Oliver Origins (Because Valentine's Cards Are Lame)

Little backstory: I can't draw, and my card-creating skills are meh at best, so rather than making my girlfriend a card I wrote her this origin story for her three legged cat. Enjoy.

 

Oliver: Origins

     “Maybe there was a time when I was a normal cat, where chasing the fuzzy fish would have satisfied my need for meaning, but you took that from me!” Oliver sat in a chair surrounded by The Mexican Feline Militia (MFM), bound at the paws in a wooden chair. “Do your worst! I have nothing left for you!” Said Oliver in a series of tense meows and squawks. The men surrounding him were tabbies, the worst of their kind. They had no mercy, no conscience; the only thing they cared about was where their next can of wet food was coming from.

     “Mr. Oliver, I’m afraid the time for all of this pointless banter has passed. You took wet food from the wrong bowls, and now you’re going to have to pay the price.” Oliver had never really seen the point of separate bowls for separate cats, and thus often found himself in trouble, but I feel like I might be getting ahead of myself here. How did Oliver go from the loving housecat to the bowl-swiping anti-hero before us? It’s a long story, but it’s better than another cheesy Valentine’s Day card.

5 Months Earlier

     “Look, I’m just sick of it man. They feed us once a day and expect us to just get by? I mean look at me, I’m wasting away here.” The cat speaking was a ginger by the name of Maurice. He was fat for a cat of only 4 years, and more closely resembled an orangutan than anything feline. His fur fell in rolls around his swollen body and his breath came in ragged snorts.

     “I know it’s not ideal, but we’ve got a good thing here. Besides, what you’re proposing, it’s far too dangerous. The MFM are not to be taken lightly. You remember Sophie? Good natured Sophie?”

     “Course I do, she was my cousin’s girl. Why have you got to talk about that?”

     “The MFM has her so strung out on catnip that she can hardly stand! She spends her days swatting at invisible feathers on a beanbag of lies! That’s no way to live…” The two cats shared a moment of silence for their fallen comrade. After the appropriate amount of time Oliver licked his glistening claws and cleaned his fur. Oliver’s fur was known throughout the land as a great beauty and he took great pride in it.

     “Look, we pull this job, and we can get Sophie back too. We could have everything, and take it away from the MFM.” Oliver pondered this while staring out the window into the growing darkness. A strange fly was stuck to the window and it offended him. He took his paw and batted at the glass, chirping and muttering obscenities at it. As the mysterious glowing ball in the sky descended into nothingness, Oliver felt a profound sense of purpose dawn on him.

     “If we’re going to do this, it needs to be planned right. I don’t want any mistakes, not like last time.” They both bristled at the thought. Images of a cat soaked with bitter lemon water filled Oliver’s head, but he pushed them out. No sense dwelling. What’s done is done. He’s gone Oliver, let it go. Oliver sniffled and struggled for breath.

     “It won’t be like last time.”

     “It better not…”

3 Months Later

     “The wet food is being held in a dining area. It’s heavily guarded at both entrances, and there’s only room for us to go in one at a time.” Oliver addressed a ragtag group of cats ranging from Persian munchkins all the way to the Siamese. From the back a grey Persian with brown coloring around its mouth spoke up gruffly.

     “What’s the big bloody deal? We’ve done kitchens before!” A murmur broke out from the rest of the crowd. Oliver stared the Persian down, making short sounds as he did so.

     “mow.”

     “What’s he doing?”

     “Mow.”

     “Stop that!” The Persian was quaking in the back row.

     “MOW.”

     “Alright fine!” Oliver let his gaze relax and licked his tail for a brief time.

     “I’ll thank you for there being no more interruptions.” The audience remained silent in rapt attention. “Yes, as Mr. Burgundy said, we have done kitchens before, but we have a problem. The floor is linoleum.” A calico in the back fainted at the sound of the name. “What’s worse, they have tinfoil on the edges of all the doors. Somehow they’ve trained their men to remain fearless in its presence.” From the back of the room there came a chilling laugh. “Who is it that thinks our predicament is so funny?! MOW!”

     “Oh save your breath.” A medium-haired black cat strode from the back of the room and stared directly at Olliver.

     “Who are you?”

     “Who I am doesn’t matter, but I can get you past the tinfoil.” The audience began to murmur and stare again.

     “And how are you planning on doing that?”

     “Well Sergeant Oliver, I just don’t give a fuck.”

     “I’m sorry. I thought I made myself clear. I don’t give a fuck! Tinfoil, it just doesn’t really bother me.”

     “Oh, right then. Well, we have our way in! Report back to me at 0600 hours on the 14^th of August and we will begin the assault!”

The 14^th of August 0800 Hours

     Mist crept over the suburban lawn that the MFM called home, obscuring the approaching army from view. Carefully the cats picked their way through the tall grass, pausing every so often to look at a bird. Slowly they moved toward the cat door on the back side of the house. The black cat shuffled forward on point, tail wicking back and forth with anticipation. The door was five feet from them. They stopped and awaited orders.

     “You’re up.” Said Olliver in a hushed whisper. The black cat moved forward. The intel was good, just around the edge of the door was grade-A tinfoil, but true to her word, the black cat slid her claws through it like it was butter. Soon the defense was left in tatters. Olliver raised a paw and shouted: “THIS IS IT! CHARGE!”

     The black cat rushed through the door with Oliver close on her heels. The next moment passed by in slow motion, the black cat leapt over the edge and landed roughly on the floor. For a second everything seemed alright, but a jet of water burst forth from the left. Oliver smelled lemons. Her fur matted and clumped as the fierce stream hit her in the side. She fell to the floor and curled up, licking her wound. “No! It’s a trap, they knew we were coming!”

     Oliver rushed to the cat’s side. “Leave me! Go on, you can still escape.” She rasped with labored breaths.

     “I’m not going to lose you!”

     “It’s too late for that!” Oliver looked around at the chaos that had ensued just beyond the door. The strike team continued to funnel through the small opening, but a tabby manning a super soaker was picking them off one by one. It was pandemonium: Cats mewled and snuffled at the uncomfortable hydration. The cries of his comrades filled the air with their somber tone. “At least let me know your name.” He said putting his paw on her heaving fur.

     “Stormageddon.” She said falling to the floor in a deep slumber.

     “Everyone stop! Retreat!” Cats scampered in all directions, but Olliver was brought down hard by a tabby from behind, and a paper bag was thrown over his head. He smelled lemons, the world went black…

1200 Hours

     “So you see Oliver, I cannot let you walk away unscathed.”

     “Do what you want. I’ve watched too many of my comrades die by your hand!”

     “Dude, really? We just squirted them.”

     “DO YOUR WORST!” The tabbies looked at each other quizzically.

     “I mean, we were just going to swat your nose or something, but I guess Jimmy has that large knife over there.” A fat tabby came forth brandishing a machete.

     “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” screamed Oliver in terror. The blade rose in the air, and once again everything went black.

Epilogue

     Well, that might have seemed like a pretty gruesome end for Oliver, but that’s not how he lost his leg. In truth, cats aren’t strong enough to brandish machetes and Jimmy ended up looking like a damned fool, tripping all over himself and dropping the blade on the ground. Oliver would have laughed, had he not been passed out in the chair.

     In reality, 9 months later Oliver went bike riding, got his leg trapped under a boulder, and had to saw it off with a spoon.

END