FIC: The Mighty Boosh: The Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse
Title: The Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse
Author: nebula99
Fandom: The Mighty Boosh
Rating: FRT/PG
Summary: "I'm Howard Moon. I'm a man, not a pancake."
Author's Notes: Written for jengrrrl for yuletide 2009. Many thanks to severity_softly for beta reading this at very short notice and for general encouragement.
The Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse
Howard looked up as the door chimed open. Vince was holding something in his arms and smiling indulgently down at it, occasionally wiggling his fingers at the bundle and giggling.
"What's that, Vince?"
Vince walked carefully over to the desk and beckoned Howard to come closer. Unable to move away from the desk as the Copydex latex glue on his fingers hadn't yet set, Howard leaned over, the sharp edges digging uncomfortably into his stomach.
"Look, Howard," said Vince in an exaggerated whisper. "I found it outside, with a note. Someone's given us a baby!"
Narrowing his eyes, Howard tried to get a better look at this baby. Vince was holding what appeared to be a small black kitten nestled in a grubby looking blanket. He sighed. "Vince, that's not a baby."
"Of course it's a baby, Howard, it's a cute little furry baby with loads of hair. Loads! When it grows I could give it dreadlocks, or a huge afro, or a mullet. You're just jealous because you're balding." Vince waved at the bundle again, his face breaking into huge grin.
Affronted, Howard brought his hands to his hips, giving a sudden gasp of disappointment as he realised he'd ruined the Copydex fingertips he'd been making. "I am not balding, Vince. I'm just too manly for a full head of hair. My testosterone levels are so high that my follicles just open and individual hairs leap out, unable to take the masculinity for a moment longer. I'm so manly I can pound in nails with my finger tips, fix car engines by sneering at them and I've even made women orgasm from eight miles away. I'm a man, Vince. A manly man."
"Whatever, Howard. Just don't go for the comb-over or I won't be able to walk the streets of Putney with you ever again."
Howard gave a sigh and pulled the stringy glue from his fingers with irritation. "What did the note say?" he asked.
"I folded it into a tiny handbag," replied Vince cheerfully. "This catsuit doesn't have any pockets."
"Well could you unfold it then?" asked Howard. "It might be important."
Vince's shoulders dropped and he rolled his eyes dramatically. "But it's a great handbag," he said, "Damian can have it when he's older, can't you, Damian?" Vince tickled the kitten, speaking in a sing-song voice.
"You called it Damian?" gasped Howard. When Vince didn't respond, he shook his head. "Oh, never mind. Give me the handbag."
Vince held out the origami creation without looking at Howard. All his attention was focused on the bundle in his arms and he was crooning to it.
Shaking his head, Howard unfolded the expertly made paper handbag. Then, as he read it, all the colour drained from his face. "Oh crikey," he whispered. "Vince, did you read this?" When there was no reply, he spoke louder. "Vince! Did you read this?"
There was no reply. Vince was now rocking the bundle vigorously and chanting to it.
Baby, baby, crying cos it's milky time.
Milky, milky, gonna make baby fine.
Spill it on the carpet, gonna have a stinky time,
[...]
"Oh dear spirit of John Coltrane," sighed Howard. "He's bonding with it by use of a Crimp." There was no time to lose - Vince was being sucked in and there was only one man who could save him.
But he was busy.
And so, fortunately, there was also Howard Moon.
He lifted the creased paper and held it up to the light. The words glowed red as the sunlight poured through the window.
Behold.
This is the Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse.
Nurture it as your own and you shall be rewarded with a slow and painful death.
P.S. It is litter trained.
Howard thought for a moment about trying to find Naboo, but his shaman spa weekend was very important to him and he would be unlikely to be very helpful if disturbed. It looked like Howard was on his own with this one.
He was just thinking of a cunning plan when there was a loud crash and a hideous being burst through the window, covering an oblivious Vince with a shower of broken glass.
The thing standing there resembled nothing so much as a giant cactus with a mop of thick black hair. It looked around the shop and then pointed a large spine at Howard.
"You!" It shrieked in a voice which sounded like fingernails being scraped down a blackboard. "You are not nurturing the Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse."
