The Magnanimous Seven

Ever since the air turned warm, the Man has spent his days lingering about the fortress, playing the silent piano in his upright coffin or worshipfully staring at his big glowing box — generally, being in the way and failing to make with the pellets in a timely manner.

The other day, however, I chanced to observe the images the big box was putting forth, and realized it was some kind of historical record of a group of lone warriors who once joined forces to battle a common enemy of vastly superior numbers. They did not have the cohesive synergies and clear command hierarchy of a conventional regimental unit, but functioned wholly as collection of individuals, each with his own strengths, each ultimately answerable only to himself.

Now that is a concept that bears further analysis.

The postwar situation around here is typically precarious. A lot of fragmented cadres and marauding gangs linger, with a lot of unresolved vendettas among them. It wouldn't take much to ignite all this bad blood into an even wider and uglier conflict. In this situation, I am perfectly able to guard what is mine, to keep these thugs off my turf. But I must also consider my responsibility to the larger world, to my fellow cats and the global cause of law and order.

The land is looking for leaders. As one, I can protect and defend what is mine, but if I built around me an elite group equally powerful warriors, if I brought together the best and brightest of felinedom, the pillars of fortitude from across the land — under my leadership, we would be invincible. And the paw of our might would be felt from the polar rats to the equatorial vermin.

To that end, I have studied the Man's warrior-documentary with care, and have concluded that seven guns are required. And after much deliberation, I believe I have compiled the necessary dossiers for this elite team:

1) General Shmool
I may not be as young as some of these other soldiers, but I am war-hardened and know my way around a battlefield. Beneath my nails has dried the blood of many a foe, yet I have won as many engagements with cunning as with my blades. Despite being a master strategist, I am also a front-line commander, leading men into battle with my saber drawn. And when I growl, you listen.

2) Grizzly Jack
Stalwart loner and fearless warrior. Afraid of absolutely nothing on this Earth. Treed a bear single-handed. Twice. Without claws. This fellow is all sand and mettle. Paws-down my first choice for a lieutenant; there is no cat in the world I'd rather have watching my back. I fear he may be too much the lone wolf, and will resist my entreaties to join forces. But every cat has a weakness, and maybe, just maybe, Jack can be convinced to fight for adventure, or for honor. To a cat of his calibre, I'm offering both.

3) Fezzik
Real name unknown. I've taken to calling him “Fezzik” because he specializes “in groups, battling gangs for local charities, that sort of thing... you see, you use different moves when you're fighting half a dozen people than when you only have to be worried about one.” In other words, he is the Brute Squad. Granted, I have not seen him fight, but I have seen him hold off an army of nine, using nothing but his eyes and a few well-chosen words. He is a wall. If I ever needed to shore up a flank or establish an impenetrable defensive line, I'd send in Fezzik.

4) Lewis “Six-Gun” Cisero
The infamous six-toed mad-dog (pardon the expression) killer of Connecticut. Chomps and slashes his victims seemingly at random, sometimes luring them in with a friendly purr before sinking his fangs into their ankles. Strikes fear in everyone from neighborhood children to the Avon Lady. Recently spared the chair for his crimes, and currently under house arrest, so we'll have to bust him out. Every team needs a loose cannon that stirs mortal terror in the enemy, and this bloodthirsty maniac is the perfect wild card.

5) Willy the Fingers
Pilferer and petty thief from Pelham. Likes gloves, and makes a small name for himself in their expropriation. Works gardens almost exclusively. Sharp and focused. Knows his game and sticks to it. He's become something of a beloved folk hero in his hometown, so he can move freely in public and can pick up information as easily as an errant Isotoner. This is our scrounger, our master of acquisitions. We keep him out of the muscle end of the business and let his sticky fingers do our gathering.

6) Fleabag
No photos exist of this fellow. I knew him many years ago in the north end, when this slick bastard infiltrated my fortress and stole my food on a daily basis. At the time he was the bane of my existence, but I also learned to admire his uncanny talent for total stealth. He was the kind of cat who managed to suddenly just be there — on your bed, in your food, or standing directly behind you — and he could vanish just as easily. He seemed able to pass through walls. He was also calm, composed, and well-mannered, though he had the teeth of a mastodon. An ideal spy.

7) Fabio
Because every team apparently needs a buffoon for comic relief. He could be our fat, warbling minstrel, singing his goofy songs about our heroic exploits.

And if things ever got really bad, we could eat him.

For a month.