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I heard a pouncing commotion, looked up and saw Pfineous trotting across the apartment in an agitated state. It wasn’t the first time I saw him like that. Once about 4 years ago when I was living in Brooklyn, a friend stopped by for a visit with his dog, a big one, and Pfineous came screaming out from behind me through the open front door, dropped his hind-quarters and waved his front paw back and forth in front of the gargantuan dog’s face. What a sight! The dog yelped, turned and ran down the block towards Nevins. Pfineous trotted into the apartment slightly trembling, emitting long, overwrought meows, disturbed. It almost seemed like he was sorry for being so aggressive.

Tonight, the trot was similar and I saw what looked like a thick, droopy, gray whisker. I realized: he had a mouse clamped in his jaws! I started pumping adrenalin. Was he going to keep it alive and play with it? Was he going to kill and eat it? I was struggling between squeamishness and bloodlust. (I remembered in high school seeing my cat, Puk, hunched over a half eaten squirrel outside the backdoor. I saw the pinkish intestines spilling from the carcass, like pasta spilling over the side of a plate, and the exposed, white broken ribs against the gray pebbles of the drive.)

Pfineous had a slightly confused expression and his gaze remained down at the floor as if he felt exposed and a bit self-conscious. Next thing I knew he had spat the mouse on the floor. He pounced, batted once, twice, but unfortunately too close to the open closet. The mouse fled to the safety of shadow. Pfineous threw himself down in front of the closet, front arms on the floor, hind-quarters reared up. I felt a mixture of disappointment, shame and disgust. He lost the mouse!

Pfineous sat down, unfocused. An awkward meow escaped as I shone a flashlight into the closet. There was the mouse, completely revealed and trapped. Pfineous looked away. I think he was pissed off at me for forcing him into something. I had no business being there.

Still I was dense about it. I sort of pushed Pfineous towards the closet thinking, god, what self-respecting cat wouldn’t LOVE to be here? Finally, only because I didn’t give him much choice, he stood up and moved into the closet, but all he did was move angrily to the inside wall and flop down, his head not but six inches away from the helpless mouse. What was this? What kind of cat sits down next to an easy catch and ignores it? I stared in disbelief.

Eventually the mouse crawled along the wall to behind Pfineous’ head and curled up against his neck. Pfineous’ eyes grew heavy and his lids fell. I chuckled and thought, what the hell, and stretched out on the floor with my head up against Pfineous’ stomach and the three of us slept until morning.

Date Written: May 31, 2004
Author: John Slocum
Average Vote: 3.5

06/3/2004 scoop (2):
06/3/2004 Will Disney (4): who wrote this anyway? i'll give it 3.5 for personal reasons, although i know the lerpa will disagree with me. f u lerpa.
06/3/2004 anonymous: doesn't disney know everything?
06/3/2004 anonymous: This is not really a short. Have at it with reckless abandon.
06/3/2004 Will Disney: disney the admin could look it up. disney the author cannot. so who wrote this? how do they know pfineous?
06/3/2004 qualcomm: the mouse pissed in pfineous' mouth
06/3/2004 Ferucio P. Chhretan (4): Are you sayiing that no self respecting author could look up the name of the person who wrote this? then let me assist you, Mr. Disney. And keep in mind I only use what's already available at this site. No outside devices. Like some sort of magical fortune dude I can tell you that you'd like to mull this short over with a glass of fine wine. What wine might the author recommend? By the way I give a four for the unbearable cuteness of the last paragraph.
06/3/2004 TheBuyer: what about poop? no poop? where's the poop?
06/3/2004 Will Disney: alright, fpc, that comment problem in the author-detail view should be fixed. is there still a way to figure out the author of this short?
06/3/2004 Mr. Pony:
06/3/2004 Jon Matza (4): Made me nostalgic for the Pfineouses of yesteryear.
06/3/2004 anonymous: Next to the complex humanity of Pfineous, Puk seems like a brutal, uncivilized beast. He's not, okay everyone? Puk (R.I.P.) was the sweetest cat, unless you were a squirell fucking with his territory.
06/3/2004 TheBuyer: I'm not going to rate it, J.S but I showed to me mum because she loves this animal cutesy bullshit. She said something totally unexpected. She said, "is he one of those...um..whatchamacallits...those 'furries'?" Oh mum.
06/3/2004 TheBuyer: so, are ya?
06/3/2004 John Slocum: what's a 'furries'
06/3/2004 John Slocum: did she mean 'fairies'? That would make more sense 'cause I fucked your dad's mouth.
06/4/2004 TheBuyer: Furries dress up like animals. It's a fetish. That's how it's funny. Because my mom is an old lady. She's not Mrs. Roper, she doesn't say "fairies." Please stop fucking my family in the face.
06/4/2004 John Slocum: Tell your mom I'm not a 'Furry.' And that is funny. Never heard of that fetish. Sorry about your dad.