Malky's Mayhem Continues

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.

Meanwhile, in the middle of all the mayhem stood Shug, silently, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobbled setts of Bunnicula Square. He swallowed hard, desperately fighting back the tears threatening to overwhelm him. He wished this day was over, wished he was back in his flat, where he could sit quietly on the bed he and Bandit had shared and give vent to his grief in private.

His mind wandered back to that day, five short years ago when he rescued Bandit from his miserable life of cruelty. The little cat was terrified and trembled violently in Shug’s arms that first night. He’d been abused and horribly treated and Shug made a promise to him and to God that he would never suffer again. A hot tear trickled down his face as he thought of all they’d been through together since that day. He blamed himself for the tragedy which had befallen Bandit, and yet he was proud, proud that the love he’d shown Bandit had allowed him to blossom into a brave little kitty who saved a whole city from certain death and destruction. A true example of the power of love.

Meanwhile, Malky was still pontificating endlessly on the dais.  Everyone was starting to yawn and shuffle their feet, bored with his nonsensical meanderings. Shug gave a wan smile as he heard folks muttering ‘Get bloody on with it, ya halfwit!’ and ‘Shut yer yap Malky!’  Even Malky’s bodyguards were losing the will to live.

Suddenly and without warning, a black stretch limo with blacked out windows whizzed noisily around the western side of Bunnicula Square and screeched to a halt square in front of Malky who was still talking, oblivious to all going on around him.

‘And...’ he continued, puffing out his considerable chest, ‘as we gather here today to honour this brave, selfless, furry wee.....’

‘DUCK!!!’ yelled one of the bodyguards, as a sawn off shotgun emerged from the back nearside window of the limo and aimed directly at Malky and began shooting, peppering the dais with pellets.

Everyone in the square, including the penguins, instantly and simultaneously fell to the ground, miraculously avoiding the shots.

The residents of Kilcathclyde were used to this sort of occurrence. Everywhere Malky went someone tried to assassinate him. In the 4 years he’d been Mayor, there had been 72 unsuccessful attempts on his life.  Sadly though, he’d lost 47 bodyguards.

The limo sped off noisily as the inhabitants of the square stood up. Without missing a beat, Malky continued with his seemingly endless speech. ‘.....cat.  And it gives me great pleasure and pride to unveil this tribute, commemorating this brave, heroic, valiant....’

‘In the name of the wee man, get oan wi’ it, ya bampot....I want hame for ma tea some time this millennium!’ came a voice from deep within the crowd. 

Shug looked up, bemused. He could have sworn it sounded exactly like Father Eamonn.

‘Awright, awright, keep yer hair oan buddy!’ retorted Malky.

‘I give you, the plucky, the fearless....’. The crowd gave a collective groan.  ‘Bandit Grant!’. Malky unveiled a large statue of a cat, sat atop a giant sink plug, proferring his left paw, holding a tiny spider.

Shug gulped back a sob, proudly accepting the clamorous applause and cheering from the crowd who were anxious to show their gratitude and appreciation.

Just at that moment, Shug heard the most beautiful, ethereal sound. He turned to see where it was coming from and saw 741 penguins, formed in a guard of honour around Bandit’s statue, gently singing the Humming Song from Madam Butterfly.

The tears flowed now, unashamedly and proudly as Shug turned to make his way homeward. He glanced idly at Malky being bundled unceremoniously into his armoured Mercedes by his three remaining bodyguards with Kenny McKiltie chasing close by, desperate for an exclusive quote. Shug was glad it was over.

As he walked along Eglise Lane behind the Cathedral, through the gloom he saw four penguins standing on top of each other fixing a poster to the side of the Cathedral. It read

The Bandit Grant Memorial Service.

St Mochemoc’s Cathedral. Sunday 4am.

Main concelebrant: Percival the Great

Music by Elsie Arachnid

Eulogy by Ginger Malarky

As Shug mused on this he felt someone bump into him from behind. He turned round to say ‘pardon me’ only to be confronted by a sniggering, sneering and smelly Myra Dick.

‘You’re next.’ She hissed, pointing a knobbly forefinger at him.

Shug gasped. ‘It was you! You killed my Bandit. You....evil....witch....!’ Shug fell to his knees, breathless with rage and grief. He clutched his chest.

Myra coldly extended her right foot and placed it on Shug’s heaving shoulder and callously pushed him over into the muddy puddle in the lane.

Shug lay there sobbing for two hours, 31 minutes.  Eventually as darkness enveloped the city of Kilcathclyde he stood up, aided by the four penguins who had run off in fright when Myra Dick appeared.

He gazed up into the night sky, took a deep breath and said, ‘Don’t worry, my little one. I will avenge you Bandit. I’ll think of some way to get her back. After all, tomorrow’s another day......’

©2011 Steven Gorman. All rights reserved.