I gotta save my money! Maybe Foo B loan me something.

-Wow! I had the most amazing dream! Poly, you and I had kittens, and I got to sit on the eggs, and they were ready to come out and Mommy cracked them open for us and they came oozing out all wet and furry and they mostly looked like Henrey, but there was one orange and white stripey-spotty like me, and one beautiful little brown tiger girl with many many toes!

-The ones look like Henrey, they dogs or cats?

-Dogs ... I mean cats. Tuxedo cats.

-Sometimes Henrey reminds me of a dog.

-Yes, a very sleepy, tiny dog.

-Hey, when the Food Bitch goes out, where she go?

-I'm not quite sure, but she comes back tasting like cigarette smoke. I can chew her hair for hours ... It's so good ...

Hank went into a little reverie thinking about smoky hair.

-One time she was watching TV and laughing because she knew some of the people ..., mentioned Mungo

-What was happening?, asked Poly

-It was dark and smoky with occasional flashes of light, and lots and lots of boots. Later, they put fangs on people.

-We have fangs! We have boots! All we need are flashing lights and cigarettes! Maybe we can get her to stay here and she can feed us a midnight snack. Henrey slipped into another reverie over snacks.

-They used to do that at discos ... my last people were talking about that once, how at like 4 am at the disco there'd be snacks ...

-4 am is breakfast.

-Well, they had another breakfas later, only they called it brunch ...

-Weird!

-Would your people feed you a midnight snack, Poly?

-Hell no. They pulled my nails out! You think they give me nice things like snacks? They suck.

-I get snacks ....

-I know! You got it good, Munge! Sometimes I get snacks here too! It's weird! I don't get it! I growl and bite and she gives me a snack! Who she working for? Are we part of some bizarre government experiment? Where are the aliens? When will they attach the electrodes to our brains? She gonna mutilate us like cattle!, Poly cried in horror.

-I wouldn't worry about it, Poly. We'll probably be dead by the time that happens.

-Dag, all I wanted was a midnight snack and now I'm going to be a feline guinea pig. And a dead one at that! Times like this I truly believe there is no dog.

-Dog across the hall. You want me to get him?, asked Mungo

-Really, I'd prefer you didn't. He's a bit enthusiastic for me, answered Hank.

One day Henrey made an annoucement.

-From now on, I want to be known as Hendrix.

-Hendrix! coughed Poly.

-Sure. Me and Jumi have a lot in common. We're both talented, fashionable, low-key, intelligent, good looking ...

-Ok, That all true, but Hendrix! That a weird, complicated name. I can barely remember Hank. Hendrix, so, I dunno, googolplexian.

-You know, Poly, in the future we'll all have as many fingers as you.

-What you talking about, Twinks?

-As we evolve, we'll get more fingers.

-Wait. So you saying I gone get more fingers.

Poly looked down and her front paws.

-Where they gone go?, she asked, worried.

-No. Your offspring many generations away will get more fingers.

-I TOLD ya, I had the surgery!

-You know what I mean.

-NO, I DON'T.

-Cats in the future will have more fingers. So you're like a future cat.

-I don't have no time machine! What, you think this is, The Jetstones Meet the Flintsons? That's crazazy. From now on I call you Fred.

-So, you have any dreams, Mungo?

-Yeah, I had the dream about our kittens the other day.

-No! I mean you have any goals, anything you wanna do in the future.

-Oh! Well, I want to get my message therapy license.

-What? What that?

-You know, you take a test and some classes, only you do it the other way around. And then you can give people massages and they pay you.

-Really! That a union job?

-No, but it can still be rewarding. Like, sometimes now I adjust my mom's chi. I've been doing it for many years, but it's finally starting to work.

-You not think it's the drugs she been taking?

-Oh look! C'mere everyone! Perry's on tv!

The three cats watched the majestic falcon glide and ride the thermals over Central Park.

