E.B. meets Muffy and Rye

Easter. A glorified bunny hiding eggs all about the world, dipping into his basket and skipping across meadows without breaking a single egg. Allow me to state that the cats loathe the Easter Bunny. Wouldn’t you? Cute, cuddly and gift bearing while cats are, well, you know.

The parents, Mr. and Mrs. Smith for lack of a better name, took their sons hunting. Supposedly, the Easter Bunny is a dear friend to Mr. Smith’s boss and so, low and behold, the large park owned by Samwell’s Construction was teeming with eggs. Not normal eggs, mind you, but chocolate eggs, sugar eggs and the ever coveted money eggs.

The cats lurked, as they often did, in the window, waiting, ever so patiently, for their “masters” to leave, which they did. This, my friends, is where the horrible truth of cats reached my eyes and plagued me forever with nightmares. If you do not wish to have nightmares, do not read any further.

Although, you may have a fiercer stomach than I so read on. It’s your choice. You did sign the waver, right? Very good…read then.

Muffy, a horrible name for any creature, leapt from the window and looked up over her shoulder at the orange tabby upon the sofa’s back.

“Deceitful.” She hissed and the orange tabby licked himself, taking in her black coat and amber eyes with boredom.

“Indeed, Muffy, but necessary.” Rye stretched then, taking life by the claws and strolling calmly down the sofa’s arm to stand at her side.

“They will die.” Muffy looked up at the goldfish swimming about in the large tank.

“They will. What of it?” Rye sat back upon his haunches and scratched his ear lazily.

“They have housed and fed us for years, Rye.” Muffy moved closer to the tank, her amber eyes locking onto the fattest goldfish, flicking her tail and admiring the gleam of it’s scales.

“So what? I grow tired of living here. Let our fellow cats invade, let the people die. And this great bunny, as well.” Rye snarled as he moved to Muffy’s side, his green eyes watching the same fish.

“What if there isn’t a bunny?” Muffy asked.

“No bunny? They rave about the Easter Bunny and his treats. The rodent has even had the audacity to sneak into our house while we slept, leaving baskets of chocolates and games. Enough, I say!” Rye leapt then, landing easily on the tables edge and scaring the fish.

“I tell you, Rye, that the bunny is a lie.” Muffy said softly.

“You’re female. What do you know?” Rye scoffed as Muffy turned away. He would kill another fish. She moved back to the window. She could see the others, all gathered on corners and windows, waiting, waiting.

“What if they don’t come, Rye?” Muffy asked but Rye didn’t answer. The goldfish had bitten his nose and Rye was fairly miffed.

“You will die, fishie!” Rye said as he dunked himself into the tank and lunged after the goldfish.

Now, allow me to tell you that goldfish are not as helpless as we believe them to be. Rye was having a horrendous time, surrounded as he was by fish, and Muffy was watching the street, not the tank.

“Suppose there is no Easter Bunny.” Muffy whispered to the faint reflection of herself upon the glass.

“Muffy!” Rye shouted and she turned, tilting her head slightly at the sight of the orange tabby struggling to surface.

“I’m not going to help you. You know I hate water.” Muffy said and Rye surfaced, kicking the fish crazily.

“I’ll help you.”

Now, I never believed in the Easter Bunny, and I especially didn’t buy into the whole overalls and suspenders, hat and glasses, but there he was, seven feet tall and pulling Rye out of the tank by the scruff of his neck and placing him on the tile.

“You’re the Easter Bunny!” Rye hissed as he lunged. E.B. caught him effortlessly and held him before his bunny face.

“You’re helpless.” E.B. laughed then. “Your invasion failed.”

“Not quite.” Muffy said and the E.B. looked over. She had opened the window, cats can open just about anything by the way, and E.B. was now surrounded by cats.

“What are you going to do? Spit me to death?” E.B. dropped Rye back into the tank and faced Muffy. “I thought you didn’t believe in me.”

“So did I.” She said as she flew at his face.

The cats attacked much like one would expect them to, claws and teamwork. E.B. didn’t stand a chance. The invasion had, in fact, failed but the bunny was dead. The humans were safe, of course, even though Rye had had other plans for his “masters”.

When the Smith’s returned home they found tufts of red tinted fur, a pair of broken glasses and eggs strewn about the house. Their goldfish tank was empty of fish and Muffy and Rye were sitting upon the window sill waiting, waiting….