Furrball Saga Re-cap *Spoiler ahead*
If you're new to the series, it's probably not the best idea to start by reading this guy, but anyways, welcome! If it's been a while, let's get ya back up to speed, shall we? In Dawn Sarang, Furrball and Fifi decided to date and after meeting an old friend at a class reunion, Dizzy took the couple to New Zealand, to a Juvenile Hall he worked at where a belligerent street cat was about to be released for the 13th time or so. Furrball decided to adopt the one-pawed cat, and upon arriving back in the states in Musul and Marriage, after quite a few hiccups and a new TV show, Fifi and Furrball tied the knot! Obviously there's more to it, but anyways, without further adieu, 'tis time for our feature presentation. That wasn't actually a spoiler if you read in order, was it? Should I have just put 'possible spoiler' ahead?
Sparks in the Parkz – Domingo Insomniazzz
The vast majority of the time, he didn't really think about it, but there were definitely certain instances when Sparkz longed for his missing paw. Professor Sly had done a fantastic job of getting him used to not trying to feel it, and compensating with his remaining paw without straining it too much, which had been his major issue in the past. His buddy, Tres, had gotten him hooked on his latest obsession, which offered him the opportunity to express himself without stuttering. Even if he wasn't actually speaking his mind, the act of articulation and his intonation allowed for some release he couldn't get from destroying something with his claws.
Que me gusta se gusta
Muerto mi Samba
Y tambien yo bebo refrescos a canta
"Don't stop on my account."
Taking a seat at the foot of his young charge's bed, the blue cat's fur caught the sunlight in the oddest way making his color appear almost gray, matching his son's. The very presence of another being caused the youth to tense up and conceal his bongos under the covers, wiping off some nervous sweat for good measure.
Furrball didn't take offense to this. Sparkz was simply starting to hit that age. Of course he wanted nothing more than to encourage the kitten's creative output, but speculated that too much goading would result in results in direct opposition to the older cat's intentions. Sparkz had been a bit more despondent in public than usual recently. The elder feline had noticed two days ago at the cast party, wrapping up season three of their hit TV show that Sparkz hadn't said a single word to anyone, despite his strides of progress in verbal communication.
The older cat's thoughts were interrupted as Sparkz swiped his bongos causing them to crash to the floor, splitting the instrument in two. Furrball sighed, picking up the pieces. It was quite obvious, the problem. He hadn't really noticed it before, as Sparkz had built up his defenses so well in public, that his compensation went generally unnoticed. Ever since he'd brought the kitten the drums, Sparkz had been obsessed with them, trying his level best to get the rhythm he desired out of them. This made sense, though. The kitten wasn't frustrated at his slow progress, but the fact that he was left-handed. This wouldn't have posed as much of a problem after the 19th century were it not for the fact that the stub where his paw should have been was lacking in the flexibility department, making it significantly slower and impossible for him to synchronize his beats.
"Rick Allen had this problem at first, too."
Sparkz's ears perked, but he refused to inquire, wanting to stew in his rage a while longer.
"But he lost his right arm."
Furrball got up to leave, hoping the younger cat would meditate on this. Just as he made it to the door, the kitten spoke up.
"Era su brazo izquierdo."
The blue feline turned to see Sparkz pointing to the appropriate limb. His expression, much like his voice masked any feeling he might have had.
"His left arm," the younger cat whispered. Furrball said nothing as he closed the door behind him.
"Ah, mon bougie, there you are!"
The blue cat stopped in his tracks. The temperature always seemed to feel a bit warmer when his love used her native tongue. As a sly grin spread across the feline's face, he arched upward, in a classic pouncing stance. The purple skunk backed up a few steps, feigning fear.
"No! Ne pense même pas à ce sujet!" Fifi squealed. "Don't even think about it, mister!"
But the warning was a bit too late, and would've fallen on deaf ears anyway as Furrball gently tackled his 'prey' to the sofa, causing the two to catch a bit of hang time as the cushions sprung to life. Fifi was something of an acrobat, herself and managed to flip to the higher position, pinning Furrball to the carpet as they landed in a fit of giggles.
"C'est dire!" the skunk managed between laughs. "Give up already!"
The cat looked at Fifi as if she were crazy.
