Who’s Da Boss? Flash Fiction
‘Stop being a pussy,’ Bruce hisses in a low whisper as Tuxedo glances furtively down the hallway into the master bedroom.
Tuxedo turns back to meet Bruce’s narrowed eyes, his masked face tilts in question.
‘We’ve gotta move,’ Bruce growls, recalling how much he hates working with amateurs. ‘The sun is coming up.’
Tuxedo’s eyes follow the dawn light creeping along the floor. His gaze goes up the wall to the photo of the smiling son on his new bicycle. ‘But they seem so nice.’
Given Tuxedo’s background – not dissimilar to Bruce’s – it’s no surprise he’s looking for a replacement family, but they have a job to do, and with dawn fast approaching there’s no time for sentimentality.
Bruce has to get through to him…fast.
‘Tuxedo.’ Bruce tries not to choke on the ridiculous name the poor kid had been given and forces a patient smile. ‘I know this is all new to you, but it’s the natural order of things. In this world there is “us” and “them”.’ Bruce nods in the direction of the bedroom. ‘We need to let them know who’s in charge.’
Bruce raises a meaty paw and swats Tuxedo in the face.
‘Enough pussyfooting around. Are you one of us…or one of them?’ Bruce snarls.
Tuxedo shrinks back against the wall. ‘One of us…Us,’ comes Tuxedo’s shaky reply.
‘Good. Exactly how we discussed.’
Tuxedo nods vigorously.
Bruce slinks into the bedroom with the precision and stealth of a tiger hunting its prey. Watching Bruce, it’s easy to see where the term cat burglar got its meaning.
Tuxedo mimics each of Bruce’s movements, following him until they are in position. They’d agreed that Bruce would “take care of” the husband while the wife was Tuxedo’s “mark”.
Bruce mouths a countdown of three…two…one and they pounce in unison.
The wife screams and the husband sits bolt upright.
The wife bats furiously at Tuxedo who had landed on her stomach and proceeded to claw her belly.
The husband is on his feet trying to extricate a hacking Bruce from the basket of clean washing where he has already deposited a sizeable furball – his signature move.
Eventually the cats are wrangled and dumped unceremoniously in the hallway – the bedroom door slammed in their faces.
Bruce grins like a Cheshire…well you know…He then lets out a loud series of meows, which clearly translate to: Same time tomorrow?
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