Return to the Village of the Damned: The Flip-Flop of the Felines

Cleo the Cat: “Who the hell is Elvis?”

Scotch the Cat: “I don’t know. Wait, maybe I do. He’s the one who sings about a Boo Boo Christmas. I always have a boo boo Christmas. I make boo boos every day and then wait for the Magic Scoop to hide my badness.”

Cleo: “Stop making this all about you. There’s only room for one Diva Kitty here at Bonnywood, and I’m not going down without a fight.”

Scotch: “Oh, okay. I didn’t know we were fighting. Maybe you could say ‘we are fighting now’ and I would know better. And maybe if your ass wasn’t so big we would have more room for divas.”

Cleo: “Hold up. What’s going on here, with you coming up with semi-admirable rebuttals to my previously-unchallenged proclamations? I’m supposed to be the smart kitty and you’re the short-circuit kitty with focus problems and unregulated cluelessness.”

Scotch: “Um, well, maybe it’s my new kibble. The Daddies talked to the vegetarian about my anger issues and they got a piece of paper with scribbles on it and now my kibble looks and smells different on certain days. Just like you used to do before they ripped out your plumbing.”

Cleo: “Hmm. They didn’t run this new food regimen past me, so of course I’ll have to discuss it with my attorneys. Until then, just how smart did you get? And where can I find an antidote?”

Scotch: “I’ve never been smart before, so I don’t really have a reference point. Maybe you can test my IQ?”

Cleo: “The mere fact that you can even ask that question scares the hell out of me. But you’re right, let’s test this. Study this insipid photo that Daddy One took, thinking it said “artistic and moody” but what it really says is “taken with his smartphone because he’s too cheap to buy an actual camera that could compensate for the low-light aura”. Ready? Go!”

Scotch: “Okay, well, Elvis and his Boo Boo are lost in shadow, much like Daddy’s inability to make anything out of his writing efforts.”

Cleo: “Oh, that’s good. Keep going.”

Scotch: “Then we have the crooked bush on the corner of the building on the left. It’s possible that Daddy was trying to make a political statement about a former president, but I think it speaks more to Daddy not hiring the right set decorators.”

Cleo: “Excellent. Continue.”

Scotch: “Then we have the stupid, out-of-focus flamingos that are blindly marching toward the concert venue where they can listen to dead people sing songs that no longer matter. These would be the lemmings who voted for Trump.”

Cleo: “Kudos. And the most important bit of all?

Scotch: “That would be Trump himself, on the far right, staring into the House of Respectability where he will never gain entrance. At the end of the day, despite the madness and the lemmings and the blatant disregard for any degree of decency or legality, he will go down in history as a complete and total asshole.”

Cleo: “Wow. I am SO impressed with you right now. You are truly embracing the spirit of Bonnywood. Daddy is going to be so proud of you.”

Scotch: “Oh, he’s already proud of me. And I know he loves me. After all, he lets me make bread on his belly while he’s lying on the couch, even though my claws are ripping him to shreds. That’s love. And all those times when I go to the dark side and scream like a howler monkey because of my inner demons? Five minutes later, when I’ve completely forgotten about my freak-out, he lets me hop on his lap while he’s sitting at his desk, working on his blog and petting me and reading parts of his stories out loud to make sure they sound right. That’s more love.”

Cleo: “I guess our daddies do love us a lot, even though they don’t follow my directives most of the time.”

Scotch: “They don’t follow them because you’re a drama queen up against two other drama queens. You’re not always going to win. But you should show more love whenever you can. It took me a while to figure that out.”

Suddenly, Daddy One walks into the room. “What are you kids doing in here?”

Cleo: “Nothing.”

Scotch: “She made me do it.”

Daddy One: “Uh huh. Do either of you want to confess now or do you just want me to find the evidence later?”

Cleo: “There’s nothing to find. We were just talking about… stuff.”

Scotch: “I think we were actually bonding. And trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Daddy One: “Well, it’s nice to see you both getting along for a change. Life is so much easier when the two of you can be in the same room without something getting broken.”

Daddy Two walks into the room. “I just got home. Who broke what?”

Cleo: “Nothing’s broken. In fact, I think we just fixed something. My brother is turning out to be a decent guy after all.”

Scotch: “Aww. That’s so sweet of you.”

Cleo: “But I still don’t appreciate you sniffing my butt every time I walk into a room. It’s the same butt, every day.”

Scotch: “I’ll try to work on that, but every day is a new day for me.”

Cleo: “I’d say every minute is a new minute for you. Well, the old me would say that. The new me is trying to be better at forgiveness.”

Daddy Two to Daddy One: “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

Daddy One to Daddy Two: “No idea. But you capture the light when you can and you hold it tight.”

