St Muckymuck Season 2: Mayor Malky's Mayhem

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU ARE READING IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

 

Malky ‘The Malk’ Callaghan, self-styled businessman, doting son and Mayor of Kilcathclyde stepped out of his armoured limousine and onto the cobbled stones of Bunnicula Square and flashed his best smile at the large crowd gathered in the square for the unveiling of Bandit’s statue. A respectful round of applause echoed around the square. The bright sunlight didn’t bother him as he had donned his ever-present reflective sunglasses.

He had been voted Mayor of the city two years earlier after a hard-fought election at the Kilcathclyde Council Chambers. Two of his main rivals, Frank Stour and Lulu Goldpepper quite suddenly and unexpectedly pulled out of the election, disappearing on an extended holiday to Mustique and the Bahamas. They still hadn't returned.

Malky’s other rival, Edgar Edwards, suffered a freak accident at the Chambers while auditing the councillors’ expenses when a ledger book fell on his head, breaking both his legs in the process. This of course, left Malky the only contender and therefore Mayor of Kilcathclyde by default. His mother was very proud.

So Malky, his blacked-out limousines and his ever-changing gaggle of bodyguards had become a familiar sight on the streets of Kilcathclyde, where he would turn up at every public event, every business launch and anything involving the opening of laundrettes and taxi firms, wearing his official Council regalia over his favourite black suit, black shirt and white tie combo. Naturally, he had accepted the invitation to unveil the commemorative statue for Bandit as he was a great animal lover, a fact to which his doberman Adolph would attest.

He looked round the square, astonished at the thousands of people, animals and...penguins gathered there to honour the bravery of the little cat. Malky scanned the crowd and caught the eye of his confessor and friend, Father Gabriel, the keeper of all Malky's secrets. He flashed a gleaming smile in his direction and winked conspiratorily.  

Gabriel smiled stiffly and nodded presbiterely in Malky’s direction and turned to Father Eric who was at his side, with Nettie and Chi-Chi on their double harness at his feet.

“Eric?” he said, nodding towards the penguin guard of honour surrounding Bandit’s still-covered statue.  “Where have all these bloody penguins come from? I thought I told you to order FOUR penguins for the St Mocheomoc Feastday Family Fun Fete.”

“Yes, well, I was wondering about that myself....” stuttered Eric. “So I asked Ina to dig out the order form from the files and it turned out that she ordered four hundred instead of four.....” his voice trailed off.

“That idiotic woman” groaned Gabriel, exasperated. “I'll speak to her myself tomorrow. Whatever possessed me to employ her? She’s a bloody liability”. His gaze swept round the square.

“But I don’t understand it - there’s around 600 penguins here” he said, perplexed.

“Yes Gabriel” answered Eric sheepishly. “I think they’ve been mating”. He blushed and lowered his eyes.

Gabriel watched the baby penguins happily hopping in and out of the puddles, flapping their little flippers, and closed his eyes, head shaking. He re-opened his eyes a few seconds later to find himself standing nose to nose with Father Eamonn. He closed them again, hoping it was all dream.

“Naw. I’m still here.” snarled Eamonn when Gabriel eventually looked him in the eye.

Gabriel gulped as Eamonn put an arm around his shoulder and led him away in the direction of St Pulcharious Seminary.

©2011 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

 

St Muckymuck Season 2: The Six O'Clock Blues

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU ARE READING IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

 

Kenny McKiltie, KTV’s chief news reporter, bobbed furiously from side to side trying desperately to avoid the dark grey raincloud which was sitting immediately above his head. No matter which way he moved, it immediately followed him. His microphone was getting soaked and, more importantly, his luscious, flowing black hair was becoming seriously fluffy amid the humidity and dampness. He hated not looking his best. He was a damn fine looking 48 year old and he knew it. In fact, his swarthy, chiselled, latino looks were his biggest asset, along with his ability to turn even the most innocuous piece of news into a headline-grabbing drama.  Kenny was also chief media advisor to Archbishop Biscotti and frequently used his position and authority to bury some nasty little snippets which sometimes emerged from the Curious Offices.

Kenny always made sure he was always first on the scene of any breaking story and naturally was present at the draining of the tsunami waters which had been engulfing Kilcathclyde for the past six months. However, all that was left now of the tsunami was a gentle breeze and some light drizzle.

‘And here we are in the centre of Kilcathclyde where conditions are still seriously stormy’ shouted Kenny, angling his body against the non-existent hurricane. He was using all his award-winning powers of exaggeration.

‘The winds have reached a phenomenal 12 miles per hour and the drizzle is lashing the streets of Kilcathclyde.  I wouldn’t be at all surprise if we have more fatalities on our hands this day. Our advice to all viewers is to stay indoors. Do not attempt to go out. Lock all doors and close all windows. Put sandbags.....’ Kenny’s voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn to around 50 penguins, waddling through Bunnicula Square. 