"And make you get off of me? Please. I'm quite comfortable here, thank you very much," he winked. His wife groaned, slugging him in the shoulder as she let him up. It was no fun when he clearly wanted it.
"So how was work?"
Fifi sighed rolling her eyes as she dusted herself off. Her hours had increased significantly over the past month due to cuts going left and right at the magazine.
"They'd better pick me for the Marseille job, I swear!" she breathed, her eyes narrowing to thin, fierey slits.
"Sparkz'd get a kick out of that opera house, for sure." Furrball added, joining his wife at the table.
"I was thinking he'd be more into the French hip hop scene there," the skunk remarked with a smirk. Furrball grinned silently agreeing.
"Oh, I think you wrinkled it."
"What?" Fifi inquired, cocking her head.
Pulling a bent envelope out of his front pocket, the cat handed it to Fifi as her eyes quickly scanned the 'from' address.
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, thrusting the envelope back into her husband's paw. "You open it! I can't!"
Furrball frowned disdainfully. "You know I can't read medical talk."
"You're hopeless!" Fifi sighed, opening the letter, reading it intently as the cat waited anxiously to hear some good news. Fifi's puzzling expression did nothing to alleviate his anticipation, though something told him not to rush her. When the skunk was finished, she quietly folded the letter up and stuffed it back into the envelope.
"Two things," Fifi's tone indicated things were serious. "One, I don't have any squirrel DNA whatsoever. Whoever that was, he wasn't my dad."
"Oh." Furrball was clueless as to how he was meant to take such news. He offered his paw to stop hers from trembling. She squeezed it softly and all of a sudden, the trembling was over.
"And," she sang, holding the word for emphasis. She leaned in, placing her lips near one of the cat's pointy ears. "It's possible. 30% chance."
Furrball immediately embraced Fifi, holding her close to him as he laughed heartily. The very prospect of having offspring was oddly enough a comfort and a hope he hadn't even realized that he'd longed for.
"Guess we're gonna have to try extra hard, eh?" he breathed, purring softly.
"Try what? ¿Qué paso?"
The couple straightened up, creating a bit of distance, giving their son a couple of goofy grins as he eyed them suspiciously from the threshold.
Even as a blast of cool air from the supermarket's A/C hit him, Furrball could still feel beads of sweat on his brow from the recent turn of events. He'd promised his wife years ago that he'd never have any more secrets and that was supposed to be extended to their son, but this was complicated. He was young, might not understand, might take things the wrong way…
What's happened to me? The cat mused in his native tongue. He was acting just like a normal grownup, complicating things to the point where it was too hard to see the truth beyond all the B.S.
"D'alors! C'est Furrball, no?"
The cat snapped to attention as he stood before one half of what was once the most controversial couple of the small screen. Ever the performer, Pepe was decked out in lavish attire akin to Don Giovanni himself. Hardly suited for shopping for groceries, yet the absence of anything but wine and steak in his cart made his clothing almost befitting.
The skunk squeezed the cat's shoulder, smiling as he watched the focus finally return to Furrball's eyes.
"How are you, jeune erudite?"
"D-doing good," the cat managed, find his voice, surprising himself by his heightened sense of alertness all of a sudden. He didn't really have any reason to fear Pepe, and yet…
"Your serial premieres on Wednesday, n'est pas?
"No," Furrball stammered, "That is… y-yes, season three starts Wednesday at 8!"
"You know it's good timing that we would be seeing each other so suddenly," Pepe brushed the hair out of his eyes, grinning his trademark smile. "It's about your fils, uh how you say, your son."
Furrball's apprehension was immediately replaced with interest. Sparkz tended to stay around the house when he wasn't filming and hadn't met many celebrities, including the infamous skunk.
"You see, Pénélope, she's an assistant at an old colleague's place of business." Pepe nudged Furrball before continuing. "You and I both know we don't need the money, but she's so têtu… headstrong, you know?"
The feline said nothing, anxiously waiting for the point. Pepe's eyes roamed the aisles a few times, scanning the local ladies, but the cat's stare compelled him to focus again.
