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It was a lovely day in Cooperstown, New York. People walking around, doing their everyday things, such as pretending to understand politics and committing tax fraud. Parents disowning children and husbands cheating on their wives with their office sluts, you know, the usual. But this little story isn't about the boring lives of humanity. This is about the daily life of a small orange cat who goes by Oscar.
It was an average Monday, which, if you were a pet, was anything but average. Most pets have owners who stay at home, watch football all day, yelling at the screen, but Oscar's owner, Jim, was the complete opposite. He has a 7-hour job that he goes to every week for 7 days straight. The only time he gets to take a break is during the holidays, like Thanksgiving, or Christmas, and if he's lucky, Halloween. He has to wake up at exactly 8:55 before he gets to work, which starts at 9:05. Where does he work, you might ask? He works at an accounting office that is 10 minutes from his house. Right now, it is 8:49. For some, that's considered a little early, but for Oscar, that's considered too late.
Oscar was stretching his paws as he got up from his bed, yawning extra loudly. He blinked a few times and turned to see that the clock was on 8:49. He was about to go back to sleep until his stomach began to rumble, like a monster roaring in a cave. He then realized sleep was no longer an option. Seeing this, he went up and jumped onto his owner's bed, walking tirelessly.
"Come on, Jim," He said in a sing-songy voice. He was rubbing his face against Jim's, trying to wake him up. "You gotta get up, so you can feed me." He put his paw up against his owner's face, shaking and slapping his head. Still sleeping and unaware of his surroundings, Jim pushed Oscar off his bed, causing the orange cat to tumble down and land on his back. Now, a regular cat would just meow very loudly to get their owner's attention, but Oscar was petty, and he would do more than just meow.
"Okay, then. We'll do this the hard way." Getting up from the floor, Oscar jumped to the small drawer that the clock was on, slipping just to get up there. He then changed the time of the clock from 8:50 to 8:55. A harsh ringing came from the clock, blaring harshly in Oscar's ears. The sound was loud enough to wake the sleeping Jim from his slumber and cause him to fall from his bed. He raised his hand to turn off the alarm and got off the floor to witness his cat on the dresser. "Ohh, hey Oscar," Jim gently grazed his hand on Oscar's forehead, causing him to purr.
Oscar always messes with his owner, pulling pranks on him whenever he gets the chance. He knows Jim would never throw him out because that would imply he hates him. Jim has loved Oscar since he was a kitten. When they first gazed eyes on each other, they knew that they were no longer alone. Oscar does love Jim, but he likes to mess with him a lot.
"You're probably hungry, huh, boy?" Jim was reading his mind. Oscar quickly nodded his head and jumped from the dresser, landing safely on the ground. The two began to make their way downstairs. Jim was getting some treats from the kitchen to pour into his cat's bowl, while Oscar quickly went up the chair in the living room. He found the remote and changed it to a morning report with a news lady with huge tits that are suffocating under her clothes. Makes you wonder what she was hired for.
"Ok, boy," Jim said as he walked out the door. "I'll be back in a bit. Stay out of trouble." With that, Jim left his home for work, and Oscar was completely alone. He jumped off the couch and went into the kitchen to enjoy his breakfast. There, he saw his bowl filled up to the brim with his favorite wet food brand: WhiskerWagon. That company knew what cats wanted and didn't hold back. Sardine-flavored, creamy mushy goodness in a can, who could hate it?
Oscar quickly dug into the meal, leaving a mess surrounding the bowl and him. When he finished, he licked the remaining food off his mouth and stretched in satisfaction. Now it was time for him to really start his day. You might ask how a regular orange cat could have an exciting day. That's the best part. Oscar isn't a regular cat.
Oscar went out through the doggy door and walked through the streets of Cooperstown. He strutted down the sidewalk, feeling like nothing could touch him, let alone confront him. He was considered the black sheep in the pet community. Everywhere he would step, a cat or dog would run the other way, not wanting to stay in the same spot as him. Any stray cat would glare at him in envy, hissing at him with every step he made. They would never attack him, though, probably too scared of what he's capable of. However, there was always one who stood up to Oscar at every opportunity he got.
