Bonus Scene

From Mike’s Point of View

Beware of the Big Yellow Monster 

Mike liked to think he had a unique perspective on things. You know, given that he was the only cat in a bar full of humans. After they got over the initial shock of seeing him and offering their unsolicited commentary on his missing eye (which he found exceptionally rude. He never commented on their lack of cleanliness or volume control), people seemingly forgot he was there.

He might have only had one eye, but he could see plenty and heard everything. People didn’t realize it, but cats were a lot more interested than they let on. The patrons were lucky he didn’t talk, because he could set this whole town abuzz with the dirt he kept buried.  Oblivious to the knowledge he contained, the crowds continued to pour in. There were times he wished he could shout, “Fire,” or anything that would get them to flee and leave him in peace because they were a disruption to his routine. He usually had free rein, but when there were too many people, it was safer for him to stay near the bar with the man everyone called Cannon, his friend and food provider. At least there was less chance of being stepped on or accidentally kicked when things got crazy. That had happened before, so he was on high alert.

One time, the man everyone called Doc had gotten off his stool and gave him the boot, sending him at least a foot in the air. Mike let everyone in the bar know about the indignity he had suffered with a loud screech.

Doc had mumbled, “Damn cat,” and kept on walking, although he saw him sneak a look over his shoulder to make sure he was okay. Except for the occasional kicking incident, Mike liked to think he had a good thing going with Cannon, a mutually beneficial relationship. Cannon took care of Mike, feeding him and keeping the litter box clean. Mike reciprocated by being a good listener and keeping the place clear of mice.

Tonight, was a typical evening, and Mike was minding his own business, getting comfortable in the corner behind the bar, one of his many favored spots, when he heard the voice of the new woman he had met. Why he picked her voice out over the multitude of deafeningly loud people, he couldn’t say. Clearly, none of those people understood that he preferred indoor voices in his house.

He recognized the woman immediately. She was the one Cannon drooled over the same way Mike did his favorite treats—the ones that smelled like fish. Even though she didn’t smell like cod, her scent was much better than many of the humans who came through the door.

Before he could focus on the conversation between his human and the lady, he picked up on a new sound—something tip-tapping against the floor—kind of like nails on a chalkboard. Not able to see where it was coming from, he inhaled deeply and noticed a strange smell, one that certainly didn’t belong in his home. The clicking stopped when the woman reached the bar. The scraping of a stool caught his attention, but he figured she was climbing into it like all of the other humans did.

Normally Mike would just roll over and go back to sleep—so many people cycled in and out every day that it had become part of the routine—but something told him he should pay attention here.

 “Beer? Wine?” Cannon asked. Mike opened his eyes and watched him slide one of those cardboard pieces he liked to bat around the bar to her.

“I’d love a beer,” she replied. She sounded like he did at the end of a long night. Like all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go to sleep, which was Mike’s specialty. He could teach her a thing or two. They didn’t call them catnaps for nothing.

He heard the typical clank of balls being hit together, and that whole thing fascinated him. He could watch them for hours but learned the hard way not to jump into the game. Humans took their sticks and balls very seriously, and he still had a bald spot on his back end from his interference. But he liked that Cannon defended him, and the stick thrower was banned for life. He didn’t know what that meant, but he hadn’t seen the miscreant since.

Mike now zeroed in on Cannon as he talked to the woman. He sounded different when he spoke to her as opposed to his other conversations. Mike noticed it the last time she was there, too. He didn’t know why, but something in his voice almost sounded like it did when Cannon talked to him—sweet and soft and kind-like.

Cannon certainly didn’t talk to that other lady the same way, the one who came in all of the time and tried to touch him. He actually seemed interested in this woman, and Mike wondered if maybe he wanted her to pet him.

“Glad you made it. Get any sleep?” Cannon asked.

“Some. I took a nap after they left,” the woman replied.

“Since you’re here, I’ll assume they’re back at it.”

“That’s not the only reason I came. I know the bartender, and he pulls a wicked beer.”

Mike watched as Cannon’s head disappeared over the bar. “Hey, Otis, don’t eat Mike, okay?” He then backed up and headed to the other end of the bar.

Excuse me? Mike’s attention was piqued. What did he mean, don’t eat Mike? Who would try to eat him? And why didn’t Cannon sound more concerned about this?

