Phoebe vs. Buttercup

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DeeJAY says,
"Hoomans!
Lahea's determined
the algorithm we need
to find the California lair
of the Babylonians,"

waving his paw-hand
at his monitor;

"If we run this formula
against Google's big data,
we can bring up
the coordinates
of Orange Man's
West Coast Center,
even as they
move around."

"They move?" I ask.

Tom balks. "When
does a lizard hold still?"

DeeJAY scratches
a mosquito bite on
the inside of his nose
then continues,
"Happy Rock is
a compass that can
similarly reveal their
whereabouts; but
Lahea's ingenuity
works just as well."

"Thanks, Cap'n!"
Lahea squeaks from
the other side
of our living room
before exchanging
a paw bump
with Gregory
and his jingly bling.
Then Lahea says,
"But Philosopher Jones
is the smart one; he found
the perfect hoomans
for our mission."

She gives me
a thumbs up with
her thumb-enabled paw
tech, which I'm not sure
I'll ever get used to

but when I see
how flabbergasted
Hooman #A looks,
I'm relieved I adapt
faster to the situation
than him.

Hooman #A stammers,
"Trump has a
West Coast Center,"

then all seven cats
swivel on their chairs,
bellowing,
sneering,
and hissing,
We call him
Orange Man!"

Philo snorts
while Phoebe says,
"Aren't you a Millennial?
Didn't you learn about
He Who Shall Not Be Named
as part of upbringing?"

From the distant dark
of the computer room,
Buttercup cackles,
"Listen to this Bengal
Orange County woman
talk like she understands
most of hooman culture,"

and Phoebe is quick
to quip back at
the tortoiseshell cat,
"Bitch, I wasn't
talking to you
or about you—
you are so insignificant,
I don't even share
a litter box with your
prima donna ass,"

then the two women-cats
hiss and spit at one another
until Philo growls, "What
did I say about petty
bickering between comrades!?"

Tom, who is normally
the quietest and most
refined of our cats,
dressed as he is
in his formal tux,
suddenly laughs
and says, "Let's
save the world
from Orange Man
before we wreck it
with our own
shenanigans."

Philosopher Jones says,
"Boom. That's
exactly what I said.
Guess Tom's the one
sharing my overpriced
special diet wet food
with me tonight;
the rest of you
dine on Friskies."

Buttercup replies,
"Not a problem. I grew
up in a McDonald's house."

♦️

First & second drafts: September 18

Word count: 396

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