-Wow! You said he was a movie star. I guess he really is! Look at him fly! He look good!

-That looks like fun. You think he can take us if we pay him?

-I haven't seen Perry in a few weeks. I thought maybe he left.

-Well, that's Central Park, so he ain't too far away. Oh! Oh!

-Oh SHIT! Look at that!

-Man o manischewitz! That pigeon never knew what hit him! Mungo! You see that?

-Mungo!

-Mungo!

Mungo looked a bit queasy and disturbed. -That was special effects, right? Perry wouldn't do that ...

-Uh, yeah, Munge. Special effects.

Henrey whispered to Poly, -I gotta ask him how he did that. That was specTAC!

-When I first moved to New York, I wanted to be an actor. That's why I moved to the upper west side.

-Why? Is it like Universal Studios or something?

-No, but that's where Tom's Diner was, and I wanted to be on Seinfeld.

-Tom Steiner? Who that? Some agent?

-NO! Tom's DINER, like a place where they serve food?

-They got good food places all over town, Mungo. You shouldna felt constricted to the Upper west side.

-No, they used Tom's Diner as a location on Seinfeld.

-What Munge didn't know, said Hank, strolling into the room, -is that they used that as a identification shot only. They filmed in California.

-So Mungo in the wrong place, noted Poly

-Yes, said Hank

-It could have happened to anyone, said Mungo

-So, where you live when you there? You have a home?

-Well, sort of. I had an alley.

-All to yourself?

-Not exactly. I shared it with other cats. And a few rodents.

-Rodentia! Ugh! I don't like them at all. They sneaky and they steal your food. They carry the plague and they sleep on top of each other for warmth and their tails get all tangled and they have to walk around in a big group like they some sot of rodent hippy commune. They almost as bad as roaches, and a lot bigger and they eat more. No sir, I don' like 'em.

-For the most part they were very nice. We all shared, and go along well, All except for one--Joe Karpinsky.

-That name sound familiar.

-He worked on Felicity for a while. As a PA.

-I watched that story! I stopped when she cut her hair. She look all stupit then.

-Anyway, Joe tried to get the rats all on his side. He didn't like cats at all, and he especially hated me.

-Can't imagine why that would be, said Poly facetiously.

-One day we got into a huge fight. There was hissing and screaming and biting. I got bit really bad and had to go to the doctor! I had to take antibiotics to get rid of the biotics I got from the fight! He bit me hard.

-So, you saying Joe won.

-No! He didn't! I trapped him in a half filled cup of coffee and closed the lid! It took him hours to chew his way out! And after that he couldn't sleep for days! I'd say he got what he deserved, but really, working as a PA on Felicity? I thought something that bad would only be reserved for three time felons ...

Smooth cool speed slips under velvet paws racing down lengthy wood hallways leading to doors, up up up the door and flip with a twist and land with a thud, and race and slide along speedy slips of wood, right turn and leap over the box, straighten out and ready ready ready, jump to window up! And twist and flip and wood slips under velvet paws speeding down.

Chilly breeze with smells of birds, bugs, cats, dogs. Squirrels. Rats. Sniff the blackness lit by the full white moon. Pillow pliant beneath sharp claws that dig down down down and comfort tired paw pads. Caress drowsy legs. Scent of me from centuries past, old hair, old friends, remnants of the fly I killed, bits of paint and pollen. Bed bed bed and sleep sleep sleep.

-I have it on very good authority that your stories are fiction, remarked Poly to Mungo one afternoon

-Oh! No. They're all true! Which stories?

-Well, for example, this Charango of whom you speak of ... you refer to him as Andorian, but he from the Bronx.

-Andorian! I said he was an alien? No way!

-Something like that. And Merv, you told the kittens no one knew how he got his name, but he got his name from TV.

-I told that to the kittens, yes.

-You lied to the kittens! That not nice! I know they fake, but that still bad!

-I didn't know! So, who told you the tv gave Merv his name?

