Reservoir cat

For years now, I have had exclusive rights to the best watering hole in town — a deep and generous basin right outside the main hatch of my keep. Sure, the Woman serves up fresh water every so often indoors, but my private, personal reservoir offers pure, uncontaminated rainwater (no one's going to sap or impurify my precious bodily fluids). Besides, I prefer to slake my thirst al fresco, like my fathers on the savannah.

I'm not stingy when it comes to sharing this wellspring with my subordinates, though it seems not to be an issue — Fabio is a tapwater fiend and shameless tub-licker, and the Rodent hasn't gone near the basin since it “bit” his tongue on a particularly cold morning. So I drink long, deep, and in peaceful solitude, as the master of the oasis properly should.

But if one thing is certain, it's that abundant wealth attracts unsavory characters with greedy eyes. Just as Mr. Hands and his squad of masked safecrackers tried to heist our pellets last year, another nefarious gang is making a bold play for what is rightfully mine. And unlike that band of enormous fingered cats, whose weapons were stealth and cunning, this new menace has a belligerent attitude — and serious numbers.

The crows own the skies. Because I chose to concede that point, I have never clashed with the powerful cawkuza clans these many years. There has been an unbroken truce of honor and respect between myself and the venerable local Cawfather, Don Croleone. But now, for the first time, the crows have broken the peace.

There's a new squadron in town. Noisy, hungry upstarts. And unlike the good don's faithful lieutenants, these punks like to loiter, and taunt, and throw their weight around. They have no respect for the established regimes of the Corva Nostra; they only care about getting their greasy wings on all the territory they can seize, by hook or crook. These mad goons call themselves L'Omicidio Sanguinante, though on the streets they're known as the Crazy Wraiths. Their general is a particularly arrogant and butt-ugly bastard with the ridiculous name of Mr. Nero.

It was only this week, while I was enjoying a peaceful drink at my reservoir, that I caught the Crazy Wraiths eyeballing me. They had spread themselves out — one on the neighboring rooftop, another over on the big tree, a pair on the fence, a handful more atop various chimneys and power lines. They squawked signals at one another, occasionally swooping overhead to take up new positions. Not a very subtle attempt at intimidation.

Then I heard a really vulgar croak from right above me. I glanced up, and there was Mr. Nero, brazenly perched on my own roof. And he wasn't barking orders at his minions. This repulsive bastard was croaking at me, and in a decidedly disrespectful tone. I instinctively coiled on my haunches — he was up high, but not so high that I couldn't get close enough to send him a message. Let's see how tough you look turning tail in front of all your boys.

I quickly thought better of that idea, and let myself relax. No, that's not the way to play this. These punks are just noisy kids... nobodies. They aren't worth your attention — they're only looking for a fight as a way to garner some clout in the neighborhood.

I glanced over at Nero's thugs. They had stopped squawking and were all concentrating on me, wondering what I would do. So I gave my claw a few licks with disdainful relish, and brushed the dust off my torn ear. You see that scar, boys? I got that scar when your great-grandfathers were sucking down regurgitated roadkill from their mamas.

Then I looked up at Mr. Nero, told him a few things I knew about his mama, and casually made my way back inside. He screamed a filthy stream of obscenities after me, so I lifted my tail high to make sure he saw what I wanted him to see as we parted company.

This is dirty business, this guy. Punk or no, Mr. Nero needs to disappear. And that means it's time to have a word with Don Croleone. Not that I need anybody's permission to eat whoever wanders onto my turf, but as a simple matter of respect, you don't want to ice any cawkuza capo without first getting a sitdown.