[WorldWarCheese]

Synopsis: Bob, a young man, walks in on Phil, the cat, and Frank, the old dude, while the two are sitting on a park bench. A coversation ensues. The cat talks.



“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Meow.”

In terms of odd meetings this ranked right up there, just below Priam and Achilles and at least those two knew each other (sort of).

“I’m Bobby.”

“Hello, Billy.”

“Bobby.”

“Oh.”

“Meow.”

Now that we’ve got someone’s name let’s describe him shall we? This, as already stated, is Bobby (Bob/Bobb-o/Bobby-Boy) and is certainly not named Billy (Bill/William). If he were on a fight card he’d read “Stands at 5’ 7’’, 140 lbs with a record of 0-0-0, age is fourteen years old,” but aside from his age it doesn’t really help us much, I mean how many of you when you read use the feet/inches measurements for height versus “He’s a bit taller than that guy in my mental image”.

What Bobby looked like in a more reader-friendly sense was a young junior high boy who was getting used to the whole “hormones” thing. Growth spurts left his frame tall for his age but almost emaciating-ly skinny that was poorly masked by the barely baggy tan khakis and white tee he wore. His yellow hair and blue eyes would mean he’d be a perfect Aryan poster boy if he ever filled out.

“What’s- what’s your name?”

“Talkin’ to me or the cat, kid?”

“You, of course.”

“Meow!”

“Phil-“

“Your name’s Phil?”

“No, I was just saying that Phil just told me he takes exception to that ‘of course’ crack.”

Phil was a fat cat; long hair made it even worse. Phil was a fat, long haired cat of an orange and black calico type. His body, the size of a rat terrier (but much squishier) was sprawled out on the bench with his fat head laying on the as-of-yet named man’s lap.

“Told you? You mean the cat spoke to you?”

“Yup,” The old man said, smiling.

“Well, I just find that hard to believe.”

“I find it hard to believe I still don’t have a name.”

“Err… what!? You don’t have a name?”

“Not yet.”

“How can you not have a name? You must have a name; everyone has a name. You just need to tell me your name, that’s all.”

“Meow.”

“Frank.”

Frank was an old man, but a happy man (he’s the only character smiling right now). Brown trowsers fight a two-front battle against pulled up plaid socks growing out of worn, leather penny-loafers and a striped blue and white, button-down, short sleeve. It had beaten the shirt back up the stomach almost to the belly-button but was taking an awful beating from the socks that seemed destined to take the upper-calves and knees. He was covered in wrinkles and had a neat, white crew-cut.

“Is that your name?”

“Who’s else would it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Meow.”

“Good question.”

“I didn’t ask a question.”

“Phil did.”

“I still don’t believe you talk to cats.”

“Phil asks, ‘Why are you here?’”

“Why are we all here?” Flippant and funny in one fell swoop.

“I’m here to look at trees and have my right leg warmed by a fat cat.”

“Meow.”

“Sorry, comfortably big cat.”

“How can you talk to a cat?”

“I listen.”

“But the cat just meows.”

“Meow.”

“Did you just ‘meow’ at me!?”

“Yes. Wait. No.”

“Yes, yes you did.”

“Oh, well then, I guess you’re right.”

“Why am I even talking to you?”

“Because you can’t talk to Phi.”

“Meow.”

“Phil says he wants some baloney.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any bologna.”

“What did you say?”

“Bologna, why?”

“Phil doesn’t want any of that. He wants baloney.”

“Meow.”

“That’s what I said, baloney.”

“No, you said ‘bologna’.”

“Yeah, bologna.”

“We want boloney. Bee ooh ell ooh enn eee.”

“But, that’s not how it’s spelled.”

“Oh?”

“It’s spelled Bee ooh ell ooh gee enn aye.”

“Bo-log-nuh?”

“No, bologna.”

“Oh, boloney.”

“Yeah!”

“Bee ooh ell ooh enn-“

“Nonono, be oh el oh ge en ay. Bologna.”

“Oooh. Bee ooh ell gee.”

“ooh ell”

“bee ooh ell gee ooh ell”

“No! It’s BE OH EL OH GE EN AY!”

“Meow.”

“Phil says you’re right.”

“I KNOW I’M RIGHT!”

“Oh.”

“So you have some bol-log-nuh?”

“Ugggghhh!!!”

“Well, if you don’t want to share, just say so. But it’s awful rude, seeing as you’re the one who came here.”

“But I don’t have any bologna!”

“Good, because we’re looking for bol-log-nuh.”

“It’s the same thing!”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so?”

“I did!”

“Meow.”

“Phil apologizes for the misunderstanding.”

“Phil can’t talk.”

“Meow.”

“I say, Phil! Such language! He may have insulted you but that’s no reason to start slinging mud.”

“What did he say?”

“I thought you said he couldn’t talk.”

“He can’t, but what did he say anyways?”

