Jack Strange - Zomcats!

A stone whistled past Bob Slawits ear, missing it by millimetres and almost knocking him off balance.

Ha, ha ha! Nice one, Nipper! Said Bigfucka Briggs.

Bigfucka was the leader of the Savages, a teenage gang that had been terrorising the villagers of Nobblethwaite for months.

Encouraged by the words of his leader, Nipper Davies pranced up behind Slawit and gave him an energetic kick up the backside. Slawit turned on his attacker, waving his white stick angrily. Unfortunately he was unable to see much more than a dark shadow which danced nimbly out of range as he swung his stick at it.

Ill ave yer, yer little fucking bastard, he fumed impotently, as more stones came his way. Ill make yer bloody well pay.

As the word pay left his lips, a particularly large stone hit him on the forehead. He staggered backward from the force of it, blood spurting onto the cobbles from the wound it had made. He dropped his stick and covered the wound with his veined old hands.

Yer little fucking bastards, he repeated, as another kick up the backside sent him sprawling onto the cobbles.

Ill fucking have yer, Ill fucking well have the lot of yer, he said, waving his fists in the air, as boot after teenage boot landed sickeningly in his ribs.

Slawit had spent most of the afternoon sinking pints of real ale in the Neer do well, the only pub in the village.

After that, hed gone to the Nobblethwaite McDonalds and enjoyed a Mega-Bucket of Extra-Thick Blackcurrant Milk shake which had bits of something gritty alleged to be real pieces of blackcurrant floating about in it. As the boots struck home, Slawit felt the milk shake and the eight pints of real ale hed drunk sloshing about his insides in a sinister way.

A boot caught him in the pit of his stomach.

He rolled onto his back and opened his mouth to say Oh fuck, but no words came out.

Instead, a dark purple fountain spurted from his mouth at high pressure. In size and ferocity it resembled a volcanic eruption. It shot into the air, forcefully covering his attackers in vomit. It coated them all liberally, and they fled in disgust, covered in foul-smelling goo.

Once theyd gone, Marjory, the kindly old lady who ran the village bakery, came out of her shop and helped Bob to his feet.

Theyre right little terrors, that lot Bob, she said.

Thats not the word Id use to describe them, he replied. Id describe them as right little fucking bastard twats.

Well, I dont blame you. I just hope they avent hurt you.

You what? You hope they havent hurt me? Did you see what they did? Course they fucking well hurt me, the little fucking bastard twats.

Im sorry. I would have helped but Im scared to death of em. I didnt want to risk getting beat up me self, and nor did anyone else round here. Were all scared to death of em.

What about that copper we have thats meant to be on the village beat? Constable Bryson. Why didnt he come to help me?

Theres been a lot of coppers made redundant from up at the Nab police station, Bob. So Constable Bryson has to cover ten villages now. He only comes to Nobblethwaite every second Monday and on Bank Holidays.

Ill go and ask that gang of young twats to wait till a week on Monday or the next May Day Bank Holiday to beat me up next time then, eh? That way Copper Bryson might have some chance of seeing em at it and arresting someone.

Marjory picked up Slawits stick and handed it to him.

Im very sorry Bob, truly I am.

Sorry if I was a bit short with yer. I was angry thats all. Its a good job I were shit-faced cos if I hadnt been I would have felt every one of those bloody kicks. Ill see thee Marjory.

Bye bye Bob. Take care, now.

I will.

Slawit made his uncertain way to the side of the road and tapped around with his white stick to get his bearings, and then he tapped his way up Nodger Hill, the steep incline which led to Slawit Hall, his home, which was perched alone on the top of the hill, a mile outside Nobblethwaite.

When he got there, he heard a meowing noise as he opened his front door.

Who are you, little pussycat? He asked. He bent down and let the cat rub its face against his hand; then he stroked the cat under its chin and felt a collar and name tag. He ran his fingers over the name tag and felt the engraved lettering with his fingertips.

Henderson, he said. So thats your name. Where have you come from? You better come in.

He pushed open the door and felt the cat rub against his legs.

Now then, he said. I expect youll want something to eat.

Meeow. Meeow. Meeeeooow.

Im not hungry me self, but Ill get you something.

He opened a kitchen cupboard. It was full of tins. He felt around with his hand.

I think youll like this, lad, he said. Im pretty sure its got some meat in it.

He opened the tin and scraped the contents onto a side plate, and put the plate on the floor.

The cat sniffed it and walked away.

Meeow, he said again.

What? Slawit asked. You couldnt have eaten it that quickly. Thats not possible.

He reached to the floor and felt around and soon enough his fingers encountered a pile of stewed steak in gravy.

You fussy little bugger, he said. Well, if youre not aving that, I am. Ill save it for me self to eat later.

He put the plate in his fridge and felt around for the leftover bacon he had on the top shelf.

You can have this instead.

He threw the bacon onto the floor and Henderson let out a snarl and pounced on it.

He held the meat down with his abnormally large paws, and tore bits from it with his sharp teeth.

Ive never heard a cat sound like you do. Yer sound more like a lion than any cat Ive ever met, said Slawit, when he heard the sound of Hendersons voracious eating.

Meeow, meeow, meeeeooow.

You cant still be hungry. There must ave been at least three quarters of a pound of bacon there. Hang on, Ill see what else I can get yer.

Slawit groped around the inside of his fridge, and found four beef sausages. He lobbed them onto the kitchen floor. Then he heard a snarling, chewing sound followed by a purring sound. Then:

Meeow, meeow, meeeeooow.

For fucks sake, I cant keep up with yer. I havent got any more food left in the house. Youll have to wait till tomorrow to be fed, when I next go to the shops.

Slawit went to his front room and tried to read one of his brail books, but it was impossible because of the noise.

Meeow, meeow, meeeeooow.

Fucking hell, he said after a while. Ive had enough.

He went to the front door and opened it.

Go on, he said. Out yer go.

Meeow, meeow, meeeeooow.

As Henderson was showing no inclination to leave, Slawit went over to where he thought the cats meowing was coming from, and prodded around with his white stick. He didnt mean to hurt Henderson; merely to shift him out of the house.

Henderson began playing with the end of the stick, and grabbed it in his mouth. When Slawit found he couldnt move the stick any more, he tried to push Henderson away with his boot. Henderson let go of the stick and playfully sank his teeth into Slawits boot then pulled them out again.

Fucking ell fire, said Slawit, quickly retracting his foot.

Blood was spraying from the holes the zomcats teeth had made. He hobbled around in a panic, while Henderson eagerly licked up the blood that dribbled all over the kitchen floor.

Got to get outa here, Slawit muttered.

He tapped his way upstairs to his bedroom and shut the door.

Then he heard a noise on the landing:

Meee-ow mee-ow.

He hopped around in a panic until hed located his chest of drawers and shifted it as best he could against the door, then he hopped to his bed and collapsed on it, breathing heavily.