-No! The name came from the TV! The TV not name him! Don't be stupit.

-You are confusing me, my many-toed darling. But I'm enjoying this. Tell me more. Who told you this?

-I cannot indulge my source. I 'm a journalist.

-What about Merv 's tv name? Let 's get back to that.

-There was a show! Called something TV! And a character named Merv! Who had a talk show! Essy TV or something.

-Mad TV? TV Funhouse? The Patty Duke Show?

-Something. I not pay complete attention, but my source is peachy.

-I love peaches!, remarked Mungo. -You ever see my peach crate? When I get in it, I 'm impeached! Get it?

A large juicy fly buzzed by, its wings buzzing and cutting through the air.. Poly's head followed it as it flew overhead.

-Don't get distracted, dear, said Mungo

-There a FLY!

-Please, go on with your story.

Poly jumped up and ran out after the fly. -The story be there later! I not know how long the fly here for! Come back here, fly! Let 's play a pop-o-matic game!

Mungo and Poly were sitting side by side at the window, watching the birds conversing and eating on the fire escape on warm November afternoon.

-What that one?

-Rock dove, my dear.

-Funny, Look a lot like a pigeon. And the little brown one?

-Wren.

-Red one?

-House finch.

-They pretty. They sing nice too. I bet they taste grezate, huh? Look like a nice snack. Big noisy gray one?

-Mockingbird. He can sing other birds ' songs.

-I bet he get booked at a lotta clubs, huh? What about the big brown one with the sad eye?

-That, my sweet, is the mourning dove, Florence.

-You know her name?

-Poly, Florence was my first love.

-Munge, that stupit! I know you think you not a cat, but you can 't possibly think you a bird!

-Sometimes these things don 't matter, said Mungo, wistfully, -A few summers ago, Florence began frequenting the feeder. At that point we had a feeder and a bowl. She used to sit in the bowl all day.

-Wait. She sit in a bowl of food? That 's like if I sat in a bowl of friskies!

-I know it seems illogical, but it was so charming! She 'd sit in the bowl all day and coo her mourning coo. I 'd visit her and we 'd stare at each other. One day the window was open, with the gate closed. She and I sat with each other, close enough to touch, for hours. She said until after it got dark. She slept beside me on the windowsill. It was bliss.

-That a sad story, Munge. You have a habit of falling for unobtainable women, don't you?

- 'Strue. Alas, our love was not to be. Come mating season, we realized that we could not produce a litter of birds. She went off with the dove her parents had promised her to.

-Florence had an arranged marriage?

-It 's pretty common among the mourning doves.

-Maybe that why they so sad!

-Hey Munge, you related to Charango, right?, asked Poly, making polite dinner conversation

-No, actually not.

Poly stopped slurping her grilled chicken slices in gravy. -What? How you not be related?

-We 're just not is all.

-But but but, stuttered Poly, -you got the almost same fur, orange stripey, and orangey eyes, and you both have the same last name!

Mungo knitted his orange brow. -Same last name? My last name is Baguette. His last name is Mundaca, almost like yours.

-NO! You both got the last name GO! MunGO, CharanGO. It 's the same! Why you hiding your identity? You on the lam?

-I like lambs, but no, I 'm not on one.

-NO! I mean you hiding from something?

-Uh, let me think.

Mungo sat and thought for a few moments.

-No. I 'm definitely not hiding from anything. Maybe you 're related to Charango. You have similar last names.

-We don 't even look alike!

-You 're both stripey.

-IT 'S DIFFERENT! I 'm brown stripey!

Poly paused for a second.

-Thas funny, we all stripey. All except Hank.

Hank yelled from the bedroom.-I got stripes! They 're in my footlocker with the rest of my army paraphrenalia!

-Hey Mungo! Word on the fire escape is that the pigeons are planning a coup!, Henrey whispered excitedly to Mungo as he slept on the couch on afternoon.