‘And here we have an enormous gaggle of oh.. around 20,000 penguins gathered in Bunnicula Square, in anticipation of tomorrow’s unveiling ceremony in honour of the little cat who saved Kilcathclyde, but tragically perished himself in doing so.....Bandit Grant – hero of Kilcathclyde. And yes, tomorrow evening’s Kilcathclyde Today’s news bulletin will come to you live, yes, live from that ceremony.”

Kenny was getting breathless with excitement.

“We’ll have exclusive interviews with those who knew Bandit best - the local pet shop owner who supplied his kittylitter, the vet who treated him for cystitis, the owner of the garden where he used to pee, and of course, his owner, Shug Grant, who....’

CLICK. Shug turned off the tv and sighed. ‘I don’t think I can do this tomorrow baby’ he whispered, holding his favourite photo of Bandit.

Shug sat down on his bed, the one he had shared with Bandit for the last 5 years, fighting back the tears which were threating to flow down his sunken cheeks. He stared glumly at the floor and from the corner of his eye he saw a little black spider emerge from a tiny hole just behind Bandit’s litter tray.

It dashed across the carpet, its little eight legs going like the clappers and stopped very suddenly at Shug’s left foot. Shug smiled wanly and stared at the tiny arachnid. He bent down and picked it up gently and as he did so, he noticed that the spider was clutching something which it deposited in the palm of his hand. It was 3 butter-soft, snow white whiskers. The little spider then leapt off his hand and danced away back into the hole in the skirting board, leaving behind a tiny, teensy, black glittery shoe, just the size of a pinhead on the carpet.

‘Oh Bandit’ Shug finally broke down and sobbed, staring at the whiskers. He clutched them to his heart as he finally fell asleep atop Bandit’s favourite Barry Hotter blanket.

©2011 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.

St Muckymuck, Season 2: Duet

Duet

There was a chirp in the distance….The sound of the ocean roaring onto a shore even further away…Somewhere a foghorn blew.  Something tempted him to open his eyes but the soft, soothing serenity of the seaside sounds seemed to prompt him to keep his eyes closed.

Everything was comforting – everything was calming.  Like a patch of sun beaming through the living room window, he was utterly content, completely at peace, warm.  How long he remained there basking in the relaxation, he did not know; he did not care.  But at some point, his eyes slowly opened.

The sky was misty, yet he was not cold.  The mist seemed to radiate a gentle warmth.  When he sat up, he saw seagulls in the distance darting about above steely black water pounding on pure white sand.  His green eyes watched the gulls as they played and zoomed at one another.  It brought a smile to his face.  Some children were throwing a Frisbee way down at the far end of the beach.  Their giggling reached his ears – causing him to chuckle.  He sat up, hoping to see them better.

“Well, there you are, Sleepyhead,” said a soft voice.  “I thought you were going to nap the whole day away.”

“Huh, I’m sorry,” he responded.  “I was enjoying the beauty of the seaside.  I guess I dozed off.”

“Quite understandable,” said the other voice with a strong, Scottish accent.  Then he appeared, but in shadow.  “Here you are, my love.”  A glass of wine was handed to him.

“Thank you, Sweetheart,” he replied.  He took a sip.  “Wow, this wine is delicious.”

“I brought it especially for you.  It’s your favorite from that winery in the Napa Valley that you like so much, Cakebread Cellars.”

“OH!  It’s their Rubiyat?” he asked, breathing in the wine’s bouquet.  “Mmmm.”

“It is, indeed,” said the Scottish voice.  The diffused light from the mist in the air made it impossible to see who was speaking.  But it didn’t matter, he knew the voice like the back of his hand.  It was just as soothing as the playful gulls and recreating children, whose giggles filled his ears again.  He looked over at them, a smile lighting up his face.  The smile grew into his own laughter.

He laid his head down and stared up into the mist, sighing blissfully.  He felt a gentle touch on his stomach – it began to massage him.  “Mmmm – that feels so good.”  He began to drift away again, seeming to move upward into the blinding mist.

“I’m glad, my love, it is always and only for you.  Just you,” said the other familiar voice.

“Yes – yes, and I am only for you…” he said, breathlessly, sotto voce.  He was rising…rising…rising…

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 2

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU ARE READING IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.

THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

IN FACT, ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ANYTHING AT ALL WILL BE REMARKABLY COINCIDENTAL.

 Ginger and Elsie arrived at Sam n’ Ella’s a few minutes later.  Timmy trailed behind along with a host of penguins.  People gathered around and helped the besodden tarantula into a seat.

