THE FUNNY FELINE CLUB, Part 3 of the Tomcat Club

Cameron, Treasurer of the Funny Feline Club

THE FUNNY FELINE CLUB
Part three of The Tomcat Club
Copyright 2005 Janice Price

“Okay, I call this meeting to order,” President Crystal says, stamping his foot, in lieu of a gavel. “The first order of business is to make our Treasurer Cameron happy and pay our dues.”

One by one the cats drop a morsel of dry cat food at Cameron’s feet. His eyes grow round with delight. He now has a treasure to manage.

“Thank …”

Slurp! “Hey, that was good,” Buddy exclaims, licking his chops. “Is there any more?”

Cameron whacks Buddy over the nose with one paw. “How dare you eat our dues! That was our treasury and I didn’t even have a chance to count it to make sure everyone paid. Well, everyone except you dogs. Where are you hiding your dues?”

“Don’t look at me to pay dues,” Merci complains. “Buddy sucks up everything he finds, edible or not. I can’t hide so much as a crumb from him. He eats three times more than I do. Why don’t you ask him to pay double dues?”

Buddy defends himself. “Well, I’m a growing puppy. I’m always hungry. You shouldn’t put food in front of my nose if you don’t want me to eat it.”

“Can we get to the business at hand,” Cotton interrupts. “This bathtub is cold at four in the morning. Some of us would like to get this over with and go back to sleep on Jan’s warm blanket.”

“Yes,” Vice-president Cyndi adds, “before Jan hears our chattering teeth.”

“Well, Buddy and I aren’t having a picnic either, sitting on the bathroom floor with our heads hanging over the side of the bathtub,” Merci says.

Secretary Percy drops his pencil. “It’s bitterly cold in here tonight. I can barely scribble. Let’s move on.”

“Okay, the next thing on our agenda is to agree on a new name for the Funny Feline Club, since Buddy and Merci have connived their way into the club.”

“How about the Funny Feline and Canine Club?” Cameron asks.

“No,” Cotton says, “I don’t like that. Besides, Buddy and Merci aren’t funny.”

Cyndi offers her idea. “We could call ourselves the Funny Farm Writing Club. That’s who we are, isn’t it? I mean, we live at the Funny Farm and we formed this club in order to help Jan write fiction stories.”

“Good idea, Cyndi. I like that name better than Cameron’s suggestion,” Cotton says.

“I second it,” Cameron says, graciously.

“Are we all in agreement?” Crystal asks. All heads nod in agreement and Crystal stomps his foot. “Motion carried. We are officially the Funny Farm Writing Club. Now, let’s write. Percy, you said something at our first meeting about a word list.”

“Yes, I have it right here in my notes.” Percy flips to the first page of his notebook. “The words are “church, acorn, undertaker, flight attendant, Goshen, cloudy, meekly, and hope.”

“What kind of list is that?” Cyndi asks. “The words don’t have anything in common. How can we write a story when we don’t even know what some of those words mean? This is supposed to be fun.” She brightened, “I know, we need a dictionary.”

“Don’t look at me,” Cotton says. “I can’t lift a dictionary. And don’t ask Buddy to get the dictionary from the bookcase for us. He’ll eat it before he gets back here.”

Buddy licks his chops at the prospect of an extra meal.

“I know what an acorn is,” he says. “They’re tiny hors d’oeuvres. The front yard is covered with them. I eat them between meals all the time. Pecans have more meat, but Jan doesn’t have any pecans in her yard this year. I only get to eat fresh pecans when Miss Merci and I go with Jan to Miss Mother’s house.”

“Jan has taken us to Mr. Doug’s house, to Miss Theresa’s trailer, and to play in her mother’s yard? Who,” Merci demanded, “is Miss Mother?”

“I don’t know her name, Merci. We just know her as Jan’s mother. What do you want me to call her, Jan’s Miss Mother? That would sound strange.”

“I know what hope is,” Merci says, changing the subject. “It’s when you want something really bad and it doesn’t happen. For instance, I always hope you won’t steal my toys, Buddy, or mess up my bed, but you always do. And Jan keeps looking at you and saying, ‘I hope you don’t keep growing bigger, Buddy,’ but you do. Look at the size of you and you aren’t even three months old yet. Stop eating so you’ll stop growing and you might get your wish that Jan will keep you! Then you both will be happy and she won’t have to hope any more.”

Percy says, “I know what a flight attendant is. When a mother bird is teaching her babies to fly, she needs another bird to fly behind the baby birds and keep attendance.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Cotton says.

“Do you have a better definition?”

“No.”

“Then don’t make fun of mine, unless you can prove it wrong.”

“Wait a minute,” Crystal intervenes. “Percy is young, not dumb. Besides, that isn’t a bad idea. We are writing a fiction story.”

Cameron has something to say. “I know what a church is. Jan took most of us once. It was the first time she ever took me anywhere and when she brought me back, I knew this was really my home and I could stop being on my best behavior.”

“I don’t remember going to church,” Cyndi says.

“You weren’t with us. It was real early one cold morning, just a short time after I moved in here.”

“That wasn’t church,” Crystal chuckles. “She took all of us, except Cyndi and Merci, to the rabies clinic because we were each due for a rabies vaccination. Does anyone know what a Goshen is?”

“I don’t think it’s a what. I think it’s a where,” Merci says. “It’s near Atlanta.”

“No,” Cotton disagrees. “I think it’s near Pittsburgh.”

“Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know it isn’t near Atlanta? Everywhere is near Atlanta.” Merci is pleased with her logic.

Crystal says, “Never mind. This is a fiction story. We can move Goshen anywhere we want it to be.”

Cyndi tilts her head and says, “I think I hear Jan stirring. Maybe we better adjourn for the night.”

“Okay,” Crystal says. “Tomorrow night, same time, same place. Everyone bring your dues and a story idea using the word list. If you forget the words, ask Percy. This meeting is…”

“Run!” Merci yelps. “Here comes Jan.”

There is mass confusion as all the club members scatter.

Percy
Secretary for the Funny Farm Writing Club