-Huh? They need to plan to coo? Don 't they just do that as a matter of course?

-Uh ... I don 't think so. It seemed pretty peaceful out there up until now. But they 're getting sort of pissed off at the crows.

-The crows are loud. And big. The pigeons probably feel as if they can 't compete. And now that there are so many, the pigeons can 't win by sheer numbers alone ... Maybe if I get them a megaphone, they 'd be louder ...

-You think the crows can be beat by mere loudness? The pigeons were organizing military strikes for the coup.

Mungo thought for a second. -I 'm really wildly confused. Are we talking about the same thing?

-Possibly not, answered Henrey. -I 'm talking about a coup. C-O-U-P.

-OH! A COOP! They 're building a coop! That 's neat! It 'd be nice for them to have a shelter! I hope they build it on our roof so I can go visit.

-One of these days, Mungo, I 'm going to buy you a dictionary.

-All this talk about afghans is making me want a new blanket, said Henrey

-Why? A hairy dog makes you think of blankets?, asked Mungo

-Many of our conversations take the same road, you ever notice that?

-The road out front is a good one--not too much traffic. Maybe we should take that one.

-Sometimes I wish you had a universal translator.

-I have an address book. Will that help?

-Hey Poly, said Mungo one morning, -You ever go to church?

-I like Kennedy.

-Kennedy church? I never heard of that. Or is it a cathedral?

-No, Kennedy fried chicken, that the one down the street. It 's good. They a renegade Kennedy, they have Spanish food too.

-I meant church. You know, incense, candles ...

- Incense and candies! I told you! I like Kennedy! Popeye 's good too. I don 't like Churches. I went to one once on a date.

-Someone took you to church on a date? That 's sweet!

-No. He tried to get wif me after and I 'd just had a litter like 6 weeks before! I wasn 't read for another round. I had to fight him off with a drumstick.

-Wow. Males are sleazy sometimes.

Poly held her paw up in the air. -You tellin it to the choir, hon.

-Why you always trying to run to the roof, Hank?

-Well, Pol-gal, from the roof you can jump to the moon, and the dark side of the moon is where the cats play.

-Cats play here too, and down on the street.

-Yes, but cats don 't play freely. We 're bogged down by humans, and gravity.

-OK, so we go up those steps out the window and up to the roof. Then what?

-Then we have to look for the magic portal that transports us to the dark side of the moon.

-Is there a sign?

-No, that 's why I 'm still here. The food bitch chases me and grabs me and brings me back every time. Evil human! Thwarting my efforts!

-So maybe it 's a lie.

-No. I read it in an ancient tome.

-Archy and Mehitabel? Mungo like that one.

-No, another one. I can 't remember the name.

-You remember, let me know, I wanna read for myself.

-Maybe next time if we both go the food bitch won 't be able to get us.

-I dunno, sounds like azilot of trouble for play. Especially when we can play prezitty OK here. And who feed the cats on the moon?

-I 'm not clear on that part. I know the moon is made of cheese, but I don 't know where the tuna comes from.

-Look, you get back to me with that, and I 'll consider it. Until then, no deal, Black Ass. I needs ta eat!

-Look Mungo! Food Bitch left the front door open!

-Yay! Let 's go out and explore. Ohh, that 's the dog 's place. I can still smell the pigeon over here. The old man 's doing OK ... What you get Hank?

-No one here eats cat food but us. The big dog is lonely. Wait ... He 's the one been shitting on the fourth floor ...

-Weird! Hey, where 's Poly?

-I dunno. We don 't need that bitch. She's nasty.

-Poly?

-Hey Poly, Munge wants you out here!

-Poly?

-Poly?

-Let 's go in.

-Yeah, it 's no fun out here.

-It has been brought to my attention that there is no narrative arc in this story, no tension, no action, no "red shirts," if you will. I suggest we make Mungo the red shirt.