“But if he can’t talk then how did he say something?”

“I don’t know! Now are you gunna tell me what he said or not?”

“Not until you say that he really can talk.”

“Fine! Fine! Your stupid cat can talk. You happy now?”

“Meow.”

“And say he’s not stupid, too.”

“He’s not stupid, he’s the smartest freakin’ cat I’ve ever seen, now are you gunna tell me or not?”

“Tell you what?”

“WHAT THE CAT SAID ABOUT ME!”

“Oh. That. I forgot”

“What the fuck!?!?!”

“Watch your language, boy”

“Sorry, but that’s just REALLY frustrating.”

“Yeah, like trying to spell baloney.”

“Meow.”

“So….”

“So….”

“Meow…”

“Hot day, isn’t it?”

“Not really. Phil do you think its hot?”

“Meow.”

“He says no, but he’s lying. The pants are soaked with sweat right under his fat head.”

“Wouldn’t that be your sweat?”

“It’s his head.”

“And your pants.”

“Meow.”

“Phil, you know as well as I do that on hot summer days anytime you sit down on me you leave a pool of sweat.”

“But cat’s don’t sweat.”

“Well, of course they do. How else could he leave sweat on my pants like that?”

“But it’s not the cat’s sweat on your pants.”

“Well, who’s else is it? Because it’s certainly not mine. It’s fairly cool out for me today.”

“It is yours, but just from the heat of the cat.”

“If Phil’s the one that’s hot then how is it my sweat?”

“Phil’s heat is causing you to get hot where he touches you.”

“But it’s still Phil’s heat, so it’s his sweat.”

“Meow.”

“Don’t take the lad’s side on this, I’m your pillow, defend me.”

“See! Even Phil agrees with me!”

“Oh-ho! So you speak cat too?”

“No. I- You-“

“Been keeping a secret this entire time, haven’t you? Crafty kids these days.”

“Meow.”

“But I just inferred he agreed with me from what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“You said Phil agrees with me.”

“That’s preposterous. I’m Phil’s pillow, he wouldn’t dare upset his pillow, now would he, Phil?”

“Meow.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“So what DID he say?”

“I thought you spoke cat?”

“I don’t. I explained that.”

“Oh. Talking to cat’s is very special. Not many can do it.”

“I know, you’re the first I met who can.”

“Meow.”

“I guess that makes me special.”

“I think we agree on one thing.”

“On what?”

“Oh, err, that you’re special.”

“Ah.”

“Meow.”

“What did he say that time?”

“Who? Me?”

“Not you! The cat!”

“How should I know? Does it look like I talk to cats?”

“But you’ve just been talking to him!”

“So you’re right, I guess I do talk to cats.”

“So what did he say?”

“No clue.”

[Vorcla]

Kinda reminds me of the old Abbott and Costello "Who's on first?" routine. Funny, in a head-spinning sort of way! Oh, it's "trousers," not "trowsers," and there's no such word as "emaciatingl-y." "Emaciated" would have been fine. Those were the only speed bumps, though. Entertaining.

[WorldWarCheese]

Thanks for the corrections, I'll get right to 'em.
Oh, you get 200 pointa-roonies for being the first to post. Now's your opportunity to REALLY collect and read the other two

[alloallo3]

That was good fun. I suspect if a couple good actors did it, this would be a nice skit. By the way, who's is used only as a contraction (who is). The possessive is whose.

[Bluejay]

I wanted to read this, I really did. But from line one, it was simply too difficult to follow who was saying what, especially with a cat (who talks, right?) thrown into the mix. At least with two conversing, you can alternate, like a tennis match. With three, who knows who is talking next?

I would suggest making it easier for the reader to follow. Even font or color differences in the different speaking parts will help.

[WorldWarCheese]

I wanted to read this, I really did. But from line one, it was simply too difficult to follow who was saying what, especially with a cat (who talks, right?) thrown into the mix. At least with two conversing, you can alternate, like a tennis match. With three, who knows who is talking next?

I would suggest making it easier for the reader to follow. Even font or color differences in the different speaking parts will help.

Haha, yeah I tried rereading it from front to end after this post and got mixed up twice (and I wrote the damn thing!). The color coding is a badass idea and as soon as I get some time, it's going to be implimented (That's 800 points right there).

Y'see I try to keep too much narrator out of my dialog because it's between character (and cat) but it backfires sometimes. This will also aid me in my next story which includes a lot of three+ people speaking at once.

If you liked this... well, I have no clue if you'd like Meet the Mommy, but out of the three this is a far third to those two stories. (Chapters 1 and 2)

Oh, and the cat speaks, but only Frank can understand him and Franks crazeh.

