Floof & Mange: The Long Meow Goodnight (2018)
The name’s Mange. They say I’m two drops short of curdled cream but what do they know? Life wasn’t always this way. Lap of luxury, spoon fed patés and a full day’s sleep. It’s a life, but it’s not mine. Cleanin’ up the streets, yowling at the moon, chasin’ down no good, litter brained punks. That’s my idea of a good time. Chief didn’t agree. He put me up here after my partner, Meowser, took a claw to the back while we were workin’ a case. He got in too deep. Done in by some small-pawed Siamese Gang scaredy-cat. Never caught the whisker that did ‘im in. When the chief takes me off sabbatical I’ve got some ears to clip.
Life’s not all bad, though, even if the chief put me up in some shack owned by two fleshy humans that can’t even lick themselves properly. Beats bein’ up to my whiskers in hairballs and catsick, I guess. My bunkmate’s pretty tolerable - better than the humans at least. Too chatty, though. Owners left him here to dry out after a catnip bender. Way this kit-kat tells it, he got so nipped up he ended up swimming across a lake with a bulldog. I don’t hold much scratch to it though. He’s still kibble between the ears. Says his name’s Floof. I told him people call me Mange. Don’t know why I’m so soft on the kid. He kinda’ reminds me of my partner. Paws too pig for his own good and long in the whisker. Maybe I’m just fluffing out in my old age.
Every night around dark the humans leave patés out for us. I’m usually pretty starved by that time, but they insist on watching me eat to ensure I don’t eat too fast. You puke a few times, cuz your stomach’s still torn up from too many dead rats behind a dumpster, and suddenly you have a “condition”. Flesh-toned jokers don’t know what they’re talkin’ about. Whatta’ they expect when they only feed us twice a day? I think they just like to watch me squirm. It’s like this every night, so I figure if I keep my whiskers clean, they’ll leave me alone. Tonight’s different, though. Don’t know why. I can just feel it in my claws.
The humans put down the food and left a small white bag next to the plates. I didn’t know what it was so I went to investigate. The fluff for brains left out a bag of nip! I tried to bat it away but it was too late. Floof was on it faster than a flea on matted fur. I’ve never seen a cat go at it like he did. The humans cooed and watched as he buried his face in it and rubbed it over his whiskers and gums. It was sick. I hurled catsick all over the floor. The humans scolded me. I didn’t care. Something had to be done about the kid.
After my display of sickliness, the cleaning began. That offered me a few precious moments. I scampered to the kid’s side but it was too late. He dug his claws into the bag of nip so hard I couldn’t tear it away. His eyes were wide and his body shook like a wet dog in a rainstorm. I knew what would happen next. Seen it play out a million times in alleyways across the city. Junkie cats go skitzo-meow with this much nip.
Floof dropped the bag and spun on his paws. He was a blur of fur and meows as he tore across the room spinning his tail like a creature possessed. The humans laughed. This was all a game to them. I yowled my disapproval of their sick game but they ignored me. They were too taken with the ball of strung out fluff clawing its way across the rug.
It wasn’t long before the humans lost interest and went behind their closed door. They did that every night. I don’t know where they go but they like to leave us to our own devices. Normally I don’t mind a little peace and quiet, but not tonight. Tonight my friend was floofin’ out and no one seemed to care but me. They’d had their fun and now they were done with their plaything. I’d seen it in headlines in alleyways across the city: “Kit-Kat Snaps: Owners Swear They Don’t Know What Happened”. We all know. Those in power just get spayed and aren’t up to scratch. Too fat on kibble, fluffy beds, and pet names. Nothin’ to be done. I just knew I owed it to someone to save the kid.
There was no moon that night. Just city lights and the sound of angry humans piercing the quiet air. Floof lay on the rug twitching. He had come down off his high and was looking for another hit. I hid the filthy nip bag so he couldn’t find it. He needed to dry out and our hosts weren’t doing him any favors.
We waited out the night together, him meowing to the night air and me keeping watch, my tail beating the air in time as I counted the seconds until morning. It felt like years before the humans came out from behind their door again. They greeted us with smiles as if nothing had happened last night. The nerve! They do whatever they want, and I lose fur by the tufts over some floofin’ stranger I just met. I still feel bad for the kid though. He deserves a better home than this. I need a plan to get him outta’ here. But first, I gotta’ meow at these humans for my breakfast…then maybe a cat nap. Like I said, it’s not much, but it’s a life. My whiskers are thin and I’m tufting out. I may not be able to break outta’ here now, but I can at least stick around and keep an eye on my nip-fiend friend, at least until he dries out and can stand on his own four paws. I owe that to my partner. I couldn’t save him but maybe I can save this floof.
Born Sir Snowball Floofton III, the ragamuffin now goes by Floof in a symbolic rejection of his upbringing. Floof is a party cat with a catnip problem and isn’t afraid to let people know. He’ll go claw to claw in a back alley to get his scratch and prove he’s got the whiskers to tough it out on the streets.
Mange was born to a single kitty mother on the south side of Kit-Kat Town. Abandoned in a dumpster as a kitten, he started running catnip for the local Pitbull to put cream in his dish. The manginess of his fur and scrappy attitude soon earned him the nickname Mange. After one too many hard nights and close calls with death, Mange went straight and is now a full-fledged Cat Detective, graduating with Full Whiskers from Paws Academy. His past still haunts him but he doesn’t let that stop him from cleaning up the streets and bringing justice to those less fortunate, even if he sometimes utilizes unorthodox methods from his nip-slinging days.