Monday, March 23, 2009
Eaton the boy, 8, was sitting at home with his beloved dog, Anvil. School was out and so was the sun's shine.
Anvil leapt up to bark at the door.
Something seemed to be racing by.
"Is it a skateboarder, Anvil? Go catch it, boy! Good dog!" said Eaton, opening the screen door. Anvil rushed out the door to chase his target on the street.
Ten minutes passed. Anvil came back to the young, African-American Eaton in canine glee. He had a hefty wad of cash between his teeth. "Good boy, Anvil!" exclaimed Eaton. "Good boy!"
"Mom! Come in here! Anvil finally caught that bank running past us!"
-- end --
by lurene gisee march 23, 2009
The criminal cats, Feckless and Pre Approved, showed up the next day at Bank of the Next Guy. They knocked on the door. Manager opened, Bingo the Bank Officer, a shark.
Feckless the cat paused to look at the finned financier for a brief few seconds. A weird, new mix of fear and hunger hit him for a brief instant.
“And who am I speaking with today?” asked Bingo.
“I’m Feckless. This is Pre-Approved. We have good credit. We’re accepted around the world in every currency, even by brokers who pretend to exist, have phony jobs and dream up residential addresses…Oh, I’m sorry! How rude of me! I forgot to ask your name.”
“Bingo,” he said, pointing his right fin to the slimy chairs in the room. “Been with the bank for about two years.”
“We were wondering if we could catch…..uh, I mean….apply for a small loan today.”
“You realize we’ll need to see a history of transparent accounting associated with your name?”
“What do you mean by that?” said Feckless. “Transparent’s a tricky word.”
“Yeah,” said Pre-Approved, jumping on Bingo’s desk. “Cow snot's transparent. Doesn’t mean I'll use it for I.D.”
“Pre-Approved, let’s be careful about this," said Bingo soothingly. "Loans have to be repaid…...by someone…...eventually…...and...”
Feckless pulled a gun on Bingo. The shocked shark raised his fins in fear behind the S-shaped fluorescent office light he’d just had installed for $2,346,876.98 with just 2.34% of the janitor’s yearly bonus through a foreign contractor.
“What is this?” cried Bingo.
Pre-Approved let out a quick laugh at first – he didn’t know whether to rob Bingo or hire him -- but then got a sinister tone.
“I call it consumer confidence. Open that naively unlocked vault, Bingo,” said Feckless. “Pretty soon, you’re gonna see our faces on every form of currency in the world!”
-- end --
by lurene gisee, march 23 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Things were getting bad in the Golden State. Thieving cats Feckless and Pre-Approved sent their criminal associates, Cut and Paste Kitties, to get more stolen cash. It was so easy before.
Paste broke the news to Feckless and Pre-Approved with shame.
"I couldn't believe it. Bank teller asked us if we wanted to buy some more false I.D.," said the feline. "For a fee, could even get phony credit card thrown in by A.I.G."
"Yeah, I would've gone, but they said that's all I was good for in this state anymore," said Pre-Approved. "Bad credit."
March 19, 2009 lurene gisee
-- end --
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Now well into their financial scam, San Francisco’s thieving cats, Feckless and Pre-Approved, began to set routines, establish habits to fool others.
One evening, Feckless entered the ally as the Western sun set. Pre-Approved was there. The cat was quietly mumbling numbers to himself, his face directed toward the worn ground. His paws fiddling in shadows.
“What are you doing, Pre-Approved?” Feckless asked, tilting his head. “Scratching beat-up cardboard?”
“No, Feckless. Counting ripped-off currencies. It’s relaxing,” purred Pre-Approved. “What do you do?”
“Oh, me? Claw up other people’s 5-star stocks over at Transamerica, then sell them over in Chinatown. Cash sure rolling in,” said Feckless, lazily stretching his front legs.
-- end --
Saturday, March 7, 2009
San Francisco Cat Shelter. Each cat has own cage with small advertisement. First ad reads:
Get me. I’m ready right now. I love you.
I am a good cat. I eat cheap fish sticks.
My owner even tossed me into SF Bay to catch fish one day. When I got to shore, I lost him. I still meow for him. So, here I am, waiting.
I don’t scratch.
I love kids, postal workers, and pipe repair guys.
I am happy in your filth-filled back yard, even if it’s raining.
Yes, I am the good cat you lost in 2004.
I still love you!
Adopt me today.
Shelter No. 563-812”
The next advertisement was a warning, but I only say this because I see the situation more clearly now.
I’m talking from my bed in the county hospital.
Oh, if we could only go back to the clean and lightly-scented innocence of last week!
The poster was tacked up next to a cage in the rear of the cat room. The lights did not shine on this cage. I still didn’t get the hint about this cat.
The occupant stood near the bars of it not like a regular resident of a homeless shelter for cats, but like the Authority for Animal Welfare for the entire state of California.
The text was brutal. Think of the needle that goes into the arm of the condemned in his last moments. I’ll never forget that language of pure evil:
They call me Feckless…
Get my food
Shelter No. 999-666”
-- end --