Introduction:
Rating: G.  
Class.: Story
Summary:  Agent Pendrell proves *once* more that he is a doof.
Title: The Cat
Author:  H.G. "EnCat" Frank

*

Disclaimer: Sci-crime's Agent Pendrell and any other references to the
X-files belong to Ten-Thirteen, Chris Carter, and every other person who
works up there in Vancouver.  I was not given permission by them to write
this fanfic, nor was I given permission to commit such a crime as write such
a horrid piece about my favorite doof, *nor* am I trying to get my lucky
break by using ole Pendrell.  Any other references to other products, etc.
(i.e. Famous Amos), was also used without permission.  Oh, yeah, all due
apologies to Brooke Adams, Chuck Jones, and Maira Kalman. 
Dedication: This fanfic is dedicated to the wonderful people in L.O.L.B., as
well as my Humanities teacher, who was chanced to be seen in a crowded
supermarket one night and thus inspired the thin-plot of this fanfic.

***
"You can feed him, cuff him, pull his ears, slap him silly, it's all one to hi
m." --Chuck Jones, on the nature of a dog.
***
The Cat
		By H.G. "EnCat" Frank
	
	A hissing shriek cut the air as a cat was awoken from its slumber by the
rumble of the garbage truck.  The cat leapt from its position and landed, its
claws drawn, on a lump of sheets, hopping up and down on the mound, leaving
pinprick holes as it leapt higher, coming down harder each time.
	The body below it stirred, groaned, and raised itself from beneath the
sheets.  The cat, bumped off the bed by the raising of the body, scurried out
of the room, leaving the rugs in waves and clouds of dust curling up behind.
     FBI Agent Toby Pendrell arose and, with a wrinkling of his nose, shook his
fist at the flash of fur.  "Godamit, what *is* it with you and garbage trucks...have you been watching Brooke Adams' films again?!" he called down the hall.
	Pendrell shoke his head and went into his kitchen, where the cat was
sniffing under the fridge.  The cat managed to dance out of the way as the
fridge door swung open, and the lone item on its wire shelves fell on the
floor.
	"Jeez.  First you wake me up at 8 o'clock on Saturday morning, then you lick
up the remains of my mustard...I suppose my car is the *next* ill-fated
victim..."
	The cat waved its tail and pranced out of the room.
	Pendrell collapsed onto the tiled-floor.  "What the heck am I supposed to do
now?  I have no food, no sheets, a deranged cat that has only revenge on its
mind, and *something* smelly under the refrigerator."
	The mustard bottle let out a squeal as the last putrid drop dripped onto the
floor.
	"That's it!  I'm going to the godamn grocery store!" 

*******

	Pendrell attempted to dodge some toppling cookie boxes which an elderly
woman had mistakingly dislodged.  "I wonder," he thought, as he peeled a
cookie off of his shoe, "if Famous Amos would care that their beloved
Oreo-imitations are now embellished with the tread marks of a pair of
Adidas."  
	He paused to glance at the shelves of cereal.  "Heck, I'll be daring today.
 'Nuff of the cereals boxes that display cheerful adults smiling their way
through bowls of garbage.  Pop culture icons call to me...Lucky Charms, Cap'n
Crunch, Frosted Flakes...the sci-crime lab will never be the same with
caffeine-me hopping off the microscope slides."  Pendrell dumped a stack of
Trix into his shopping cart and continued down the aisle.
	He paused once more, this time at the frozen section, and picked up a
variety of ice cream flavors.  "Ho-hum.  Ben and Jerry should kiss my feet,"
Pendrell whispered as he tossed a carton of butter pecan into the cart.
	Pendrell glanced into his cart, and then gave it a huge push, letting it
roll from his grasp and do a half-swivel.  Grabbing his cart, he started to
push it toward the checking counter, when someone caught his eye.
	Pendrell let out a shriek of neither glee nor terror, and darted behind a
pile of milk crates.   He crouched in his hiding spot, waiting for the
perfect opportunity.

*******

	Pendrell shook his head.  "What were the chances?" he thought.  "A million
to one.  A-mill-i-on-to-one.  The same time, day, place.  What *were* the
chances?"  He blushed his patent-pending Pendrell-blush, and smacked himself
as his face grew hotter.  
	"Dammit, Toby, what the hell is wrong with you?"  He whispered to himself.
 "That grocery store was practically empty...it has to be the first time when
the jars of peanut butter-jelly swirl actually *out* numbered the customers.
 There was no badge-toting creep of a partner to bother you...it was just
you, her, a old granma of a woman, and some stoned cashier.  And *she* was
there, alone."  Pendrell slapped himself again.  
	"And you didn't even buy the groceries.  You just had to tear out of the
store like some farmer chasing some robbers with a pitchfork...only you
weren't chasing anyone.  I bet your shopping cart is still in a half-swivel
position, the ice cream slowly melting, the Trix rabbit still wishing that he
was a kid...All your dreams of becoming of field agent are wiped, Pendrell.
 Gone, good-bye, bon voyage, sayonara Mrs. Kackleman!  You can't even look at
her - a normal human being - without emitting a scream and dashing away. 
	"When it comes to being paranoid, you're probably the one who has been
watching that Brooke Adams' film again.  Heck, if I were you (and I am you),
I'd want to be taken over by a pod of outer-wordly gunk.  At least I wouldn't
have emotions then...
	"Oy vey.  Who would think a cat, of all creatures, would be the only one who
doesn't embarrass you?"
	Pendrell sloped back in his chair, letting his plaintive-faced cat walk over
his stomach and meow in his ear.  Blushing a little bit more, he cursed back
at his pet, an equally plaintive-look crossing his face.
	"Scratch that last remark."

***
Fin.
***

All comments welcome.  E-mail enragedcat@aol.com