“What’ll it be, Ging?”

“Two teas, Sam, and pour a generous dollop of brandy in this young lady’s cup, if you don’t mind.  It’s on me.”

“Right you are,” said Sam in his characteristic Irish inflection.

“Does someone have a jacket.  This poor girl is freezing,” said Ginger.  A blanket appeared, which Timmy placed lovingly around Elsie’s shoulders.  She thanked him.

“She huddled over her tea after Sam set it down.  “I cannot get the image out of my mind of the look of surprise on his face as he slipped away.”  Tears began.  She’d cried so much that her eyes stung as the moisture formed.

“He will be back.  I can feel it in my heart.  He didn’t slip away.”

She sank into the cup, almost knocking it over.  Timmy settled it.  “Oh God.  Where is he then?  I saw him get swept away, Ginger.  I saw it!”

Ginger smiled almost pityingly.  “I don’t doubt that you did.”

“Then how can you sit there and be so calm.  How?” said Elsie, tears clinging to her eyelashes.  “HOW?!”

“…I cannot say…but I do know.  I know it…in here,” he said, tapping his chest over his heart.  He smiled more brightly but it seemed only to cast Elsie into further darkness – she looked away from his brightness.  She could still feel Bandit’s paw in her hand; feel the delicate softness of the pink pads on it.  In automatic response, she closed her fist, trying desperately to grab onto it.  But it eluded her and she collapsed into renewed soft sobs.

***

Bandit sat up – startled.  A crab was crawling over his stomach.  He shooed it away but it merely hissed and scuttled off.  He looked around.  He was on a beach – the sun was beaming down on him and it felt good, as he was soaking wet.  He tried to get the crab’s attention to ask where he was but the crab continued moving away hissing something at him he couldn’t quite make out.

“Where am I?” he turned and looked around.  The beach was completely abandoned.  “And how did I get here?” he asked to no one.  He racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened.  But he couldn’t… “How odd?” he said to himself.  “I can’t remember anything?  Maybe I got hit by a car…or was beaten by a cruel owner?”  A memory flickered from a distant corner of his mind of a woman hitting him with a broom.  He winced as the distant broom’s impact cracked his ribs.

Several crying gulls swooped overhead, awakening him from his nightmare.  One landed next to him.   

“ ‘Allo, Love,” he said.

“Hello,” said the cat.

Another gull landed beside the first.  “Oooo..where you from, Love?”

“I…I…don’t remember,” he said, concentrating very hard.

“Ooo…you don’t have to get cheeky!” said the seagull.  “I was only askin’.”

“I’m not being cheeky on purpose…” said Bandit, truthfully.  “But I can’t remember anything…I don’t even know where I am.”

“You’re on Southport Beach, near Liverpool,” said the first gull.

“Liverpool?” Bandit repeated, sitting.  He placed a paw to his forehead.  “England?”

“Aye,” said the second gull.  “Maybe you should see a doctor, Love.  We know where you should go.  We can take you.  It’s free here, you know.”

He turned to go with them and collapsed from a sharp pain in his side.  “Ouch!” he said.

“Oh…Love, you’ve got to see someone.  Sharpish.” Said the second gull, staring at his left rear leg.

“Why?”

“You’re injured, Love,” said the first gull, who sounded male.  “It doesn’t look too serious but you’ll definitely have to see the doctor.  Can you walk?”

Bandit got to his feet and gingerly put weight on it.  “If we go slowly, I think so.”  He slipped slightly

“ ‘Ere, Love, we’ll help you,” both seagulls put a paw over their shoulders, and helped the wet, injured cat to his feet.

“Name’s Joseph, Love,” said the male seagull on Bandit’s right.  “An’ this here’s Mary.”

“ ‘Ello,” said Mary to his left.  “An’ who are you?”

“…I…I” Bandit stopped.  He searched every square inch of his feline brain.  “…Dunno…”

“Oh, bless you,” said Mary.  “Pray to St. Anthony.  He’ll help you remember.”

***

“Well, I wish I had your confidence,” said the tarantula, now staring into her tea as though hoping it would divine Bandit’s existence and whereabouts.  Nothing happened.

“Look, Elsie,” said Ginger, moving forward slightly.  “Bandit lives in my heart.  It doesn’t matter where he goes or what he does.  I will always be with him and he will always be with me.”

“Just like I am with you, Baby,” said Timmy, nuzzling Elsie, who closed her eyes in gentle reassurance.

“Don’t leave me, Rocky, don’t ever, ever leave me,” she whispered.

“Never, my Precious, never, never, never.”

People gathered closer.  “We’re all with you, Elsie.  Every single one of us.”

©2011 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.