Mike heard footsteps approaching the bar and another new voice. “Oh my. There’s quite a selection tonight.” Great. Just what this place needs—another stranger.

Not sensing immediate danger, Mike lost interest in the conversation and started to doze off. He might have continued sleeping, but the atmosphere suddenly changed. That same clicking noise he had heard before was back and getting closer. The hair on his back was stick-straight as he realized the sound had entered his safety zone. Looking around, he spotted a big, yellow, hairy monster lumbering toward him. Mike observed that while most humans seemed to have two legs, and Mike had four, this unusual creature had three.

Well, this is not okay. Why doesn’t my human do something? Mike searched for Cannon and spotted him watching the situation unfold with amusement. But there was nothing amusing about this. Mike froze, unsure of what to do. Plenty of humans had approached him over the years, getting in his space and touching him without his permission, but this was the first hairy monster he had ever faced.

Before he knew it, the beast was standing near him, and Mike arched his back, preparing for battle. He quickly realized, however, that intruder wasn’t so threatening. In fact, he seemed more like a scaredy-cat. He had apparently never met a world-class mouser like himself, and it must have been pretty intimidating. The yellow oaf lugged toward him, shaking his oversized head back and forth and then sniffed.

What’s he… Okay, this isn’t too terrible.

Cannon chuckled. “Looks like you might make a new friend today, Mike. Don’t mess this up. I wouldn’t mind Otis’s mom coming back in here more often, and that isn’t going to happen if you’re mean to her baby.”

Mike had no idea what that meant, but by this point, he had let his guard down and took his own whiff. Cannon didn’t seem to be concerned, and this “baby” seemed harmless.

As if to demonstrate how harmless he truly was, Otis, as Cannon called him, curled up in the corner, right where Mike had been earlier. Seriously, buddy? You can’t find your own spot? This place is huge. However, Otis was soft and didn’t offend the nostrils, and he was probably warm. Maybe we can work something out.

Mike gingerly moved toward Otis and laid with his back against Otis’s stomach. Otis seemed to agree that this might be an okay arrangement, and he curled his three legs around Mike. Yeah, this big guy might not be so bad. I should probably continue to watch my back, but—

Before Mike knew it, he was out, dreaming about his next adventure.

So comfortable in Otis’s embrace, he didn’t even move when he was startled awake by the sound of Cannon’s woman coming back. His ears remained active, but his eyes stayed shut.

 “Otis,” the woman said, sounding upset.

“He’s okay. He’s right here.” Mike pried one lid open for just a second to see Cannon pointing at him and his new pillow friend but snapped it shut before anyone could see. Nothing to see here. 

He heard the scrape of something against the bar and assumed the woman was climbing up to follow Cannon’s gesture.

“How did that happen?” she asked.

“They say opposites attract,” Cannon replied.

“If that’s possible, I’m bringing the bird here tomorrow.”

Mike’s ears perked up. Wait. Bird? Tell me more . . .

“You should give Aspen Cove a try,” said Cannon. Now Mike was definitely sure that Cannon’s tone was different with this woman than with the other humans. He clearly liked her.

“It was a joke. I told you I’d stay until the bird healed.”

“What happens after?” Cannon’s voice changed to almost a whisper as if he were talking to himself. He seemed worried about the answer.

“I don’t know. I’m taking it one day at a time.”

“Fair enough.” Cannon sounded content with that answer.

Cannon and the woman continued talking as Mike shimmied deeper into the side of his new yellow friend. Having him around occasionally wouldn’t be so bad. Cannon seemed happier when the woman was around, and they appeared to be a package deal.

Mike was a little annoyed that Cannon seemed more chipper when he greeted the woman than himself, but he knew he was Cannon’s number one. How could he not be? He was better than a tuna sandwich, and that woman probably couldn’t catch a mouse to save her life. But if she made Cannon happy, that was enough for Mike not to go cat scratch fever on her. He wanted to see his human smile and hear him laugh, and apparently, he thought that lady was funny.

Around here, you never knew what might happen, but Mike was pretty positive that he would be seeing more of the woman and his new furry friend. Maybe he would like mouse-catching lessons, Mike thought as he drifted back to sleep in his fuzzy cocoon.

Besides, there was a mention of a bird.