The four members of the Bonnywood Family smile at each other while the lights blink in the Christmas Village, then they head down to the Palm Lounge to hear Elvis sing about his boo boo.


Previously published, modified minimally for this post.


27 replies »

  1. Kinda like how my daughters played nice on Christmas. Older says that she’s still not sure about Partner… that Partner has hurt Younger. I say Younger has to live her life… I dont like hurt either but it’s her choice. Older says, yeah whatever, I just meant no one is allowed to hurt my sister except me.
    🎶🎶Can you feel the love tonight…
    Never type under the influence of prescription medications 🤤


    Liked by 2 people

    • Family relationships are crazy and messy and sometimes wonderful and always interesting.

      And I DO feel the love tonight. I’m just glad that I finally learned to stop looking for it in all the wrong places…

      As for the prescription medication angle, well, I’m always under that influence. Otherwise I would be punching annoying people in the throat, so… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Tell me, if Elvis is appearing at the Palm (that’s so clever), could we also book the half of the “Highwaymen” (respect to Johnny and Waylon, Willie and Kris will be along directly); and the Travelling Wilburies (I think they’re ALL dead, aren’t they – is Dylan Thomas dead? I never know these things)? as well? Aretha Franklin might be offered a spot too, and David Bowie for a one night only gig. I’d pay to go listen to that concert, but I want a seat next to Scotch. Who could expect lots of love from this old broad. I hope dogs are allowed at the party – Huny and Pudge, as well as Beni, Gypsy, Sausha, Nikki, Toro, Muggins and all the dogs I’ve loved before would like to attend. Given the unspoken rule about peace on earth and good will to other creatures, I don’t think there’d be any fussin’ going on. Of course Cleo and Ziggy can regale their ‘brothers’ with tales of life earthside, 2020 and make those who are departed all the more glad they got off the big ride. There is, of course, a Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

    Liked by 1 person

    • You know I always relish your comments, but this one is really satisfying, both for its content and the fact that you clued into exactly what I was thinking when I decided to re-share it. The original share of this post, just a tad over two years ago, was the one where I had that extended, heart-breaking footnote about Scotch moving on. I took out that footnote this time because, to be honest, I didn’t want to deal with folks making fresh comments about the passing. But reading this post now, I can still see all the little changes I made to the story from pre-incident to post-incident, even without that dreaded footnote.

      And I am all for a concert that we can attend with all our furries from all our times, even if it’s one night only, just listening to music and watching them all run around and play together and… aw hell, here it comes, that damn smoke in the eyes…

      But I still want the concert…


    • Yes, I do know. I was just at his trailer the other day, and we had peanut-butter-and-banana sliders and drank beer. Good fun. But I had to remind him he should stop wearing polyester jumpsuits and spangles. Everybody has moved beyond that. Of course, everybody thinks HE’S moved on, but you and I know different…


  3. LOL. Is Scotch the cat on a vegetarian diet? Hahaha. That’s funny. Cat won’t eat vegetable. At least that’s my long held view, but anything can happen in 2020. I looked up lemming and it is an rodent living in Arctic tundra. Is that an American slang that immigrants will never understand?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Scotch the Cat was definitely on a diet in his later years, though not a vegetarian one. He had some health issues and he was NOT impressed with the diet, even though it did make him feel better for a while.

    A “lemming” in America, at least when it comes to slang, is anyone who blindly follows a leader or a trend and doesn’t question why they might be following, even if that leader or trend is a ridiculous one…


  5. Bless your heart, Bri. Just bless your adorable heart. I fed d interstitials. But this is pure love on a scale only the ape shit cat songs of aging felines can echo throughly the windmills in our minds. I stepped on Simon accidentally tonight. I hate that sound of pain but at first there was nothing just a shocked look like mommy h-h-hurt mmmmmeeeeeeeeerawwwwwwwww! Run. Hide. Come out for treats. Forget by way of FDHD about pain and come running for the treat bag shake and not a faux limp in sight. But those cats whose love is regularly coughed up in a wet squish of a hair ball at 5 am between the toes. It’s gross but we’re cat fanciers, trump dissidents, and full of silly hope that’s maybe there’s love on the end of the mousie toy and a curled up purr box just making biscuits on my lap😝

    Liked by 1 person

    • Your mention of cat toys has me mentally hop-scotching away (pun partially intended): You never know exactly which toy will delight them endlessly and which toy will prove a bane on their existence, left forlorn and never touched. We have an old umbrella holder in which we store the never-loved and once-loved-but-the-thrill-is-gone gadgets. That holder is nearly brimming, filled as it is with epochal layers of the parade of fur babies who’ve stalked the halls of Bonnywood…


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