"Hey there, Brutus. Lovely morning, isn't it?"
Brutus woke up from his interrupted slumber, growling at his least favorite neighborhood cat. "Don't come any closer, you bastard." Brutus immediately took a fighting stance, flexing his claws on the ground and baring his teeth.
Oscar simply chuckled at that. "Wow, calling a bastard when I haven't done anything. How mature."
But Brutus was not backing down, his eyes becoming bloodshot in rage. "Don't play innocent with me, cat. All the humans might think you're a soft and good pet, but in reality, you're nothing but a heinous monster in cat's clothing."
"Oof, you wounded me. How will I ever recover?" Oscar said sarcastically, taking joy in the dog's anger. "Anyways, I heard you got neutered yesterday. Guess you have to sit and watch as, what's her name, Ruby, gets plowed by that Labrador fellow. Might suck that she never bears your children, huh?" He paused. "Now that I think about it, that could be a blessing."
The rage within the Rottweiler surged like boiling water ready to overflow. Brutus, the muscular dog with a fierce disposition, barked thunderously at the cat perched nearby, who watched with a sly, amused glint in his eyes as the heavyset dog struggled against his chains. The tension in the air was palpable as Brutus yanked and strained, summoning every ounce of strength from deep within his powerful frame, intent on breaking free to engage in battle. Oscar, the crafty feline, reveled in this torment, knowing all too well how to push the dog’s buttons. He relished the chaos he created, unrepentant for any mischief he had orchestrated so far.
Brutus had a history of terrorizing innocent cats who were simply seeking refuge, and Oscar despised that behavior; it stirred dark memories of his own past. With a predatory focus, he readied himself for the dog’s inevitable attack, flexing his paws against the cool grass, muscles coiling like a spring. As Brutus finally tore free of his restraints with a final, furious tug, he launched himself into the chase, hot on Oscar's tail.
Oscar sprinted with all his might, his paws pounding against the rough pavement as the wind whipped through his soft fur. A rush of adrenaline coursed through him, electrifying his senses as he darted past startled humans, slipping gracefully underneath their legs like a shadow. Brutus thundered behind him, a force of nature that sent a few bystanders stumbling as they lost their footing and dropped their belongings in panic.
Coming upon a wooden fence, Oscar leapt over it in a single bound and quickly concealed himself in the safety of a backyard. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, taking in the sight of a little girl seated at a whimsical tea party with her stuffed animals. Blissfully oblivious to the chaos unfurling around her, she was a stark contrast to the frantic scene. But the serenity was shattered when Oscar's ears picked up the unmistakable sound of furious snarling from behind the fence.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Oscar took off again, sensing the danger closing in. Brutus exploded through the fence behind him, sending splinters flying as he barreled toward the cat. The rampaging dog leaped onto the tea party table, sending teacups and stuffed animals flying in all directions, leaving the little girl wide-eyed and trembling amidst the ensuing mayhem.
The chase resumed, both pursuer and prey darting down the street, each desperate to outpace the other. Oscar spotted a sturdy tree ahead and swiftly scrambled up its trunk, settling on a branch to catch his breath and survey the situation. Brutus skidded to a halt at the base of the tree, barking furiously and rattling the branches above.
Tired of this relentless pursuit, Oscar sought a cunning diversion. His gaze fell to the left, where he spotted a large, untouched beehive dangling from a branch, buzzing with potential mayhem. A sly smirk crept across Oscar’s face as he cautiously approached the hive, lifting it with surprising ease. With a calculated throw, he aimed it at Brutus, releasing a cloud of enraged bees that fell onto the dog’s head. The force of the impact sent Brutus tumbling onto his back, barking in confusion and pain.