"Oui, so, here is a business card, I think you should go pay your old science teacher a visit then, no?" Pepe handed Furrball the business card and before the cat could read it, the skunk was on the trail of a random target who'd just disappeared into the juice aisle. Scratching his head, Furrball studied the card. Wile E., of course. He could barely phonetically sound out "Bio-genetic Prosthesis", much less comprehend the meaning of the words put together. Putting the card in his wallet, he mentally counted down to hear the inevitable commotion as the mystery lady expressed her disapproval of the skunk's hackneyed compliments. The cat excused himself from the supermarket quickly. He'd forgotten what he went in for anyway.
It wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong, but Fifi simply couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something just wasn't right. She had initially given up the very idea of having a child when she made her vows at the altar. Hybrids, regardless of their parents' status typically had more medical problems than 'purebreds' and the social ramifications could be downright hostile in certain situations… or areas. Of course, there was always Sparkz to contend with… he might take exception to the fact that his adoptive parents even wanted an addition to the family, but Furrball had been adamant about the mentality of one that was raised in a street family having no such domestic sensitivity. Of course, the other positive was there would be no litter to contest with, as they could typically only produce once and 99% of cases were a single offspring.
"Universe to Fifi, come in Fifi."
The purple skunk looked up, her cheeks turning a shade of red as she noticed a good portion of her ice cream had melted off the cone and onto the table. Shirley wiped off the mess with a napkin, sensitive to her old friend's concerns. Had Plucky not screwed things up… twice, she might very well be in a similar situation.
"Hey, you wanna like, go to the mall and check out the new tablets or somethin'?"
The skunk had to laugh, hearing the blonde mallard use her thespian Valley accent from their school days. It'd been years since she'd spoken like that and was a great method of getting Fifi's mind off of things.
"How about just…" Fifi thought for a moment as her friend's expression sullened. "You know I've been meaning to see the difference between that new HP and the Samsung."
Shirley was no loon; she could tell it was forced. Being the best friend that she was, however, she made no indication of her knowledge as they left the ice cream shop.
Shopping was little comfort. With her husband and son clearly in the spotlight these days, this generally brought the paparazzi out in droves whenever she made a public appearance. Fortunately, today was a rare exception for whatever reason. Years ago, she had actually craved to be back on the silver screen, but after years of soul-searching, she realized her real love was for literature. Freelancing for Elle Magazine paid the bills and got her recognized, but, even unbeknownst to her hubby, she was also working on her novel, a horror story of all things, that she'd been writing since before she could recall.
"So what about the Galaxy?"
Fifi looked up. It took a moment to register where she was and get her bearings. Shirley and the salesman, an enormous collie with a horrible mullet were waiting for her to mentally rejoin them.
"Y-yeah, why not?" the skunk forced a smile, picking the tablet up. Why not?
Outside the mall, Shirley's phone began vibrating. Her blood ran cold as she looked at the caller ID.
"Old flame?" her friend queried.
"More like 'ancient bonfire'. When is Fowlmouth gonna take a hint?"
"Aw, c'est tellement mignon! So cute!" Fifi squealed, happy to finally have a mental distraction. Shirley rolled her eyes, obviously not amused in the least bit as she waited for the vibrating to cease.
"He's impossible to talk to. Speaks so fast I can't understand him anyway. And his stutter…oh you wouldn't understand…" the duck frowned, realizing in mid-sentence that the two had been on opposite ends of this very conversation not so long ago.
"Why don't you give him a chance… a real one, this time?"
"Oh." Fifi looked away, her sudden realization making her feel a bit awkward.
"What 'oh'?" Shirley eyed her friend suspiciously, her intuition kicking into overdrive.
"It's nothing…" Fifi tried, feebly, knowing that wouldn't cut it at all.
"There's still a part of you that…you know?"
"Likes him." Shirley finished the skunk's sentence, letting her off the hook. It was true. There was no denying that she and Plucky were compatible. Of course, there was such thing as being too perfectly matched and that had been their problem. Part of Shirley wished it had been a nasty break up. It might have been easier to move on then, And yet…
"Why don't we meet next week? See that new Spielberg flick, 'kay?" Shirley forced a smile as she took off for her car. Fifi knew better than to follow.
"Okay, see you!" she called as soon as Shirley was out of earshot. She felt a lump of guilt in her throat, having spent the day mulling over her issues, while Shirley spent the majority of her time trying not to think of her own. Ah, the frustrations of the silent self-commentary.
-More to Follow! Thanks for reading! Please review :D -