[Jimbalaya]

Originally Posted by WorldWarCheese

Now that we’ve got someone’s name let’s describe him shall we? This, as already stated, is Bobby (Bob/Bobb(Could probably delete one "b" it's half way between Bob and Bobby. Just looks funky.)-o/Bobby-Boy) and is certainly not named Billy (Bill/William). If he were on a fight card he’d read “Stands at 5’ 7’’, 140 lbs with a record of 0-0-0, age is fourteen years old,” but aside from his age it doesn’t really help us much, I mean how many of you when you read use the feet/inches measurements for height versus “He’s a bit taller than that guy in my mental image”.

What Bobby looked like in a more reader-friendly sense was a young junior high boy who was getting used to the whole “hormones” thing. Growth spurts left his frame tall for his age but almost emaciating-ly skinny that was poorly masked by the barely baggy tan khakis and white tee he wore. His yellow hair and blue eyes would mean he’d be a perfect Aryan poster boy if he ever filled out.

“What’s- what’s your name?”

“Talkin’ to me or the cat, kid?”

“You, of course.”

“Meow!”

“Phil-“

“Your name’s Phil?”

“No, I was just saying that Phil just told me he takes exception to that ‘of course’ crack.”

Phil was a fat cat; long hair made it even worse. Phil was a fat, long haired cat (This was stated in the previous sentence, do you really need to reiterate it?)of an orange and black calico type. His body, the size of a rat terrier (but much squishier) was sprawled out on the bench with his fat head laying on the as-of-yet named man’s lap.

Frank was an old man, but a happy man (he’s the only character smiling right now). Brown trowsers fight a two-front battle against pulled up plaid socks growing out of worn, leather penny-loafers and a striped blue and white, button-down, short sleeve. It had beaten the shirt back up the stomach almost to the belly-button but was taking an awful beating from the socks that seemed destined to take the upper-calves and knees. He was covered in wrinkles and had a neat, white crew-cut. (This was quite an interesting description.)

“I know, you’re the first (person I've) met who can.”

Wasn't you're main character in the other story named Phil? Anyway, it was...interesting I guess. The short clipped dialog makes it funnier. I actually felt the frustration when he was explaining 'balogna'. Good work!

[WorldWarCheese]

Thanks, and I love dialog. It's my favorite thing to write now. Thanks for the corrections, I'll add them when I change the colors.

And yeah, Phil, Bob and soon-to-be-Frank are basically my only characters. (The Jay and Silent Bob of LITERATURE!!! :GASP! They're rarely the same "person" but usually similar or maybe just have the same name.

Oh and 750 points for the editz. (Now go read Meet the Mommy)

[marty2shorty]

“Watch your language, boy”
needs a period.
Good story, I've got a few stories with tennis ball matches in them, but this was really good. And you also ripped the idea of a talking cat (but it didn't really talk, Frank's just crazy right?) right out of my head

I love it!

I was only confused once with the bologna, I had to read that part twice. Ha.

Keep it up.

[WorldWarCheese]

850 Points for an excellent post (and feeding my ego )

I'll have sometime either this Sunday or Next Sunday to work it over and I'll catch that part.

And On the cat steal: I'm a Jedi Freaking Master.

[Eva Marie]

That was a bit odd...

[creativeminds]

HAA HAA i love it, very very entertaining. great excuse to procrastinate in studing for my test tommorrow * damn*.

[WorldWarCheese]

That was a bit odd...

I'm a Whack Job.
heh heh heh heh heh heh hah hah hah hah hah HAHA HAHA HAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAA HAA i love it, very very entertaining. great excuse to procrastinate in studing for my test tommorrow * damn*.

Thank you and let Laziness Prevail.

[Hirak]

"That was really funny."

"What was really funny?"

"Meow."

"What'd the cat say now?"

"He said that the author did a whack job."

"Who's the author, Charles Dickens?"

"Meow."

"Shut the cat up, will you?"

"He's not mine man! And darned if I know who the author is!"

"So is the author really good?"

"No clue, but the cat seems to think so.."

"Meow meow meow meow.."

Hirak.

[WorldWarCheese]

o.O

I have half a mind to toss in all my failed/unused/wierd-as-shit dialogue that got cut from other stories or just never ended up getting used and putting it hear.

Also, if you read Chapter1/2 and are waiting for the next installment Bologna will make a cameo in one of the upcomings.

[Achele]

The part where Bobby is trying to explane to Frank that Frank is the one who is sweating, made me laugh out loud. I could picture the whole thing. Good job on the conversation flow.

[WorldWarCheese]

Thanks a bunch ^_^

It was originally for a class I had no respect for. Written in roughly 30 minutes before my class while at lunch (No, I had chicken patty that day ) I handed it in with the original Title "This Deserves A F----ING A+"

I got one.

Apparently the Cat symbolizes some strange esoteric form of capitolism, Frank is a Peasant and Bob is a Communist and this is all a huge fucking metaphor of some kind. (Go figure)

500 points because while my ego and I loved your post, 500 points easily doubles (and maybe triples) your current point level and you should be going nuts over that.