In that moment of triumph, Oscar sprang from his perch, landing skillfully on the ground, his paws silent on the grass. With a victorious strut, he sauntered away from the disorder he had caused, tail held high, pride radiating from him. A broad grin stretched across his face, sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight like tiny daggers. To his right, he caught sight of a group of stray cats, their eyes wide with fear as they witnessed him overpower a creature twice his size. Enjoying their terror, Oscar met their gaze with a chilling grin, relishing the power he wielded like a puppet master, while the strays bolted into the distance, frantically fleeing the sight of the triumphant orange cat.
Oscar eventually made his way to a nearby alleyway that he visits every month, filled to the brim with strays and feral cats from both sides. Most alleys are just a slaughterhouse with rotten corpses of dead rats and the stench of garbage. This alley was a place where pets were down on their luck and traded items that were deemed valuable and rare. Oscar mostly comes here because this place is the only one that sells pure, non-tainted, medicalized blood.
"Hey there, Harold."
In front of Oscar was an elderly maine coon with ragged, unkept fur, with one of his eyes gouged out and both of his ears damaged. He saw the familiar orange cat and grinned. "Ah, if it isn't by my favorite house cat. Let me guess, the usual?"
"You know it," Oscar said, his lips curling to a grin. Oscar wasn't an enemy to every pet in the neighborhood. There was one cat out of all the ones that wasn't afraid of or weirded out by his hobbies. One day, exploring the neighborhood, he stumbled upon this very alley after he got lost as a young kitten. Most cats would've hissed and scratched at him for just looking at their decrepitude. Not Harold. The second they gazed at each other, they became instant friends, which led Oscar to return to this very spot every month.
Oscar was immediately snapped out of his nostalgia trip and heard the footsteps of a large thing approaching from behind him. They were gruff and heavy, stomping like a giant on top of a beanstalk or a hippo walking through the savanna. Oscar turned around to see a large pure white Siberian tomcat with small teeth poking from his muzzle. He had glossy blue eyes and pupils the size of daggers; his fluffy coat mimicked that of a lion's mane. He wasn't taller than Harold, but he was bigger than Oscar by a long shot.
The Siberian cat eventually made its way to the stand and pushed Oscar to the side, grabbing the attention of the maine coon, who was looking around the garbage pile for Oscar's order. "Hello again, Kip." Harold sighed, clearly not wanting to deal with him today. "What may you want this time?"
"Just a can of tuna will do," Kip said, his voice coming out as deep and harsh. He looked down to see the orange cat he had pushed earlier glaring at him. Feeling annoyed, Kip addressed the small tomcat. "May I help you, pipsqueak?"
Oscar was not amused. "Yes, you can, actually. I was here before you, so if you could move—"
"I don't have to move for you or for anyone, Kittypet." The Siberian cat growled at Oscar, a flame appearing in his eyes as he stared down the orange cat. "I would rather be sent to the pound than let you or anyone push me around."
"I bet your mother is really proud of you, huh?" That remark caused most of the alley cats around them to smirk and giggle, bursting into laughter as they saw Kip flustered. "Although I'm pretty sure it's the father you're supposed to make love to you. You must have a lot of issues, my guy." The laughs became louder with that statement, cats almost coughing up hairballs and keeling over.
Kip was bothered for sure. A pink hue appeared on his face as he saw the strays laughing their hearts out. He then gazed down at Oscar, who was grinning proudly at the white cat's humiliation. "You may think you're some kind of big shot, but I can tell you had it worse than me." Oscar's smile quickly turned into a frown as the Siberian cat spoke. Kip continued. "You prance along these streets, thinking that nothing can hurt you when you know something can. You may have a nice home, food 24/7, and a small ounce of freedom, but the reality of it is you're scared."
