“I hear what youse is sayin’.” I nodded and hoped she didn’t catch the omission.
Zelda stood up and glanced once more at the enormous billboard that we’d attached to the front of Roger’s building. “At least it’s only a week,” she muttered. “Has Sassy seen this travesty yet?”
“Ummm, nope,” I said, wondering if we were in for a waxing from the flying wanna-be Canadian menace.
Zelda laughed. I glanced over at my boys who shuddered and were clearly thinking along the same hairless lines as me. Maybe we should remove the sign. Getting waxed sucked.
“Good luck with that, asshats.” Zelda snapped her fingers and disappeared in a blast of sparkling green crystals.
“Are youse guys thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Jango asked, looking up at the sign with an unsure expression on his hairy face.
“Kinda,” Boba added. “But weese worked hard on dat sign and weese look hot.”
“While I agree dat weese are sexy, I’m a little worried Sassy might not like what weese did to her rack,” I said.
“Well den, let’s get rid of…” Jango said only to be cut off by the live version of the boobs under debate.
“Incoming!” Sassy squealed.
In a landing that defied aerodynamics, the witch crashed through the front window of our place of business in a blur. The most horrifying part was that Sassy had three passengers on her broom— the Canadians, who may or may not be dead at the moment.
“Youse think anyone lived through dat?” Jango asked with a wince.
“Sassy’ll be fine,” Boba assured us. “Saw her crash into a tree the other day and come out without a scratch. Don’t know about dem Canadians, though.”
“Well, if they kicked the bucket, they came to the right place,” I pointed out on a brighter note. “Weese might have our first stiffs.”
“Ohhhhhh! I’m so sorry aboot that,” Sassy cried out as we heard some impressive hissing and swearing. “That wasn’t very Canadian of me.”
“Dem Canadians is pissed,” I said with a laugh and then choked on my own spit as Sassy and her three tutors walked out of the building and onto the street.
The Universe tilted on its axis, and I forgot how to breathe. Jango and Boba’s reactions were the same.
“No f-ing way,” Jango whispered.
“Are weese dreamin’?” Boba asked.
“I sure as hell hoped weese ain’t dreaming,” I choked out, unable to take my eyes off the beauties in front of us. “Should I punch youse in the head to make sure weese are awake?”
“Good idea,” Boba said.
Jango nodded his agreement. “Punch Boba.”
“Why me?” Boba demanded. “Why can’t Fat Bastard punch youse?”
Jango glared at Boba. “Well, youse is the one who said it was a good idea and my giblets are still screamin’ from the massive racking earlier.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Boba agreed then turned to me. “Hit me, bunghole.”
“Wait,” I said confused and a little uncomfortable. “Are youse speakin’ Pirate? Youse want me to hit your bunghole?”
Sassy nodded and called out, “Yes, that was Pirate. I’m fluent in Pirate from watching Pirates of the Caribbean two hundred times. Boba clearly wants you to punch his bunghole. Kind of kinky and gross, but that’s exactly what he said.”
Boba threw his hands in the air. “Whoa, if I was speakin’ Pirate, I didn’t know. I take dat shit back.”
“Happens to me all the time,” Sassy chimed in. “I have been known to speak up to ten languages in one sentence. Half the time I can’t even understand what I say.”
That gave everyone pause. Me and the boys stared at Sassy like she was nuts—which she was—and the three Canadian beauties stared at her like she’d grown another head—which she had not.
Par for the course with Sassy.
“While I’m all for bein’ punched,” Boba said. “I’d prefer to keep my bunghole out of it.”
“Roger dat,” I said, winding up and walloping my compadre in the gut.
Unable to control himself, Boba clouted me back. Jango immediately forgot about his injured doodle-knockers and jumped into the foray. Boba cold-cocked Jango while Jango whaled on me. Of course, I whacked the shit out of Boba at the same time. It was a symphony of knuckle sandwiches, and no one came near anyone’s bunghole.
“Umm… are you asshats done?” Sassy called out. “Kind of un-Canadian to beat the shit out of each other.”
With one last slug to both of my boys, I nodded at Sassy. “Weese are done.”
We were also bleeding and limping. Whatever. We were manly cats with a penchant for smackdowns. It was one of our better qualities.
The bored and disinterested yawns of the Canadians proved they were impressed.
“The dames are real,” I whispered. What was a feline fella to do when he laid eyes on three of the most beautiful and felonious cats in the Universe? “It’s time to show dem weese mean business.”
We’d been chasing these furry broads our entire lives. They were slipperier than eels. How they’d ended up in Canada was a mystery, and one I would love to unravel. Life was about to get very interesting.
My heart pounded like a jackhammer in my chest, and my tail twitched spastically. Boba squealed like a girl. Jango adjusted his junk.
Not to be outdone by Jango, I quickly went for my own junk. It was an inspired move, and I wished I’d thought of it first. Gangoolie grabbing was a sign that a male cat was taken with a female cat. Taken was an understatement. I stumbled as I went for the gold and grabbed Boba Fett for balance. He was worse off than I was, and we both went down in a heap. Jango tripped over us as he ogled the Canadian beauties and racked himself. It wasn’t sexy. It wasn’t cool.
It was not our finest moment.
“Mmmkay,” Sassy said, eyeing us and trying not to laugh. “These are my Canadian tutors, Poutine, Annie Surely, and Blythe. Aren’t they just aboot the most awesome gals you’ve ever seen?”
I was speechless.
Boba Fett was speechless.
Jango Fett was trying to breathe through his second
