The Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.3: Spike,Dawn,Clem
TITLE: The Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.3:
Characters: Spike,Dawn,Clem
Summary: Buffy is dead and Dawn’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. A penniless Spike wants to get her the greatest present ever. It proves to be harder than he expected. He encounters kittens, and Clem and nosehairs and learns some valuable lessons about life.
Rating: PG for swearing
Warnings/Notes: A Sunnydale version of a Victorian Morality Play. Inspired by Kipling’s ‘Just So’ stories and served with a side dish of Dr. Seuss. A mixture of humor, angst, and reflection upon the foibles of a vampire who wants to be a good man.
Mr. Spike sets out to put his plan in motion.
TSTOMKF 3
Mr. Spike hastened through the streets of Sunnydale, his destination an establishment of foodstuffs bearing the quaint name of ‘The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café’ known for its charity to the homeless and most especially to those among the homeless with a pet to nourish.
Stopping only once upon his journey, he ran his rough-knuckled hands violently through his hair to muss it into tousled, unkempt curls, and touched his face in places with grime from the walls of a building. Poking into an overflowing trash bin, he removed enough ash to splash a thin layer here and there about his coat.
He then placed the kitten on the trashbin lid, removed his comb from his voluminous pocket and set about grooming the cat, removing fleas and snarls of fur with gentle, measured strokes. Brushing down from the shoulder to the toes of the feet, from the back of the neck to the tip of the tail, he moved to short, quick flips at the chest and belly where the knots were worst. Over and over the tines of the comb caressed the small waif, until its scruffy coat began to gleam and fall into gentle waves, until the eyes that had been glossed over with misery began to close in ecstatic contentment and the tiny body began to rumble and throb with that motorlike vibration common only to cats.
This was indeed proof of his love for Miss Dawn. Mr. Spike was unusually meticulous in his grooming, keeping his appearance neat despite horrendous battles that were replete with slime, dust and various bodily fluids. Furthermore, he had the most enormous dislike and distaste for the natural curls that abounded upon his own head when allowed to do so. Believing that they gave him the appearance of a lopsided poodle, he spent vast amounts of time and hair-product in the attempt to keep them hidden from the world. To be willing to foul his own skin and his beloved coat, to encourage the hateful curls, to use his comb - the only comb in his possession - on a creature such as a cat, well this was a labor of love, far more meaningful to a vampire then if a similar act were performed by a human.
Finally, satisfied Mr. Spike proceeded to the restaurant with a nearly comatose kitten in hand.
When the hesitant woman, one Miss Jameson, if one could believe the badge pinned upon her chest, employee of the ‘The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café’ investigated the knock at the restaurant's back door, she was rewarded with the spectacle of a painfully thin man, handsome but tousled and begrimed, an abashed look upon his face, as though he were uncertain of the means by which he had arrived at this destination. In his arms was a gleaming, immaculately groomed kitten that purred in somnolent contentment.
"Scuse me miss, don't need anything for myself, but I would appreciate it if you could spare a drop of milk or somewhat for my friend here. It's been a while since he's eaten."
You may well imagine the thrill of horror that stole a beat from Miss Jameson's tender heart. Such a lovely man, such a dear man, to care so little about himself, yet lavish so much loving, affectionate care on such a sweet, tiny kitten! Such a cruel world that would reduce such a beautiful man to such a state!
She exclaimed in tones both shocked and approving, "My stars and garters! You just wait right here while I see what I can rustle up."
His wait proved well worthwhile. By the time he was allowed to depart, having been regaled with a cup of coffee, a sweet, hot turnover and heaping measures of adoration and comfort that were a balm to his spirit, Mr. Spike was convinced that he could walk on water. It was the nature of Mr. Spike to be optimistic, leaping from even the deepest of despair to instant assurance that all would be right in his world. The acquisition of the kitten had been an inkling that luck had turned her previously blind eye in his direction and now saw fit to accede to his will. This unexpected largesse was only confirmation that he was on his way to the big time, and he would now admit to no possibility of impediment. Often enough this attitude had allowed him to accomplish near miracles, vanquish seemingly undefeatable foes, and overcome impossible odds. That it more often landed him in the deepest of doo doo was a fact that he willfully ignored.
