It was what a denzien of Caldonia would normally call ‘half passed-gas.’ Half passed-gas referred to being half of a night past the sunset. Sunset was referred to as ‘gas’ because it took less time to say ‘gas’ than to say ‘sunset’. Sunset had two syllables, and along with that spanked you in the face with its meaning like you were some sort of butt-faced newborn. The caucus on common colloquialisms therefore decided ‘half-passed gas’ was far less insulting to the common peoples’ intelligence, even if it often illicted smug giggles. Along with that, who would say ‘the middle of the night’ when you could just as easily say ‘half-passed gas’.

So it was half-passed gas in the Plastered Parkway and Sir Broderick and Biscuit Pisser were staggering out of their fifth bar after being cut off once again. Luckily for them Sir Broderick had nabbed seven flasks off other bar patrons for them to enjoy on a creaky, graffiti covered street bench in the meantime.

“I still say, ol’ Biss Piss, that street dog would’ve made us a mighty fine mutt.”

“You’re full of it Shitface, aaabsolutely full of it. Nobody anywhere would want that old street dog, much less anybody from the Caldonian Kennel Club Exclusive Wine and Dining Hallll!”

“You don’t know that you old grapefruit you.”

The stringy weirdo who’d offered them back massages earlier was walking by, and inspiration once again seized Sir Broderick’s mind.

“Say, old chup, do you still find yourself a hankering for some dough?”

“Uh. I mean. I love money, like, uh, I would love some money dude yea uh please.”

“Can you, eherm, might you be able to provide us with a premium pooch?”

“Uh, um, a what now?”

“He wantss to know if you caan sell us a dog.”

“I mean, uh, I don’t have a dog or anything but, uh, I can get you guys a pretty sweet cat. If, like, if you’re into that.”

“A cat you say?” Sir Broderick looked at Biscuit Pisser and shrugged, “Tell us more about this cat.”

“But Shitface don’t you need a dog to get into the—”

“Shhh shhh shut up they let a lady with a cat in earlier today shhhh all you need is a leash shhhhh,” Sir Broderick turned to the weirdo and smiled overzealously, “Don’t mind him my hood chup don’t mind him at all. What’s this, what’s this cat like anywhathow?”

“I mean, it’s, like, um, it’s a cat…it meows sometimes, and, uh, sometimes she lets you pet her belly but uh, don’t do it too much, you know she’ll cluck you up she’s not playing around and stuff, like, unless she is feeling playful of course, like, cause she’s, uh, like a cat and stuff so she does like to play and stuff.”

“I see. Hmm…Does she have a pedigree?”

“I, uh, I found her in uh, I found her in the trash next to some nachos.”

“Interesting. What do you think, Biscuit Pisser?”

“I think it doesn’t maatter what I think to you.”

“Finally, something I agree with!” Sir Broderick turned back to the noodley stranger, “Let’s go see this cat of yours.”

“Cool. Um. Is fifty chickensfeed, like, I think that’s fair, right?”

“How about five?”

“Like, deal.”

The weirdo lead them down a back alley that opened into a front alley and then into a side alley that was lit only by the glow of someone’s candles three floors up. There were incredibly rude gnats swarming around in the air screaming obscenities in high pitched voices, such as:

“Cluck you, motherclucker!”

“You clucking look like shit!”

“You clucking smell like shit!”

“I clucking wish the cocks above would rain down on you til you clucking die!”

It was as fun to kill incredibly rude gnats as it was difficult.

“Trash Heap! Trash Heap! Here Trash Heap, here kitty kitty kitty!” The weirdo opened up a trash can, and then another, and another.

Biscuit Pisser turned to Sir Broderick and mouthed the appalling name of the feline in question with incredulity. Then they both shrugged.

“Oh, there you are! Get outta there you little goofball!” the weirdo chuckled as he lifted a bag of week old pygmy chicken bones into the air and a spindly, black ferret tumbled into his waiting palm.

“Excrete me but that is a ferret, not a cat,” grumbled Sir Broderick as he finished a flask off and tossed it at someone’s window, which it promptly bounced off of to hit Biscuit Pisser in the back of the head.

