Felidae - Special U.S. Edition

Otherwise—who knows?—the world might end. Order is your middle name. You're right at the top, and under you in the proper order are all those who respect your wishes, submit themselves to your control, and accept you as king, excuse me, as King Kong. And if a newcomer, much less a 'fancy pants' like myself, should enter your kingdom, then first of all the rules of the game have to be explained to him, right? And since you can't help but be unselfish, naturally you're the one who has to take care of this bothersome task. With your pedagogic talent, almost everyone gets the message pretty damn quick about what the house regulations are like, that is—how did you put it?—crude. But even that doesn't satisfy you. You want the new ones to commit your ten commandments to memory right from the beginning. That's why the most important lesson has to be taught at the beginning: if you don't toe the line, it can be extremely painful for you, so painful in fact that afterwards you may never again be your old self. Have I understood the status quo correctly?"

He bellowed enthusiastically. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he always had a quaint sense of humor—a true gentleman!

"Yeah, yeah, you got it, brother! Nowhere have I ever met with so much understanding for my concerns. You're a real paragon of intelligence. That's why I'm looking forward to tasting your blood soon."

A violent thunderstorm had come up outside. The lightning and thunder seemed apocalyptic and supplied the appropriate music to accompany our strange conversation. Kong slowed his circling tempo bit by bit, coming dangerously close to me. The grin had vanished from his face, revealing the primitive mug of a roughneck. Now I didn't feel like jokes anymore, either.

"Kong," I said sternly. "Don't you think we should stop this dumb game and deal with serious business?"

"Sure. Like what, for example?"

"This district is being terrorized by an unspeakable horror. Terrible things are happening. Day after day, one of ours is being killed, murdered in cold blood. A monster's roaming the district on a wild killing spree. Don't you want to help me find this psycho?"

"You don't have to look for him anymore. I can tell you who it is."

"Oh? Who is it then?"

"Me! The killer's right in front of you!"

"And what's the reason for your murders?"

"Why? Well, all these characters liked to talk big, just like you.

He was even more primitive than I had rated him. A Neanderthal par excellence.

"Don't be angry with me, Kong, but I don't buy it. I mean, you're a tough guy, but I just don't think you're capable of murder. Your motive doesn't sound very convincing, you know."

"You'll see soon enough how convincing I can be."

"Well, my friend, if it really has to be, then so be it. But I'd like to call your attention to the fact that this time around you won't get any protection from those two clowns of yours. One on one with me—do you think you can take it?"

"Wrong!" He burst out laughing and looked up triumphantly at the hatch. As if on signal, Herrmann and Herrmann squeezed their rain-soaked ratty faces through the wall opening, grinning at me slyly. I should have known that a general would not start a war without an army.

"Is that fair?" I asked. Actually, it wasn't a question, but a philosophical flight of fancy.

"No," he giggled. He obviously had no appreciation of philosophy.

Above, the two raven-black Orientals exchanged amused glances and broke out in mocking, scornful laughter. Then, one after the other, they pushed themselves through the hatch, sprang into the cellar, and surrounded me. I now found myself in the center of a triangle formed by the Herrmann brothers and the inscrutably smiling Kong. Why they wanted to try out their fighting prowess on me had become irrelevant. It seemed a long-overdue ritual that had to be celebrated for its own sake. The only strange thing was that they wanted to force me to my knees right in my own territory. It was pretty obvious that they had never taken a look at one of those expensive, glossy, learned tomes about my race, or they would have realized how grave this violation was.

A savage cellar battle took place as follows:

The Bermuda Triangle broke up abruptly when I jumped an astonishing five feet to the summit of a computer printout precipice. But since they were in no position to coordinate their attack strategy, being full of pent-up rage, they all soared up in the air just as I was already hopping up to the next highest mountain summit. The Marx Brothers slammed into one another on the peak of the paper mountain behind me, which was naturally too small for them, scrambled in panic to prevent themselves from falling, but, finding no support, tumbled down head over heels.

Once again, Kong was the first to pull himself up in a flash, look around to orient himself, and then jump up to my peak. But while he was still in midflight I in turn let myself drop to the floor, where Herrmann and Herrmann, their eyes wide with fury, madness, and stupidity, were lying in wait for me.

"He's mine!" Kong roared hysterically, who had just landed on the heights. But Herrmann and Herrmann had become so enslaved to the adrenaline in their veins that they could no longer come to a full stop. The cross-eyed Herrmann even seemed to be frothing at the mouth.

We all sprang at the same time. When the duo lifted off and were whizzing in my direction, I catapulted myself into the air right at them. I managed to fly between the goons about two feet aboveground after sticking out my stiffened front paws and extending my claws. While Herrmann and Herrmann whistled past me, I brushed past them lightly with each of my claws, cutting deep grooves into each of their furry sides.

But I had not reckoned on Kong's unfailing aim. When I