Howard gulped and clung to the edge of the counter. "I was just about to," he tried.
The cactus slithered closer to him. "No! You were not. You were thinking of a cunning plan to defeat the impending destruction of London and the Home Counties."
Attempting an appeasing smile, Howard tilted his head to one side. "Oh that," he said, "Oh no, that was just a, um, minor, um . . ." His voice trailed off as his insides chilled with fear.
The cactus leered at him. "I will flip you."
"Um, I beg your pardon?"
The cactus moved nearer and stroked a spine across Howard's face. "I will flip you." It repeated. “And then, when the Tatty Kitten is fully grown, chaos and destruction will rain down upon the South East of England, the horsemen will ride and all of humanity within a certain area will perish.”
Swallowing hard, Howard asked, “How long does the Tatty Kitten take to grow?” If he had a few years, then that was surely time to come up with something.
The cactus seemed to shimmy, ripples spreading across its bright green skin. “With correct nurturing, about three hours.” It made a noise that Howard supposed was a chuckle, but it sounded more like a throttled crocodile.
The future of the world was at stake. This was no time for cowardice or inaction - unfortunately. Howard was briefly tempted to flee to Yorkshire and safety - he didn’t know much about cacti, but he suspected he could outrun one. He glanced across at Vince and the kitten, who had by now doubled in size. Vince was still gazing at it, besotted and stroking its fur.
The sight of Vince reminded him of all they had been through together. They had survived being shipwrecked, Vince had rescued him from Old Gregg and they had even shared a loving kiss on the roof. He couldn’t desert Vince now - they meant too much to each other.
Finding a steely determination he hadn’t remembered ordering, Howard drew himself up to his full height. He was Howard Moon and by the power of jazz, he would defeat this desert plant and scruffy feline combo.
Visualising himself with a saxophone and an adoring audience, Howard took a deep breath, looked the cactus in what would have been its eyes and said, "I demand that you take your . . . pet and leave this place."
There was a snort and the cactus sidled closer. "You do not give orders to me.” it grated, “I will squish you flat, put you over heat and flip you! Flippity!"
Howard cleared his throat and spoke in his very deepest, very bravest voice. “I’m Howard Moon. I’m a man, not a pancake.”
Despite the dread infusing every cell in his body, Howard thought fast. What substance was anathema to both cacti and kittens? He felt around under the desk, trying not let the cactus see what he was doing.
In the corner of his eye, Howard could see that the kitten was now the size of a trumpet case. Vince was scratching behind its ears and nuzzling the top of its head. There was no time to lose.
Finding the water pistol Naboo kept there for target practice, Howard gave it a slight shake, feeling with relief that it was loaded. As the cactus slithered closer, Howard raised the pistol and blasted the plant with shamanic water. It screeched and recoiled. The sound alerted the kitten, who then jumped onto Vince’s head, snarling and hissing.
Turning, Howard took aim and squirted the kitten right between the eyes. With a blood curdling scream, it burst open and vanished, showering Vince with watery liquid. The cactus scuttled to the door and then disappeared, leaving behind only a solitary spine.
Howard’s shoulders dropped with relief. He’d done it. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and placed the water pistol on the counter. It was all over.
“You’ve ruined my feather cut.”
Looking up, Howard saw a soaking wet Vince standing by the counter, hands on hips and a deep scowl on his face. His soaking wet cat suit clung to him and his hair was plastered to his face in clumps.
Howard stared open-mouthed at him. “I was saving your . . . oh, never mind.” He shook his head and turned away, deciding that Vince’s wrath was preferable to telling his friend that his adoption of a stray kitten had nearly led to Armageddon.
The silence in the shop was broken by a giggle from Vince who was looking at himself in the mirror and smoothing his hair down onto his forehead. “Wet look could make a comeback,” he mused. “What do you think, Howard?”
Howard pursed his lips. “It worked for DeBarge,” he said, “You could give it a whirl."
Vince nodded, still staring thoughtfully at his reflection. “I’ll think about,” he said. “How about a cup of tea?”
“Coming up,” replied Howard, moving towards the kitchen. A day with an averted apocalypse was always a good one - and if it led to a fashion epiphany for Vince, then that was even better.
