Chapter Seven

          “Now that you’ve come to grasp the Kitty Sense, we will move on to the next skill,” stated the cat matter-of-factly.  “Your next skill, young man, is going to easily be the most beneficial and simple of all these gifts that cats use.  But first I must warn you; now that you possess the inner-cat, one weakness will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

          “Oh, boy.  I hope I can still enjoy a bedtime story or two, as well as the nice springtime sunshine after a harsh winter sunshine.”

          “Quiet, boy.  The weakness has nothing to do with one of those meaningless pleasures.  It is, however, one of the essentials to life.”

          “NOT 8:00 BEDTIME!!  I’LL GIVE UP ANYTHING BUT THAT!!”

          “No, no, no, no.  The real drawback that you will have to deal with is actually none other than water.  You can no longer enjoy the luxury of playing in water or even washing one’s hands.  But luckily, water will still be necessary for your dietary purposes such as eating soup or drinking a glass of water.”

          At first, young Don was taken aback.  How could a young gentleman such as himself go through life without the element of water?  How could Don bathe?  Or bathe his youthful little fingers for that matter?  But then it struck him, not like the strong blow of a hammer on the old wooden fence, but more like a bat striking a ball, sending the ball flying out of the park.  HOME RUN!!

          “Well…” Don began, “I guess I won’t be partaking in anymore summer splashes.”  He knew he had to accept the destiny that was paved ahead.

          “Lift up your hands, you will,” commanded the cat.  Don, although a bit puzzled, did so.  Suddenly, the cat revealed a ball of yarn to Donald.  Great Scott, that ball of yarn looked more enjoyable than kicking every can the world over.  Oh yes, these were joyous times.  But before one could say, “Hello there, Alex!” Don had already given the ball the old one-two strike, causing confetti pieces of yarn to rain upon the ground quite liberally.

          “IT’S NOT FAIR!”  bellowed Don as he struck his thighs, producing a clapping noise.  “WHAT IN TAR NATION HAPPENED!?”

          “Ohoho,” chuckled the black feline, “Now, you truly know how it feels to be a cat.  You now not only possess the fancies and instincts that a fellow cat might have, such as a fear of water, or the inclination to play with interesting jiggly objects, but you can also see you have developed one of the most crucial aspects of the cat: its powerful claws.  It’s with these harrowing weapons in which you shall no doubt inflict the most damage, and you will concurrently have increased speed in which to utilize your arms.”

          “By golly, so that’s what happened to Bug’s visage the other day!  I was really using my heroic powers!”  He then lifted his right hand and abruptly altered his nails into razor-like claws.  “Look at the sparkle given off by the little dude!” said Don as he admired one of the prickly claws.  And they were even oh-so-perfect for attaining those oh-so-difficult to reach boogers that would at times amass in the upper left nostril.  He needn’t the old (yet reliable) stick lying in the schoolyard any longer.

          The cat then began, “The last power will be your most powerful weapon in your time of need.”

          “Oh, how I can’t wait for this one!”

          The cat abruptly pulled out a small bag, attempting to hand it to Donald.  But just as one may drop the body soap during 6 am showers, as Don attempted to take the bag from the cat, the bag cascaded onto the ground.

          SHATTER!

          As Don felt the shatter ring between his eardrums, he began to feel terribly raged.

          “Now, I’ll never able to make use of what was in that sack!” 

He then fell to onto all fours.  THUMP!  But it wasn’t a fall of weakness, oh no it was not.  It was a fall of unmatchable, unalterable, unnerving power.  Don knew what his next line of attack was.  And, like any good gentleman in his position would do, he began to yell.  But a youthful voice wasn’t what erupted from Don’s mouth.  Instead, it was a great ball of fire as long as the syllables would have been if he had spoken.  The cat, acting as graceful as he was, then touched Don’s forehead with his right claw.  Everything that Don had been just doing then stopped.

“The trick to mastering this rage ability is to control your anger.”

“Wowsers,” retorted Don.  “That sure is neato.”

“Yes.  But everything is going to be an uphill struggle from here - especially your everyday life.”

Author's Note

Comments on repetition are against what the novel is establishing