“Like, um, Trash Heap is too a cat. Just, like, a really long one.” the Weirdo took Trash Heap’s long ferret torso in either hand and wiggled it around like a worm, “See? Super flexible. Cats are super flexible.”

“Its neck is twenty times longer than a cat’s.”

“Trash Heap is a special kind of a cat, a cat, um, a cat unlike any other. I’ve, like, always told her that.”

“She’s a cat unlike any other because she’s not a cat, she’s a ferret.”

Biscuit Pisser squinted at the ferret’s posterior, “I’m honestly not even sure it’s a she.”

“Um, don’t, like, assume things about Trash Heap, uh, because you don’t, like, know her yet! Like, close mindedness will, um, get you nowhere with this cat!”

“This is ridiculous. I’m not paying five chickensfeed for a cat that’s a ferret. How about three?”

“Like, um, make it four.”

“Fine.”

“Shitface you’re not still thinking of buying this hamned thing are you?”

“What do you mean? Of course I will! Everyone at the CKCEWDH will be absolutely dying to see our cat that’s actually a ferret that we’ll tell them is a dog.”

“There’s no way they’ll let us in with that hamned thing as our animal! Trash Heap has a worse shot than your clucking ass did!”

“So you do want to get into the CKCEWDH! I knew it! And don’t you bring my ass into this mister.”

“Of course I want to get into the CKCEWDH I mean come on who doesn’t wanna get into the CKCEWDH?”

“Stop saying CKCEWDH Biscuit Pisser you’re really wearing the acronym out.”

“Like, um, are you guys saying that, uh, you’re gonna get Trash Heap into, like, the CKCEWDH?”

“Yes.”

“Holy, uh, shit. Like, I’ll, uh, I’ll give you Trash Heap, like, for free if you uh, you promise to get her in. That’s, like, that’s always been her dream, to uh, to get into the CKCEWDH.”

“Always been her dream?”

“Just go with it and take the ferret you idiot!”

“Fair enough,” Sir Broderick opened his palms and presented them to the weirdo, “I would like to take Trash Heap to the CKCEWDH.”

The weirdo began sweating profusely as he locked his popping, tear-filled eyes with his ferret, “Like, it’s so, um, Trash Heap. We need to, um, we need to talk. You’ve, like, shit, Trash Heap, you’ve been the best kitty a, uh, a man could ask for, but, like, you’ve got some—sniff—um—sniff sniff—you’ve got to go to your new owners—sniff—now—oh cluck, this is, this is like so much harder than I thought—oh, Trash Heap, I just—sniff sniff—I don’t know—I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you sweetie, like, shit, I just—”

“Excrete me hood sirrah but can we please have the ferr—erhm, the cat, now?” Sir Broderick twirled his moustache in frustration, accidentally breaking a few hairs off it in the process.

The weirdo did not respond but with soft murmurs and tears.

“Hello? Anybody there? We are paying you, you know!”

“Shitface, I think we need to give them a moment to say hoodbye,” Biscuit Pisser whispered as he pulled Sir Broderick to an even darker patch of the alley behind a pile of discarded diapers.

“Give them a moment? A moment with the clucking ferret?!”

“Yes. You’re not very sensitive, Shitface, but I can understand what they’re going through. I remember when I had to donate my goldfish to that fish farm way back when…it’s not easy.”

“Wha-What they’re going through?! A fish farm, Biscuit Pisser? Do you really believe your goldfish went to a fish farm?!”

“Why wouldn’t I believe that?”

“Nevermind. I think the freak is ushering us back over.”

Indeed the freak was, and back over they did go.

“Alright—sniff—okay guys—sniff—I’m re—I’m ready to—sniff sniff—I’m—I’m—like—”

“Clucking this shit!” Sir Broderick snatched Trash Heap out of the freak’s hands and tossed him one chickensfeed, “There’s your taste, kid.”

“Thank you—sniff—thank you both so much. Trash Heap is—sniff—she’s going to be so happy to get into the CKCEWDH.”

Trash Heap backed up this statement by immediately pissing all over Sir Broderick’s gloves.

“Shit! Make it stop!”

“She’ll stop when—sniff—when’s she ready, like, uh, she’s—sniff sniff—she’s got to mark you as her property.”

“Lovely. Just lovely. Hood day to you, sirrah.”