Clowder Spat

Golden walls and roads shone beneath the glare of night-time street lamps, casting a resplendent glow on the short cat before her. Depiction’s tan ears angled backwards as she observed the collared feline who stood with shining eyes before Studio’s clock tower. She had snowshoe markings, a bit too close to Depiction’s own for comfort, wide sapphire eyes, and a nobles collar. 

That’s it, Depiction realized, her teeth gritting. It’s that little furball who was with Pictures, arguing with Register. The Radio Star. The brown and tan cat snorted, trying not to let her thick fur rise. Picking a fight with Register is one thing, but being with my darling Pictures? 

“Hello, Radio,” Depiction began, approaching the cat. 

Almost jumpily, the snowshoe cat looked up, casting Depiction a big smile. 

How dare she trick Pictures with that fake grin, Depiction thought heatedly. “For such a nervous cat, you really can put up a fight,” Depiction said, reaching Radio and finding that the noble truly was small, ear tips barely reaching up to her chin. 

“Excuse me?” Radio said, her smile dropping. 

“Seriously, I have never seen or heard of you in my life,” Depiction went on, pointing a paw at Radio’s collar. “What is that thing, plastic?” 

“Are you trying to call me a fake noble?” Radio asked, a growl raising in her voice. 

“If Register didn’t have you in her database, there’s a good chance you are,” Depiction tutted, pridefully lifting her head. “As her intern, I should know.” 

“Well, my aunt Studio would say differently,” Radio sniped. 

“Auntie Studio literally mistook you for Frequency,” Depiction shot back, lowering her voice into a harsh whisper. 

Radio gasped, bringing a paw to her chest. “You …” she growled. 

Depiction smirked at the cat’s offense. 

“Pretty bold for a cat with fake eyes to call my collar plastic,” Radio spat, sticking her paw out to point at Depiction’s smirking face, nearly poking her eyes out. 

Depiction stepped back, retorting, “If you really were a fan of Pictures, you would have an orange contact too.” 

“His eye isn’t orange, it’s yellow, you elementary bimbo,” Radio shot back, her small fangs baring. 

“It’s called originality, miss,” Depiction said, trying not to let her voice falter. You got me there … but I won’t admit it. 

“Please, is that what this is about?” Radio asked, her bared teeth forming into a grin. “Are you jealous?” 

Depiction tried to quell her lashing tail. “I’m not jealous,” she said. “Actually, it’s not even a competition. I am Depiction of Clowder City, Pictures’ biggest fan.” 

“I bet you’ve never even talked to him,” Radio said bitingly. “You’re just being weird and stealing his eyes.” 

“He gave me these contacts,” Depiction growled, stepping closer to Radio so she could seem even taller. How dare this little beetle of a cat dishonor her time meeting Pictures and her many chats with him in the clock tower? Radio knew nothing of it, she didn’t know Pictures’ life at all. “Pictures can talk to other she-cats, and you are sure as our Stars not the only one he wants to talk to.” 

“I am your Stars, cat,” Radio snarled, eye’s flashing irately down toward the collar on her neck. 

“Oh, my, sorry miss Frequency,” Depiction groveled with mock pleading. “I didn’t know you could find a new tom so easily after you and Film … you know.” 

“I am the Radio Star!” Radio retorted, her voice a snarl now. “And my auntie is your mayor. She will have a word with you!” 

By now, a few passerby had gathered around, casting each other concerned glances as they watched the two cats spat. 

“Will your auntie even be able to find you when I squash you like a bug?” Depiction questioned. “You already look half-squashed.” 

“What does that even mean?” Radio growled. 

“It means you’re short.” 

“Short? At least my fur doesn’t look like burnt porridge.” 

“Why, you little porridge brat, I–” 

“Did Pictures teach you how to hunt?” Radio interrogated, clearly straining to lift herself to her full height. “I bet not.” 

“For crying out loud, I live in your auntie’s city, I don’t hunt, I eat kibble,” Depiction pronounced. “And I have shared some very nice conversations with Pictures over that kibble.” 

“You’re not one of the chosen three, you’re just some kibble-eating creep!” Radio exclaimed. 

An oooh went through the gathered onlookers. 

Depiction was the one to gasp now. “You don’t understand dedication and love!” she cried. “How could I not wear these contacts? It is my destiny to be Pictures’ one and only!” 

Something about Radio’s demeanor changed, and her angry glare transformed into a blank, middle-distance stare. She gave a little hmm and sat down, scratching behind her ear. It took a few moments, but a devious grin then spread across her tear-drop face, and she said, “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Depiction.” 

Depiction felt her brow furrow to a point of near painful tension and her claws shot out. 

“What?” 

“Ah, Miss Radio, I was wondering where you got off to,” a familiar, glorious, elegant, gorgeous, striking voice called from the distance. 

Instantly, the heads of the two fighting cats and the handful of onlookers whipped toward the clock tower entrance. 

There stood Pictures with a handsome smile on his wondrous face, his tail hooked up high above his head in intrigue and greeting. “And Depiction, my friend, good to see you,” he said, dipping his head in a wonderfully amazing movement. 

Friend, Depiction’s head echoed. Friend … She slowly swiveled her head to stare into Radio’s smug grin, backed by the rapt faces of their audience. Did I get … friend-zoned?