My daughter gave me an idea. I am giving her credit because without her what is about to transpire would not be happening. All she said was, “My cat has a pan and a pistol. My brother’s has a sword with his name on that. Cats cannot use swords.” And I was off…at least in my head. Last night I finally took some time to write for myself and those damn cats would not go away. Here they are, in very rough form.
Why in rough form, because to illustrate a point I made in yesterday’s blog about no one-and-done and draft and revision, I thought I would work on this chunk over the next blog or two. Follow along as Puddles and Whiskers get drafted and revised. 🙂
In the middle of the fight, the sound of a metal frying pan bouncing off a skull got everyone’s attention. Puddles bounced back from her fallen foe brandishing her frying pan above her head in an attack pose. At the same time she leveled her heavy pistol, pulled the trigger, and shot another mook charging her.
“Give up will ya!” Puddles shouted at the room.
Whiskers slide on his knees underneath the sloppy punch of a mook, using his personalized katana to gut the mook. Whiskers popped up from the gut-slide, flicked his katana clean of blood, and looked for another challenger. Whisker’s did not have to wait long. Swinging a giant club in wide arcs, knocking fellow mooks aside, an over muscled mook lumbered directly to Whiskers. Katana held in a low position, Whiskers waited for the moment to strike the perfect blow.
The large blood spraying holes appeared in the over-muscled mook’s chest. For a brief second, he looked stunned before falling over onto his face. Three mooks jumped over his body, knives drawn to take his place.
“You’re welcome,” Puddles shouted.
Irritated, Whiskers charged the three mooks. Gutting the middle one as they passed each other. Spinning, Whiskers brought his katana down and quickly sliced to the right, killing the other two mooks with one swing.
Other than their labored breathing, the room was silent. Puddles strolled over to Whiskers, who finished cleaning his katana, turned to face Puddles with his ears leaning back giving extra body English to his irritation with his long time partner.
Pointing at the over-muscled mook, “What was that about?”
Puddles shrugged. Her tail lazily waving in an S-pattern that Whisker’s knew so well; her “Oops, did I do that” when she knew full well what she had done shrug.
“I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” Puddles said over her shoulder, holstering her pistol while stepping over mooks on her way to the door her tail swishing away like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Tail lashing, Whiskers stood there for a moment, gripping his katana tightly, before sheathing it in one smooth move. He gave the over-muscled mook one last look before following Puddles out of the room.