-Wait, Henrey, I can 't be a red shirt! People have gotten very involved in my story! We 're like 1/5^th through the book at this point!

-Think of the drama, Mungo! People would really be surprised. It 'd be kind of like Tromeo and Juliet.

-Yeah, if Juliet died during the opening credits! I 'm not going for this. At all.

Poly lifted up her pretty round head. She'd been sleeping on a Compaq monitor box that she'd taken to.

-What a red shirt? That some communist thing?, asked Poly

-No, it's historical. From Star Trek.

-Oh, Star Track! That show with the Ping Pong and people have cat ears! That cool! What it mean?

-The red shirt was the guy who you were pretty sure was going to die in the story. He was a lower life form and this had to wear an ugly red shirt.

-I like red, said Mungo.

-That's why you should be the red shirt, answered Henrey

-Why we not get a pigeon as a red shirt? This way we kill it and eat it. That a grizate plan! Ya feel me?

-Hmm. Poly, that's not a bad idea.

Henrey trotted over to the window.

-Any birds here wanna be in our book? It 's very exciting ...

-Here comes the food bitch! I hear her keys! C 'mon! Crowd the door!

The door squeaks open.

-Ah, sweet freedom.

-Oh, it 's chilly out here today. Wait, I hear something.

Click click click click click click click click.

-Poly! With her clickers out! We better wtach out, Munge.

-She doesn 't have clickers!

-She has the back ones, remember, Hank? And one on each foot is a wacky claw.

-Oh yeah! Forgot about that.

-Yo boy-izos, what up? Hmm, chill out here today.

The boys stare at Poly as she saunters down the hall, tail high.

Suddenly, a noise!

-What that ...

Poly runs inside and stands at the doorway.

-You gonna go in, Hank?

Whispers back -I 'm afraid to go past her. We better wait until she moves further in.

-We might be here for a long time ...

-It 's been brought to my attention that there are not enough perverted sex acts in this book ...

-Sex? No, we don't do that Poly, we're neutered.

-What about the ping pong?

-Every seven days. It's hardly been a day since then.

-Well, we can talk about our past experiences. We've all had kittens, ya know.

-Yes, but I was seeing this more as a children's book, and an educational one. That's why I threw in all that historical stuff. Edutainment, they call it.

-Well, let's make it a sex edutainment book! C'mere black ass! Cuddle up with little ol' Poly ...

-You know, Munge, sometimes I think maybe you not be lyin about the wolverine thing. I mean, you is gigazintic.

-I was skinny when I first got here. I think I was like 12 pounds!

-I 'm 12 pounds and I ain 't skinny! I look good!

-Oh, yes, my snow-footed darling, but you 're much more petite than I. Twelve is an excellent weight for you. But I'm quite tall. I looked very skinny at 12 pounds.

-What you got on you now, big boy?

-I'm fifteen pounds now.

-What about Black Ass?

-Henrey? He 's lithe and wiry. I figure him to be about ten pounds.

-Ten pounds! Oh my! He smaller than I!

-You 've never noticed that? He 's a bantam weight.

-Bantam weight? You mean like witty bantam?

-Who's that, my little yummy-toes, a cartoon character?

-No!! Witty bantam! What two people engaged in when they conversating and it's funny!

-Uh, no. A bantam is a rooster.

-Henrey the size of a rooster? What kind a rooster? A normal one or a historical one like Foghorn Leghorn?

-A ten pound one. I'd guess that to be the normal one.

-Yeah, cuz the historical one like the size a the food bitch!

-Oh wow! Hank! C'mere and smell mommy! She saw a rooster!

-Hmm, on 187. Does one normally see roosters on 187?

-It was gigantic! You smell it? You see the pictures?

-And quite ornately feathered. I believe I lost money on that rooster once.

-You lost money on the rooster? Why did you put any money on a rooster in the first place?