Mr. Spike left Miss Jameson and the ‘The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café’ far richer than when he arrived; he had been gifted with a heaping box containing a carton of fresh milk, two cans of Evaporated milk and three boxes of powdered milk, plus six large cans of tuna in spring water, six cans of chunky chicken, and a large block of cheddar cheese. He also carried away two 'Wild Bill Hickory BBQ specials' and a side-order of steak fries. Nestled among the foodstuffs were a small bowl and a bent but usable can-opener.
Not having anticipated such treasures, Mr. Spike was sinfully exhilarated. He bore his booty and the kitten to a quiet alley where he felt reasonably assured he would not be interrupted, placed the kitten on the ground, and poured a generous amount of the fresh milk into the bowl. He peeled the foil wrappings from the first of the BBQ 'specials' and then there occurred, dear reader, a contest of massive proportions.
The two beings went at their food as though it were a matter of enormous consequence who should finish their meal first. If a cat's anatomy were such that it allowed a cat to suck, the kitten would have surely won for it would have inhaled that milk down its throat in a great whole, a humongous gulp. As it were it plied its tongue to the job, dipping and flicking and twirling it through the liquid, dragging the milk from bowl to mouth in an endless stream. Meanwhile, Mr. Spike wrapped his tongue around the spicy pieces of barbequed meat, devouring with great concentration, eagerly catching at the small bits that sought to escape his plunder, relishing the way the hot tastes exploded in his mouth.
Afterwards, such was Mr. Spike's complete and utter relaxation that he lay back in replete contentment, even giving the kitten the last small crumbs of meat. Full of well-being and desirous of the warmth against his skin, he lifted the kitten, placing it on his stomach, and lay back, his nervous energy and frenetic nature for once at rest. When small belches escaped from their expanded bellies it was difficult to tell from which the sound issued. Mr. Spike took no physical nourishment from human food, but BBQ was nourishment to the soul, even if you didn't have one.
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Characters: Spike,Dawn,Clem
Summary: Buffy is dead and Dawn’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. A penniless Spike wants to get her the greatest present ever. It proves to be harder than he expected. He encounters kittens, and Clem and nosehairs and learns some valuable lessons about life.
Rating: PG for swearing
Warnings/Notes: A Sunnydale version of a Victorian Morality Play. Inspired by Kipling’s ‘Just So’ stories and served with a side dish of Dr. Seuss. A mixture of humor, angst, and reflection upon the foibles of a vampire who wants to be a good man.
Mr. Spike sets out to put his plan in motion.
TSTOMKF 3
Mr. Spike hastened through the streets of Sunnydale, his destination an establishment of foodstuffs bearing the quaint name of ‘The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café’ known for its charity to the homeless and most especially to those among the homeless with a pet to nourish.
Stopping only once upon his journey, he ran his rough-knuckled hands violently through his hair to muss it into tousled, unkempt curls, and touched his face in places with grime from the walls of a building. Poking into an overflowing trash bin, he removed enough ash to splash a thin layer here and there about his coat.
He then placed the kitten on the trashbin lid, removed his comb from his voluminous pocket and set about grooming the cat, removing fleas and snarls of fur with gentle, measured strokes. Brushing down from the shoulder to the toes of the feet, from the back of the neck to the tip of the tail, he moved to short, quick flips at the chest and belly where the knots were worst. Over and over the tines of the comb caressed the small waif, until its scruffy coat began to gleam and fall into gentle waves, until the eyes that had been glossed over with misery began to close in ecstatic contentment and the tiny body began to rumble and throb with that motorlike vibration common only to cats.
This was indeed proof of his love for Miss Dawn. Mr. Spike was unusually meticulous in his grooming, keeping his appearance neat despite horrendous battles that were replete with slime, dust and various bodily fluids. Furthermore, he had the most enormous dislike and distaste for the natural curls that abounded upon his own head when allowed to do so. Believing that they gave him the appearance of a lopsided poodle, he spent vast amounts of time and hair-product in the attempt to keep them hidden from the world. To be willing to foul his own skin and his beloved coat, to encourage the hateful curls, to use his comb - the only comb in his possession - on a creature such as a cat, well this was a labor of love, far more meaningful to a vampire then if a similar act were performed by a human.
