“Mouth off your yam bags unless you want me to zap your tiny marbles off your obese carcass,” Zelda warned. “And here’s an idea for you three idiots. Why don’t you try living on the right side of the law for a change?”
“Could youse define right side of the law?” I asked.
“Cease all criminal activity,” she shot back, grabbing her purse and walking to the front door. Sadly, she also grabbed the cheesecake.
“Could youse define all?” I queried.
“For the love of the Goddess in mom jeans,” Zelda groused with an eye roll. “Stop breaking the law. Find something legal or at least mostly legal that you three dummies enjoy or you’ll be spending the night with the thieving little groundhog shits in the slammer.”
“Could youse define lea…” I started only to be cut off by Zelda’s dangerously raised brow and sparking fingers.
“I dare you,” she said with a devious little grin pulling at her lips. “Go without committing a crime for one week, and I’ll buy you the big screen TV for the cat room that you’ve been begging for.”
There was no way on the Goddess’s green earth I was about to tell my witch we stole a big screen TV three days ago. Didn’t think that would go over too well at the moment.
“Youse have yourself a deal, sweet cheeks,” I said before I realized the words had come out of my mouth. But a dare was a dare. No self-respecting cat could resist a dare.
Fuck. The boys were gonna kill me.
“Anyhoo,” Zelda continued as she opened the front door. “I have to go pick up the twins from their playdate with my dad and Baba Yaga. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
She walked out of the front door. Closed it behind her. Opened it back up and peeked her head back inside. She caught me mid nard slurp.
“What was the outstanding idea you wanted to tell me about?” she asked, ignoring that I had my balls in my mouth.
“I forgot,” I lied, pretty sure she didn’t want to hear about our plan to spray paint the word bunghole down the middle of Main Street.
She waited twenty-three seconds for me to come clean.
I politely refrained. I also removed my balls from my mouth. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Zelda sighed dramatically and shook her head. “Whatever it was, don’t do it.”
“Roger dat,” I said, giving her a thumbs up.
“Youse did what?” Jango Fett demanded, gasping for breath as he logged time on the treadmill.
“It was a dare, numbnuts. I couldn’t pass up a dare,” I hissed then squinted at him in disbelief. “What exactly are youse doin’ on a treadmill?”
Jango Fett looked like he was about to have a heart attack. That would be a problem since Zelda had left the premises. Our red-headed, green-eyed witch was the infamous Shifter Wanker. Zelda could heal all Shifters and magical beings, including her three magnificent, good-looking, law-breaking, yet extremely lovable familiars.
Of course, we did have nine lives being cats and all, but I was pretty sure we were down to three or possibly two.
“He can’t lick his giggleberries,” Boba Fett whispered with a sad shrug. “Too fat.”
It took a lot to shock me into silence. But the devastating thought of not being able to get to my wrinkled grapes did it.
“Jango,” I choked out in an emotional whisper. “Youse dumb mug. Youse’ll be able to get dem mitts back on your marbles in no time. I believe in youse.”
Jango glanced over mid-stride and flew off the treadmill. A girthy, screaming ball of flying fur launched about twenty feet into the air and landed with a sickening thud. After a full minute of impressive profanity, Jango got back on his paws and wiped the sweat from his brow. His furry chin dropped to his chest. It didn’t have far to go since his stomach was as big as his ass—which was fucking huge.
“Thank youse,” Jango said, still breathing hard. “Dat means a lot to me, Fat Bastard. Gotta get back into shape so I can visit my meat clackers.”
“Youse can do it, paisano,” Boba Fett said.
“Hey now,” Jango complained. “Don’t youse be talkin’ about no pie.”
“My bad,” Boba apologized.
“Apology accepted. So, now dat I’m done with my exercise for the day,” Jango said. “Youse better explain yourself, Fat Bastard.”
“How long did youse jog?” I asked, wanting to avoid the smackdown that was headed my way.
“Forty-five seconds,” Jango announced with pride then narrowed his gaze at me. “Youse told Zelda weese was goin’ on the straight and narrow?”
“WHAT?” Boba shouted. “Youse was supposed to tell her weese are gonna spray paint the word dingleberries on Main Street.”
“It was bunghole,” I corrected.
“It was?” Boba asked, confused. “Coulda sworn it was dingleberries.”
“Happens to everybody. Dingleberries and bunghole practically rhyme,” Jango assured him, waddling over. “Can’t believe youse told Zelda weese would refrain from felonious activities. What the hell are weese supposed to do?”
He had me there. I had no clue.
“Weese could start a business,” Boba suggested.
“Card sharks?” Jango proposed.
“Dat’s iffy,” I pointed out. “Maybe a little more legal. Too damn hard not to cheat.”
“Pyramid scheme?” Boba offered.
“Umm… pretty sure dat’s fuckin’ illegal,” I told them. This was hard.
Jango snapped his toe beans and a six-pack of beer appeared. “Youse guys want one?”
“Shouldn’t youse be drinkin’ water if youse ever wanna see your love sac again?” Boba questioned with a huge grin as he grabbed a beer.
“F-youse,” Jango grumbled. “It’s light beer.”
I paced our quarters, aka The Kick-ass Cat Pad, and tried to figure out what we should do. Thinking was incredibly overrated and exhausting. Glancing around, I looked for inspiration in the massive suite that Zelda’s mate, Mac, built for us. It was feline heaven. The bright yellow room had strategically placed scratching posts, and three miniature beds lined the wall under the bay window where we spent hours staring at birds, planning illegal activities and napping. A pilfered collection of paintings depicting Garfield, Grumpy Cat, Sylvester,