Author: nebula99
Fandom: The Mighty Boosh
Rating: FRT/PG
Summary: "I'm Howard Moon. I'm a man, not a pancake."
Author's Notes: Written for jengrrrl for yuletide 2009. Many thanks to severity_softly for beta reading this at very short notice and for general encouragement.
The Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse
Howard looked up as the door chimed open. Vince was holding something in his arms and smiling indulgently down at it, occasionally wiggling his fingers at the bundle and giggling.
"What's that, Vince?"
Vince walked carefully over to the desk and beckoned Howard to come closer. Unable to move away from the desk as the Copydex latex glue on his fingers hadn't yet set, Howard leaned over, the sharp edges digging uncomfortably into his stomach.
"Look, Howard," said Vince in an exaggerated whisper. "I found it outside, with a note. Someone's given us a baby!"
Narrowing his eyes, Howard tried to get a better look at this baby. Vince was holding what appeared to be a small black kitten nestled in a grubby looking blanket. He sighed. "Vince, that's not a baby."
"Of course it's a baby, Howard, it's a cute little furry baby with loads of hair. Loads! When it grows I could give it dreadlocks, or a huge afro, or a mullet. You're just jealous because you're balding." Vince waved at the bundle again, his face breaking into huge grin.
Affronted, Howard brought his hands to his hips, giving a sudden gasp of disappointment as he realised he'd ruined the Copydex fingertips he'd been making. "I am not balding, Vince. I'm just too manly for a full head of hair. My testosterone levels are so high that my follicles just open and individual hairs leap out, unable to take the masculinity for a moment longer. I'm so manly I can pound in nails with my finger tips, fix car engines by sneering at them and I've even made women orgasm from eight miles away. I'm a man, Vince. A manly man."
"Whatever, Howard. Just don't go for the comb-over or I won't be able to walk the streets of Putney with you ever again."
Howard gave a sigh and pulled the stringy glue from his fingers with irritation. "What did the note say?" he asked.
"I folded it into a tiny handbag," replied Vince cheerfully. "This catsuit doesn't have any pockets."
"Well could you unfold it then?" asked Howard. "It might be important."
Vince's shoulders dropped and he rolled his eyes dramatically. "But it's a great handbag," he said, "Damian can have it when he's older, can't you, Damian?" Vince tickled the kitten, speaking in a sing-song voice.
"You called it Damian?" gasped Howard. When Vince didn't respond, he shook his head. "Oh, never mind. Give me the handbag."
Vince held out the origami creation without looking at Howard. All his attention was focused on the bundle in his arms and he was crooning to it.
Shaking his head, Howard unfolded the expertly made paper handbag. Then, as he read it, all the colour drained from his face. "Oh crikey," he whispered. "Vince, did you read this?" When there was no reply, he spoke louder. "Vince! Did you read this?"
There was no reply. Vince was now rocking the bundle vigorously and chanting to it.
Baby, baby, crying cos it's milky time.
Milky, milky, gonna make baby fine.
Spill it on the carpet, gonna have a stinky time,
[...]
"Oh dear spirit of John Coltrane," sighed Howard. "He's bonding with it by use of a Crimp." There was no time to lose - Vince was being sucked in and there was only one man who could save him.
But he was busy.
And so, fortunately, there was also Howard Moon.
He lifted the creased paper and held it up to the light. The words glowed red as the sunlight poured through the window.
Behold.
This is the Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse.
Nurture it as your own and you shall be rewarded with a slow and painful death.
P.S. It is litter trained.
Howard thought for a moment about trying to find Naboo, but his shaman spa weekend was very important to him and he would be unlikely to be very helpful if disturbed. It looked like Howard was on his own with this one.
He was just thinking of a cunning plan when there was a loud crash and a hideous being burst through the window, covering an oblivious Vince with a shower of broken glass.
The thing standing there resembled nothing so much as a giant cactus with a mop of thick black hair. It looked around the shop and then pointed a large spine at Howard.
"You!" It shrieked in a voice which sounded like fingernails being scraped down a blackboard. "You are not nurturing the Tatty Kitten of the Apocalypse."