-It was a friendly wager. I was up on 207 when I wandered into a smoky social club. I was hoping to have a choice tiparillo and quench my thirst with some excellent red vino, but I ended up spending my money on a cock fight.

-They're illegal!

-In this country, yes, but not in this social club on 207, which seems to be under some sort of international jurisdiction. Anyway, I was up about $200 samolians when this fine feathered rooster strolls in. I believe his name was Ortega. He was about twice my size, with half my IQ. The rooster he was set to fight was scrawny and cut up. I thought there was no way big boy could be beat. So I placed all my dough on the fancy boy.

-And he lost.

-Not only did he lose, but he lost in seconds. The fight got so vicious his trainer removed him from the ring lest his stupendous plumage sustain any further damage. I was pissed off, to say the least.

-You, Hank, of all cats, should have known better. You sometimes beat me in fights!

-True. But this rooster looked better than you.

Mungo and Poly were sharing the couch one sunny late winter afternoon.

-Munge, sometimes I wonder if I ever fit in here.

-Don 't worry, Poly, I was much crazier than you when I came here.

-You? I doubt that. You more stable than the rocket gibraltar.

- 'strue. I was totally insane. Mommy brought me here from another place, a really nice place where I was to train with a massage therapist, only I was too out of control. I knocked her dead cat's' urn off the fireplace mantle.

-Wow! That 's pretty bad!

-I made her cry. I felt bad but I couldn't help it. I had very discordian tendencies at the time. So I got sent here. I thought it was like detention or reform school, only it turned out to be nice. But I'd run up and down the halls all day yelling and jumping off things. I bit everyone. She used to call me 'Bitey.'

-ha! "I call the big one Bitey." I know that story with Homer and the possum and the monorail!

-Exactly. I had a part time daddy at the time too, and he used to say I was a lemon. He 'd say, "Marie, you got a lemon." But I didn 't take it too personally. He used to call her 'mooga bush woman.'

-I not know what that mean.

-Me either. But really, I was crazy. I had to get like time out at least once a week, and I wasn 't even attacking other cats! No other cats lived here then!

-Wow! So what happened?

-I'm not sure. I know it took a long time, but eventually I became a productive member of society. And look at me now! Head cat, a manager!! I've come a long way.

-Yes, Munge, you a testicle to hard work.

The Playas

Mungo J. Baguette-Weisel

Nicknames: Mangrove, mangoat, Munge, Mungus

Age: 6

Species: wolverine/weasel hybrid

Birthplace: Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Profession: manager, conceptual artist

Hair: orange stripey in spots with white (much like a melty creamsicle)

Eyes: orange like chuckles

Nose and paw leather: dusty rose with freckles

Size: extra large

Weight: sturdy

Likes: coffee, crunchy snacks, nature specials, Henrey and Poly

Dislikes: war, disease, mean people

Outstanding features: nicely rounded head, sweet expression, melodious chortle

Oddities: likes Chupa Chups, sweet potatoes, beets, challah bread.

Wakey wakey: bites on exposed flesh, knocking things onto the floor.

Outdoors: likes to sit and look and smell the air

Theme song: The Baby Elephant Walk, or the Theme from What's Happenin '!

Statement:

Hi! You 're the best Thanks for reading my book! You rock! I hope you find my book entertaining. I hope there 's not too much cursing for you, but that's how Hank and Poly talk. This is my real life, and I know sometimes it's not pretty, but we wanted to show it like it is. Well, actually, most of the time it's very pretty. It's like a beautiful fluffy dandelion flower gone to seed, and you blow on it and make wishes and your wishes go all over the world! My wishes include that all cats be safe and loved and nicely fed, and that Henrey does not fire my mommy.

