WC Fic: Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the New Year’s Resolution
Title: Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the New Year’s Resolution
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Henri
Word Count: ~1,400
Summary: Eating healthfully is a good resolution, right?
A/N: For Day 9 of the Twelve Days of Ficmas. Happy New Year, everybody!
(Argh, LJ saw fit to eat the original post for this, so here it is again; many thanks to kerrylang for letting me know)
----
1.
“Oh. Hrmmmm,” Dr. Hackney said, eying the number on the scale.
“Is there a problem?” Neal asked, concerned.
“There’s been a weight gain.”
Neal blinked. “Excuse me?”
“This happens post-neutering. We just need to cut back on the cream, eh Big Guy?” The vet administered a playful noogie atop Henri’s head with a laugh and deposited him on the examination table.
“Keep UR handz to yourselfs,” Henri grumped, swiping at the doctor with a paw.
“He’s a young cat, we don’t want him to get too large, Mr. Caffrey,” Hackney said over him.
“Of course, Doctor. Any recommendations?”
“There are some low-calorie foods you could try - you want to find one with a high protein content. I’ll give you a few recommendations. More exercise also wouldn’t hurt.” The doctor prepped Henri’s rabies vaccination.
“You hear that, Henri, more exercise. Maybe we ask Peter to bring Satchmo over a couple times a week, eh?” Neal kidded as he held on to the front end of his cat.
“U not funneh, Nealz,” Henri said, his voice muffled by Neal’s belly. The vet injected the vaccine into Henri’s hindquarters and the cat gave a yowl of protest.
“It’s for your own good. This is all for your own good, I told you.”
“Since I wuz neutered, I findz your credibiliteh iz lackingk.”
“Smartass,” Neal muttered, holding the opening of the cat carrier open. Henri grudgingly got in; as usual, he was only too happy to do this at the tail end of a vet’s visit.
“Hide UR shoez.”
2.
“What iz U doingk, Nealz?”
“Clearing out the fridge of all the fattening foods. It’s a New Year, right? Maybe we should both make a resolution to eat right.”
“Not de whippy cream!”
“Yes, the whipped cream. Oh, wait, it’s pretty full - maybe I’ll give it to Peter for Simone,” Neal said thoughtfully. “Look, I’m being denied too - all of this cheese has to go.”
“Triple cream brie?” Henri said, a stricken expression on his face.
“All of it.”
“Shurely not de tuna belly, Nealz!”
“I said all of it.”
“Iz fifty dollar a pound, Nealz,” Henri pointed out.
“Oh yeah. OK, maybe we have one last big dinner… with a salad”
“What iz all dat?”
“New groceries!” Neal said, unpacking the carrier bags. “More veggies for me, less sweets for you. Look - tofu ice cream!”
“Ugh, Nealz.”
“You haven’t even tried it.”
“Everyting wif tofu meanz ugh, Nealz.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Hey, look at this.” Neal brought out a new cat toy, a bright yellow feather attached to a two-foot plastic stick with a long string. “Thought you could get a workout in later.”
“U iz no funneh.”
“Or maybe some cat yoga, would you like that? Very low impact - I saw it online.”
“U iz unbelievabuhls,” Henri said in a tone that said he was done discussing this entire subject. He began to lick a front paw, his claws extended, a clear threat.
“That reminds me it’s time for claw trimming. Oh, no you don’t!” Neal said, catching Henri before he could leap off the table.
3.
“Mmmmerrrrrrhh!”
Neal unlocked the door and tossed his keys into the bowl on the table.
“Mwarrrrr!”
“Henri?” Neal turned to where the piteous sounds were coming from. Henri lay draped dramatically across the upper level of his cat tree, paws in the air. “Somethin’ up, buddy?” Neal started going through his mail.
“So, so weeeak!”
“Uh-huh.” Neal distractedly opened his cellular bill and checked the balance.
“I iz dyingk. Tell Simone I loaf her.” Henri’s right paw reached out beseechingly.
