Here’s your prompt! If you have any Tom and Jerry fanfic in your system, this is your opportunity to get it out! But…perhaps you see a different story here. One without mallets.
Tell us your story in 100 words, either in the comments here or at your web site with a link back to us, please! We can’t wait to read it!
(Photo Credit: estockiausdel on Pixabay)
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“Sal, my old friend!! How ya doin? “ said Stumpy enthusiastically. I’m catching a tan, beat it,” Sal replied. “What did I tell you about coming out here in the grass in broad daylight, your gonna ruin my reputation around here,” Sal continued. Stumpy ignored Sal’s sardonic mood, he surmised that too much catnip the night before to be the prime culprit for Sal’s disposition. “ Go away, I’m feeling quite ravenous,” Sal warned. Sal’s the kind of cat that understands everything in his life is black and white, case closed. Could Sal actually make a meal of Stumpy? Maybe….
They were alone in the field, and Royal-Strong-Mittens had the sense that no one else was around to witness.
The Swift-Running-Prey was speaking, the being’s small muscles articulating with what seemed great effort against soft fur and layers of sinew, high and fast as a Tiny-Air-Prey can fly from one part of the ceiling to another. And just as maddening.
He caught just fragments — it was a foreign tongue he’d barely heard a few syllables of — but the pieces he could understand were undeniable.
“If you come along quietly, we won’t kill you like the others.”
If you wanted respect around here, you needed to join the ‘Hole in the Wall’ gang.Unfortunately, the initiation was hair-raisingly dangerous. Find Ben, the neighbourhood cat and jump over him. Problem being, Ben did not like mice jumping over him, he considered it very bad for his image.
So, hundreds had tried, very few had made it. Now it was my turn. Ben had a serene look about him but I had the uneasy feeling that was just a ruse to lure me in.
Oh well, no point in waiting. I thought again of Minerva and leapt………
Funny thing. Chopper wasn’t staring at the mouse at all, but rather at the butterfly which had just landed on a dandelion six inches behind him. He thought “I’m going to need both paws and my best ambush leap for this.”
At the same moment, Finlay the mouse could see that the cat had mistakenly laid down on some cheesy morsels. He also knew that he had seven hungry children and a demanding wife waiting for him at home. But, how to get the cat to move? He thought “what I need is a distraction, a playful butterfly perhaps.”
Muffin’s new toy mouse was pretty amazing. It looked real. It squeaked like a mouse; it moved like a mouse; it wiggled it’s nose just like a mouse, and if you pawed at it just right it would scurry away just like a mouse. But it was cold. When you tried to put it in your mouth you could feel the gears and metal. It made Muffin wonder if she herself was perhaps nothing more than a machine, a slave to the matrix like everything else. She decided she would ponder it more after her sunbathing time.