As you may know, I'm a weasel/wolverine hybrid. No humans knew until one day a friend of my mommy 's had a dream about me and my secret was discovered. This person, Annette, was the mother of my first love, Georgette. Oh, she was a lovely cat of alsatian decent from the woods of Pennsylvania. She pretended not to like me too much and would call me a big fat lying pizza boy. That 's because I made pizza. You know how you kneed on someone? In reality you 're adjusting their chi, but it is sometimes referred to as making biscuits or pizza. I make pizza. Georgette made biscuits. We could have opened a nice little shop. When I first met her she was wearing a golden bow because her mommy was wrapping presents and she was being a cat and so she got a ribbon around her neck for being annoying. She looked so pretty in it! She rather liked it too. She kept saying, "I'm special, I got a gold necklace." She was special. And she was fearsome! One time she wrestled a bat and won! I met a bat once but I 'll talk about that later.

I hope you like my stories. Some people compare my writing to Tom Wolfe.

Henrey Lee Lucat

Nicknames: Hendrix, Hank, Hal, Harry, Black Ass

Age: 5

Species: cat

Birthplace: New York Fuckin City

Profession: cat

Hair: classic tuxedo with one torn sleeve

Eyes: yellow like the sun

Nose and paw leather: pink and black

Size: wiry

Weight: bantam

Likes: sleep, cat food, beer, yankee baseball, gambling

Dislikes: losing, not having enough food

Outstanding features: black lips, cranky expression, and he has lovely red highlights in the sun.

Oddities: honestly, will only eat cat food

Wakey wakey: quacking, biting and chewing hair.

Outdoors: tries to run up the fire escape to the roof.

Theme song: Theme from Shaft

Statement: To set the record straight, this whole thing has been a terrible mistake.

When I went up to that woman those two chilly September mornings, it wasn 't because I wanted a place to live. I was hungry! A hungry cat will do anything for food, even walk on his hind legs like a little Rory Calhoun! I 'd lived on the streets for a while and I had intended to continue to do so for some time. At least until I 'd fathered some more kittens. It 's completely untrue that I was licking motor oil off the street for moisture. And I was definitely not about to climb up into a car engine for warmth. What to you take me for? Some sort of gutter cat? I knew how to live by my wits.

One night I saw the woman approach with another human. I did my cute act in order to obtain sustenance. The evil ones enticed me with a can of Alpo, leaving me warm and sleepy and unaware. Suddenly I got grabbed by two large human hands! I tried to fight them off, but they were bigger than I was! I struggled and squirmed like a big-mouth bass. I was transported by a strange mechanical device to a remote locale. When they finally got me inside I saw that there was another cat! And he was humungous! Fortunately, he was neutered, so I knew I 'd rule. I immediately ran for a window and screamed to my cat friends, "Help! I 've been dragged into an apartment!" But the males hrrmphed and the females all said I was lucky.

For days I sat at the window and sang sad songs to all my paramours. Then I got put in a box and brought someplace that smelled weird. An alien female proclaimed me to be a 'big boy. ' I was paralyzed by some advanced technology and when I woke up I was groggy and sore. Mungo came over to me all concerned when I got home. "Are you ok, Henrey?," he said as he sniffed my butt.

"I 'm tired. Leave me alone." I curled up on the couch and slept.

I eventually got used to apartment living. I even got used to Mungo. I like the stability of regular meals. I love the cold running water. And I really love my bed. But what I like most of all are tv, beer and catnip.

Polyhymnia Mundactyl

Nicknames: He-girl, Lizzie Grubman, Macy Grey, girlfiend, Rolie Poly

Age: 4

Species: cat

Birthplace: The South

Profession: scribe

Hair: brown and grey striped tuxedo

Eyes: ochre

Nose and paw leather: lavender

Size: nice

Weight: feather

Likes: catnip, cardboard boxes, Henrey, chinese take-out

Dislikes: Mungo, flesh-bugs, using the litter box

Outstanding features: extreme fluffiness, beautiful round eyes, extra toes on all paws, orange fur accents

Oddities: uses the bathtub as her preferred locale for defecation.

Wakey wakey: lets other people do that.