“Dammit, they didn’t apply that credit!” Neal said, making a mental note to call customer service in the morning and returning the bill to the table. He took his jacket off as he made for the hallway that led to his closet to change. When he emerged, Henri was lying, unmoving, on his side right on the floor in front of the doorway. “Oh no, my cat has died,” Neal deadpanned. “Whoever will inform me of my shortcomings?” He stepped over Henri and went to pour himself a glass of red wine.
“U not funneh, Nealz.” Henri said, getting up and heading toward him.
“Neither are you - I come home to this performance every night. Don’t tell me you’re starving, there’s still kibble in the bowl.”
“It taste liek unhappiness.”
“It’s thirty-five bucks a bag, and is the top of the line. The first ingredient is salmon - your favorite.”
“U hatez me.”
“It’s the same stuff I used to buy, just low fat, and I do not hate you. I’m doing this because I love you, Henri, because if you’re fat you become a joke, and then people start calling you Garfield. Would you put me through that indignity? You don’t even like lasagna.”
“Garfield,” Henri said with disgust. “Shallow characterizashons and prurient jokingkz do no ting to lift unimaginatif storytellingkz.” Henri would not stop talking about his feelings about the film after Peter had shown it to him and Simone one weekend. “Iz even insulting to dogs.”
“Word,” Neal agreed. He bent over and picked up Henri’s food dish, dumping the stale food from the morning and refilling it. He had a thought. “Hey, if I put tuna juice on this, do you think you’ll like it any better?”
“Perhaps.”
Neal thought he could go for a tuna salad sandwich for lunch the next day.
4.
“Come on, let’s play.” Neal waved the feather toy close enough to Henri’s head to move his whiskers. Henri shook his head and gave him an odd look. “Henri, you used to love to play, what’s wrong now?”
“I moar interested in intellectual pursuitz.”
“Not buying it,” Neal said, dragging the feather up and down the cat’s body. “I saw you checking out that centerfold in last month’s Cat Fancy. Abyssinian, huh?”
“Dey haf big… ears.”
“You sly dog.”
“I still man, Nealz.”
“A chubby man. Come on!” Henri swiped a paw at the feather, but was too slow to catch it. “You’re losing your touch, Henri!” He made the feather dance in front of Henri on the bed. One paw shot out and caught the tip, but Neal dragged it away. He rested it on Henri’s head briefly. Henri twisted around onto his back with lightning speed and captured the thing between all four paws with a triumphant grunt.
“I catchez heem!”
“And there he goes!” Neal said, wresting the feather away and letting it flutter down on the opposite corner of the bed.
“Ah ha!” Henri shouted, twisting around and leaping on top of it.
They played with the feather for another fifteen minutes, until Neal let Henri catch it for good and the cat held it captive beneath his belly, licking the outer vanes of it and purring. “See, that’s all it takes for you to get a little exercise,” Neal pointed out. “Wasn’t that fun?”
“Wuz divertingks.”
“You know, there are lots of girls up at the LOLCat sanctuary in Connecticut . I could take you up there one weekend, see if you can make some new friends.”
“I liek dat,” Henri said, releasing his grip on the feather as Neal began to stroke the fur along his back. “But no yet. I no sexeh yet.”
Neal laughed. “OK, we’ll wait until you’re all hot again, buddy.”
5.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Neal asked.
“He’s lost two pounds - impressive!” Dr. Hackney reported.
“I workingk out,” Henri said proudly. If he had the proper anatomy for it, Neal would swear he’d have flexed a bicep.
“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
“It was rough at first, but we’ve been doing pretty well,” Neal admitted.
“Well, one more pound, and I’d say we’re in good shape,” Hackney told Neal. “And that means no slacking, buddy,” the doctor said, addressing Henri. “No undoing all that hard work with more whipped cream.”
“U iz killjoy, Hack-a-knee.”
Later in the taxi on the way to pick up Simone for the weekend, Henri pawed at the side of his carrier to get Neal's attention. “Nealz.” Neal unzipped the top a bit and Henri’s head popped out; he hated being cooped up in the carrier.
“You should be proud of yourself, buddy,” Neal told him, rubbing at his ears. “I sure am.”
“Tank U, Nealz.”
“To celebrate, I’ll pick up some salmon belly for you and Simone for a treat this weekend.”
“Only one tiem, Nealz - I not sexeh yet.”
