Gulliver was an orange-and-white striped alley cat. Well, he would
have been orange-and-white if he was clean. He was more like a
brown-and-gray striped alley cat.
Gulliver spent most of his time wandering up and down the alleys of
New York hoping to find edible (or slightly edible) things to eat. It's
not that he particularly enjoyed doing this for a living; it was the
only thing that Gulliver could think of to do. And, unfortunately for
him, he wasn't very good at it. Gulliver mewed with hunger.
There wasn't always a whole lot to eat in the alleys of the
city-especially in the mornings, as the selection has been rather
picked-over by competing cats from the previous evening.
The prizes of the dawn, for alley cats, were mice. Every once in
awhile, Gulliver would be lucky enough to find one scurrying by a
nearby dumpster and pounce on it before it retreats to an inaccessible
cranny. That doesn't happen too often, unfortunately.
He was investigating the innards of an empty cardboard box when he
caught the sight of something shiny. It was a plastic wrapper
reflecting the morning glow. Gulliver lowered his head and meowed
hopefully. Even though his hunger-pains were piercing, he trotted over
to the plastic object with as much grace as possible.
He sniffed the object. Through his vast experiences in rummaging,
Gulliver discovered that plastic is not edible, but more often than
not, the things that are within the plastic are (the exception, of
course, being that bag of nails he discovered last Spring). This thing
looked like a flat round piece of cake. As a general rule, cats don't
like cake very much, but when you're a cat as malnourished as Gulliver,
you must lower your standards. Gulliver scanned the entire alley and
sniffed the cool air, trying to make sure there weren't any nearby cats
to snatch away his plasticy prize. After only a few seconds, he was
satisfied that he was alone and he began clawing at the object.
The cake was sweet but fortunately not too sweet. There was a sticky
but creamy bit in the middle of it that Gulliver thought tasted nicely,
but it got all over his whiskers. He would rather have dined on a nice
fish or something, but at least the cake filled up his stomach. That
sensation was a total relief for him. After he licked up the final
remnant of it off the pavement and the shredded plastic, he licked his
whiskers until it wasn't quite as sticky anymore.
He got lucky that morning, but that's no reason for an alley cat to
be complacent. It was time for him to start looking for his next meal.
With his tail raised proudly in the air, Gulliver trotted toward a
thick rusty grill on a storm drain and sniffed around. He noticed a
familiar and pleasant odor, but Gulliver already knew it was too late.
Sure enough, under a small pile of alley filth, there was a bare-clean
mouse skull. He sniffed at it longingly.
"I wish I were the cat who got to feast on that fine gourmet alley
mouse," Gulliver said, shaking his head with serene disappointment.
Then, Gulliver stopped. He blinked his eyes twice and froze.
"Wait a minute!" Gulliver continued in disbelief. "I can talk!" He
was amazed. He scanned the alley, seeing if there was anyone around to
witness this utterly astonishing phenomenon.
He appeared to be talking people-speak. He was not only astonished
that he suddenly learned how to speak English, but all that droning
chitter-chatter actually means something.
"Absolutely unbelievable!" Gulliver hollered gleefully. A few
curious alley cats peeked their heads out from behind a building.
"Off with you, you fish-mongering sc-alley-wags!" Gulliver declared.
The cats briskly dashed away. "I associate with your type no longer!
This is my alley, now!" He began to sing.
I am the cat
I am the cat about town
I own the crown
Up to the stars I am bound
I am the king of this place
I have a smile on my face
And no one can make me bow down
"Wow!" Gulliver exclaimed. "I can sing, too!" It was amazing that
Gulliver was able to accomplish such a feat all of the sudden. Only two
minutes ago, Gulliver was hardly able to even meow in tune. Now, he
could sing show tunes! His voice was absolutely beautiful, too. It was
playful, alluring, and seemed to be made of crystal. Still having not
fully comprehended this, Gulliver got up on his hind feet and began to
tap-dance. The claws on his feet making a distinct tapping noise with
the alley pavement. With his arms extended wide and his feet wildly
tapping away, Gulliver grinning widely, revealing his sharp and
yellowed teeth, he began to sing.
I am the cat
I can dance the night away
I own the day
You know that I have it made
In the starlight I can dance
Even though I wear no pants
And I look really cool in shades!
Then, struck with a thought, Gulliver was confused and stopped
dancing in mid-step.
"What are shades?" Gulliver asked to himself. He shrugged.
Then in an impeccable display of Spanish stomp dancing, Gulliver
arched his back, threw his arms in the air, and began stomping his
feet. He picked up a dirty, plastic straw with his paw and put it in
his teeth and stomped the pavement until his dirty cat feet were
aching. A few of the alley cats, once again, peeked their heads out
from behind trashcans and cardboard boxes. They were impressed, indeed.
If cats were a species of animal that were inclined to give applause,
they would have done so then and there. The only being more impressed
with Gulliver's sudden display of theatrical agility than the
witnessing cats was Gulliver himself.
"Absolutely brilliant!" Gulliver exclaimed. With only a little more
work, he thought, he would be ready for Broadway.
Suddenly, the din of a metallic trashcan lid hitting the alley
pavement deafened the alley. A man who appeared to be wearing a female
flight attendant's outfit nervously emerged from behind the trashcan.
It was George George wearing a garment strikingly similar to the one
that Sylvia the Evolutionist was wearing on his recent flight to
Tahiti. He clamored around, trying to balance with those cloppy high
heel shoes he was wearing. His little white handbag fell off his
shoulder but he caught it with his hand before it hit the ground.
Motionless, Gulliver watched with stark curiosity. George George
finally maintained balance, but his feet were pointed inwards. He
straightened up his brunette wig and twitched the left side of his
face. (He was trying to get used to the heavy mascara.) With as much
dignity as George George could possibly sustain in his position, he
marched out of the alley. (The only thing he could do was march,
really. That was the only decent way George George could figure on
walking with those shoes. Not to mention the underwear, which for some
reason was being sucked into his anal cavity.)