Outdoors: walks around gingerly

Theme song: Your Feets Too Big

Statement: I used to live with some evil-assed people who pulled out my claws and then dumped me in an alley way! You take one look at me and you know I 'm the kind of cat should be reclining on silky pillows and eating albatross outta waterford crystal. Wait, Black Ass just informed me it albacore. Albatross be some joke by a python like spam. I have no idea what he talking about but he smart so I 'sume he right. Anyhow, I got right nasty after the peeps took out my clicker and that 's why they threw me out the house. So I went to live for a bit in the magical cat alleyway which is where my Black Ass is from too! I heard stories about him, how handsome he was an what a big boy he was, and decided I had to meet this enticing creature! I found his address and pretended I was delivering a candy gram to gain access. Now I 'm living with him in almost domesticated bliss. One problem--he sleep all day and this giant wolf-rine, Mungo, always be up my tail. That part suck! I spend most the day fightin off the advances of a giant orange gila monster while my sweet Hendrix doze. But Hank need his sleep. He works hard to support me and even bought me a $250 necklace! It has engraving on it, but I dunno what it say. It nice though--it blue to go with my lovely and delicate lavender nose leather.

I have other lovers too, but they human, so it different. The colonel is one of my favorites. He bring me pork from Great Wall chinese takeout. I need my pork! It keeps my fur all nice.

I have one nemesis, beside Munge, and that the flesh bug. The flesh bug is a horrible insect-like creature that look initially like a hand, but then becomes a horrible stalking bug! And it very very big--the size of an actual human hand. I not like it. Down South where I grew up, we not have such things. We have cockaroaches and flies, but no flesh bugs. It not nice, and I gotta talk to the Food Bitch about getting a disintegrator in here.

I am currently learning to improve my vocabulary and have taken up the art of letter writing at the suggestion of my love, Hank. He said with so many toes writing should come natural to one such as I. I don 't know what he mean, but I 'm tryin.

PS: My name is pronounced POLY like polyester or polystyrene, not poly like roly poly. Keep that fixed in yo mind. It 's very important to me. And Polyhymnia is the muse of hymns and sacred songs, and that cool. Do I amuse you?

-Hey, Henrey, remember when you first came here and we used to play 'refrigerator repairman?'

-You used to play 'refrigerator repairman.' I was attempting to hide from you and get a moment 's peace.

-You were my little kitten! I was very excited when you came to live with us! I 'd been asking for a kitten and I didn't think I'd get one, and then I did and it was you and you were the best kitten, except you were already a teenager, but that was cool. You already had a driver's license

-You stared at me all the time. You 'd root me out wherever I was !

-And I'd chase you, and you go behind the fridge! And I 'd yell, "Mommy! I put my kitten behind the refrigerator!," and she 'd have to move the fridge and you'd be all dusty. She was afraid you'd get electrocuted.

-She had to buy those casters for the fridge, she was moving it so much. That was pretty funny. That was a good spot though. She had to do a lot of work to get me out.

-I'd stand on the kitchen counter and stare at you while you were back there.

-I found some shit back there too. Some dry cat food and a couple of spoons. Tried to sell them on ebay but no one was buying.

-I put the Food Bitch on probation

-I know! Munge tell me! What happen, Henrey?

-Well, I felt she wasn't doing a very good job. One day she was late for breakfast, and she didn't clean the litter boxes while we were eating. I like a clean box after I eat.

-We all knows that about you, Black Ass. She stupid. That why she not know that. So what happen?

-I called her into my office, and she was very apologetic, but I reminded her that this is an economically unstable period and we could probably get an illegal immigrant to work for less than she currently gets.

- 'Strue. Munge say he upset. He like the food bitch a lot. He said he wished there was something he could do. How much she get paid anyway? Maybe I do it.

-That's slave work, Pol. I don't want you doing work like that. That's what humans have thumbs for.

-And coupons!