Oscar froze, his tail curling underneath his belly, and his eyes becoming small. His fur began to stick up in fear, unmoving in the wind. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't hear anything. All except Kip's scummy voice. "You're scared of having actual relationships that you know will one day crumble because you don't want to get attached. I bet you were attached to someone in your life, but they were whisked away from you. And now you hide behind a wall of your own regret and—"
"Hey!"
The conflict was quickly silenced at the sound of the elderly maine coon beside them. "Please leave my client alone." Kip stared down and saw a barely open can of tuna and picked it up with his mouth, but not before looking at Oscar with a scowl and walking away with it. Harold sighed harshly and looked at Oscar, who seemed to have calmed down. "Hey, bud. You okay?
Oscar scoffed. "Yeah, I'm fine." He quickly grabbed the package of blood and left with a few eyes staring at him on his way out.
Oscar finally made it home, sighing with relief that he doesn't have to do anything right now... except to go to the basement to do the ritual.
Oscar made his way downstairs and approached the pentagram he had drawn on the floor with a crayon, lighting candles at each corner of the circle. He opened the bag of blood and splashed it on the pentacle. Suddenly, red lighting began to flood the walls and ceiling with an ominous glow. Wind out of nowhere began to blow papers and dust around, creating somewhat of a tornado around Oscar. From the depths of the floorboard, a gnarled, crimson hand emerged, resembling a withered claw as it clawed its way toward liberation. Following closely, two intricately curved antlers burst forth, glistening with an unnatural sheen that reflected the ambient light in dazzling patterns. Moments later, a towering figure materialized from the ground, its elongated form bearing the muscular build of a man, yet adorned with the haunting visage of a deer. With a piercing shriek that echoed through the air, it unleashed its iconic wail, a sound that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who dared to listen.
"I am Furfur! I am among the numerous demons chosen by the seven deadly sins themselves to instruct the mortals of Earth in the ways of the divine! I govern all aspects of the weather and storms alike, and I compel the love shared between man and woman! What is your command—" The imposing demon halts his speech as he glances down at the ground and spots a familiar orange cat in front of him. He let out a sigh. "Satan, dammit, it’s you again."
"Hey, Fur." Oscar waved at the demon, grinning from cheek to cheek. Oscar sometimes summoned demons, mostly out of boredom. How does he know how to do this, you may ask? Well, Jim made the mistake of watching a show that featured devil worship and forgetting to turn it off. Oscar eventually found this interesting and made it a hobby of his. He may have accidentally planted a curse on one of his owner's next-door neighbors in a failed attempt.
"Dude, this is, like, the 6th time you've called me this month. I have an actual job to do." Furfur grumbled.
"Well, sorry, I'm a cat. I get bored easily." Said Oscar as he flicked his tail with mischief. "Plus, I know that people barely summon you."
"Doesn't mean you can just call me whatever you want. Why not call Amon or Shax? What if there's an actual person who needs my guidance?"
"Well, is there?"
A beat.
"Well... there could be!" Oscar chuckled.
"Come on, Fur, we both know what I want."
The demon's irritation was palpable as he pinched his nose, glaring at the mischievous orange cat. Yet, with a weary sigh, he rubbed his temple and allowed a reluctant smile to break through as he started to scratch Oscar’s small, fuzzy head. His nails grazed the soft fur, a gentle touch that sent ripples of contentment through the feline. Oscar responded with a deep, rumbling purr, his eyes barely opening as he sank into bliss. His tail lay flat against the ground, and his ears flickered with every movement as Furfur, the demon, inched closer to his back.
The two became shocked as they heard the sound of the door from upstairs opening. That meant Jim was home. "Well, looks like our session is cut short. We'll continue next week."
"No, we won't!" Furfur screeched, though falling on deaf ears as Oscar already made his way out the basement door.
Oscar greeted his owner with open paws as he stepped into the living room. He rubbed up against his legs and feet and meowed cutely to get his attention. "Hey, buddy." Jim rubbed Oscar's chin, causing him to slightly chirp. "Hope you weren't too bored without me."
"Oh, trust me, I wasn't~"