Finally, satisfied Mr. Spike proceeded to the restaurant with a nearly comatose kitten in hand.
When the hesitant woman, one Miss Jameson, if one could believe the badge pinned upon her chest, employee of the ‘The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café’ investigated the knock at the restaurant's back door, she was rewarded with the spectacle of a painfully thin man, handsome but tousled and begrimed, an abashed look upon his face, as though he were uncertain of the means by which he had arrived at this destination. In his arms was a gleaming, immaculately groomed kitten that purred in somnolent contentment.
"Scuse me miss, don't need anything for myself, but I would appreciate it if you could spare a drop of milk or somewhat for my friend here. It's been a while since he's eaten."
You may well imagine the thrill of horror that stole a beat from Miss Jameson's tender heart. Such a lovely man, such a dear man, to care so little about himself, yet lavish so much loving, affectionate care on such a sweet, tiny kitten! Such a cruel world that would reduce such a beautiful man to such a state!
She exclaimed in tones both shocked and approving, "My stars and garters! You just wait right here while I see what I can rustle up."
His wait proved well worthwhile. By the time he was allowed to depart, having been regaled with a cup of coffee, a sweet, hot turnover and heaping measures of adoration and comfort that were a balm to his spirit, Mr. Spike was convinced that he could walk on water. It was the nature of Mr. Spike to be optimistic, leaping from even the deepest of despair to instant assurance that all would be right in his world. The acquisition of the kitten had been an inkling that luck had turned her previously blind eye in his direction and now saw fit to accede to his will. This unexpected largesse was only confirmation that he was on his way to the big time, and he would now admit to no possibility of impediment. Often enough this attitude had allowed him to accomplish near miracles, vanquish seemingly undefeatable foes, and overcome impossible odds. That it more often landed him in the deepest of doo doo was a fact that he willfully ignored.
Mr. Spike left Miss Jameson and the ‘The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café’ far richer than when he arrived; he had been gifted with a heaping box containing a carton of fresh milk, two cans of Evaporated milk and three boxes of powdered milk, plus six large cans of tuna in spring water, six cans of chunky chicken, and a large block of cheddar cheese. He also carried away two 'Wild Bill Hickory BBQ specials' and a side-order of steak fries. Nestled among the foodstuffs were a small bowl and a bent but usable can-opener.
Not having anticipated such treasures, Mr. Spike was sinfully exhilarated. He bore his booty and the kitten to a quiet alley where he felt reasonably assured he would not be interrupted, placed the kitten on the ground, and poured a generous amount of the fresh milk into the bowl. He peeled the foil wrappings from the first of the BBQ 'specials' and then there occurred, dear reader, a contest of massive proportions.
The two beings went at their food as though it were a matter of enormous consequence who should finish their meal first. If a cat's anatomy were such that it allowed a cat to suck, the kitten would have surely won for it would have inhaled that milk down its throat in a great whole, a humongous gulp. As it were it plied its tongue to the job, dipping and flicking and twirling it through the liquid, dragging the milk from bowl to mouth in an endless stream. Meanwhile, Mr. Spike wrapped his tongue around the spicy pieces of barbequed meat, devouring with great concentration, eagerly catching at the small bits that sought to escape his plunder, relishing the way the hot tastes exploded in his mouth.
Afterwards, such was Mr. Spike's complete and utter relaxation that he lay back in replete contentment, even giving the kitten the last small crumbs of meat. Full of well-being and desirous of the warmth against his skin, he lifted the kitten, placing it on his stomach, and lay back, his nervous energy and frenetic nature for once at rest. When small belches escaped from their expanded bellies it was difficult to tell from which the sound issued. Mr. Spike took no physical nourishment from human food, but BBQ was nourishment to the soul, even if you didn't have one.
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