Howard gulped and clung to the edge of the counter. "I was just about to," he tried.
The cactus slithered closer to him. "No! You were not. You were thinking of a cunning plan to defeat the impending destruction of London and the Home Counties."
Attempting an appeasing smile, Howard tilted his head to one side. "Oh that," he said, "Oh no, that was just a, um, minor, um . . ." His voice trailed off as his insides chilled with fear.
The cactus leered at him. "I will flip you."
"Um, I beg your pardon?"
The cactus moved nearer and stroked a spine across Howard's face. "I will flip you." It repeated. “And then, when the Tatty Kitten is fully grown, chaos and destruction will rain down upon the South East of England, the horsemen will ride and all of humanity within a certain area will perish.”
Swallowing hard, Howard asked, “How long does the Tatty Kitten take to grow?” If he had a few years, then that was surely time to come up with something.
The cactus seemed to shimmy, ripples spreading across its bright green skin. “With correct nurturing, about three hours.” It made a noise that Howard supposed was a chuckle, but it sounded more like a throttled crocodile.
The future of the world was at stake. This was no time for cowardice or inaction - unfortunately. Howard was briefly tempted to flee to Yorkshire and safety - he didn’t know much about cacti, but he suspected he could outrun one. He glanced across at Vince and the kitten, who had by now doubled in size. Vince was still gazing at it, besotted and stroking its fur.
The sight of Vince reminded him of all they had been through together. They had survived being shipwrecked, Vince had rescued him from Old Gregg and they had even shared a loving kiss on the roof. He couldn’t desert Vince now - they meant too much to each other.
Finding a steely determination he hadn’t remembered ordering, Howard drew himself up to his full height. He was Howard Moon and by the power of jazz, he would defeat this desert plant and scruffy feline combo.
Visualising himself with a saxophone and an adoring audience, Howard took a deep breath, looked the cactus in what would have been its eyes and said, "I demand that you take your . . . pet and leave this place."
There was a snort and the cactus sidled closer. "You do not give orders to me.” it grated, “I will squish you flat, put you over heat and flip you! Flippity!"
Howard cleared his throat and spoke in his very deepest, very bravest voice. “I’m Howard Moon. I’m a man, not a pancake.”
Despite the dread infusing every cell in his body, Howard thought fast. What substance was anathema to both cacti and kittens? He felt around under the desk, trying not let the cactus see what he was doing.
In the corner of his eye, Howard could see that the kitten was now the size of a trumpet case. Vince was scratching behind its ears and nuzzling the top of its head. There was no time to lose.
Finding the water pistol Naboo kept there for target practice, Howard gave it a slight shake, feeling with relief that it was loaded. As the cactus slithered closer, Howard raised the pistol and blasted the plant with shamanic water. It screeched and recoiled. The sound alerted the kitten, who then jumped onto Vince’s head, snarling and hissing.
Turning, Howard took aim and squirted the kitten right between the eyes. With a blood curdling scream, it burst open and vanished, showering Vince with watery liquid. The cactus scuttled to the door and then disappeared, leaving behind only a solitary spine.
Howard’s shoulders dropped with relief. He’d done it. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and placed the water pistol on the counter. It was all over.
“You’ve ruined my feather cut.”
Looking up, Howard saw a soaking wet Vince standing by the counter, hands on hips and a deep scowl on his face. His soaking wet cat suit clung to him and his hair was plastered to his face in clumps.
Howard stared open-mouthed at him. “I was saving your . . . oh, never mind.” He shook his head and turned away, deciding that Vince’s wrath was preferable to telling his friend that his adoption of a stray kitten had nearly led to Armageddon.
The silence in the shop was broken by a giggle from Vince who was looking at himself in the mirror and smoothing his hair down onto his forehead. “Wet look could make a comeback,” he mused. “What do you think, Howard?”
Howard pursed his lips. “It worked for DeBarge,” he said, “You could give it a whirl."
Vince nodded, still staring thoughtfully at his reflection. “I’ll think about,” he said. “How about a cup of tea?”
“Coming up,” replied Howard, moving towards the kitchen. A day with an averted apocalypse was always a good one - and if it led to a fashion epiphany for Vince, then that was even better.