“You’re plenty sexy.” Neal noticed the odd expression on the cabbie’s face and added, “Uh, for a cat. So what do you want to do with Simone this weekend? Felix the Cat marathon?”
“Exploringkz. June iz out of town.”
“Ah ha - the garden awaits.” Henri loved June’s garden. Bugsy did not love Henri. Given that it was early May, and the butterflies were in abundance, Neal thought Henri and Simone scampering in the garden was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. He mentally prepared a picnic for them all and considered asking Peter and Elizabeth over. “So, you feeling good? You glad you went on a diet?”
“Iz no diet, Nealz, iz lifestyle choice.”
“A good way to look at it.”
“I glad UR in my lifestyle, Nealz.”
“Me too, Henri.”
----
Thank U for UR tiemz.
Next story: Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the Snowpocalypse
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Henri
Word Count: ~1,400
Summary: Eating healthfully is a good resolution, right?
A/N: For Day 9 of the Twelve Days of Ficmas. Happy New Year, everybody!
(Argh, LJ saw fit to eat the original post for this, so here it is again; many thanks to kerrylang for letting me know)
----
1.
“Oh. Hrmmmm,” Dr. Hackney said, eying the number on the scale.
“Is there a problem?” Neal asked, concerned.
“There’s been a weight gain.”
Neal blinked. “Excuse me?”
“This happens post-neutering. We just need to cut back on the cream, eh Big Guy?” The vet administered a playful noogie atop Henri’s head with a laugh and deposited him on the examination table.
“Keep UR handz to yourselfs,” Henri grumped, swiping at the doctor with a paw.
“He’s a young cat, we don’t want him to get too large, Mr. Caffrey,” Hackney said over him.
“Of course, Doctor. Any recommendations?”
“There are some low-calorie foods you could try - you want to find one with a high protein content. I’ll give you a few recommendations. More exercise also wouldn’t hurt.” The doctor prepped Henri’s rabies vaccination.
“You hear that, Henri, more exercise. Maybe we ask Peter to bring Satchmo over a couple times a week, eh?” Neal kidded as he held on to the front end of his cat.
“U not funneh, Nealz,” Henri said, his voice muffled by Neal’s belly. The vet injected the vaccine into Henri’s hindquarters and the cat gave a yowl of protest.
“It’s for your own good. This is all for your own good, I told you.”
“Since I wuz neutered, I findz your credibiliteh iz lackingk.”
“Smartass,” Neal muttered, holding the opening of the cat carrier open. Henri grudgingly got in; as usual, he was only too happy to do this at the tail end of a vet’s visit.
“Hide UR shoez.”
2.
“What iz U doingk, Nealz?”
“Clearing out the fridge of all the fattening foods. It’s a New Year, right? Maybe we should both make a resolution to eat right.”
“Not de whippy cream!”
“Yes, the whipped cream. Oh, wait, it’s pretty full - maybe I’ll give it to Peter for Simone,” Neal said thoughtfully. “Look, I’m being denied too - all of this cheese has to go.”
“Triple cream brie?” Henri said, a stricken expression on his face.
“All of it.”
“Shurely not de tuna belly, Nealz!”
“I said all of it.”
“Iz fifty dollar a pound, Nealz,” Henri pointed out.
“Oh yeah. OK, maybe we have one last big dinner… with a salad”
“What iz all dat?”
“New groceries!” Neal said, unpacking the carrier bags. “More veggies for me, less sweets for you. Look - tofu ice cream!”
“Ugh, Nealz.”
“You haven’t even tried it.”
“Everyting wif tofu meanz ugh, Nealz.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Hey, look at this.” Neal brought out a new cat toy, a bright yellow feather attached to a two-foot plastic stick with a long string. “Thought you could get a workout in later.”
“U iz no funneh.”
“Or maybe some cat yoga, would you like that? Very low impact - I saw it online.”
“U iz unbelievabuhls,” Henri said in a tone that said he was done discussing this entire subject. He began to lick a front paw, his claws extended, a clear threat.
“That reminds me it’s time for claw trimming. Oh, no you don’t!” Neal said, catching Henri before he could leap off the table.
3.
“Mmmmerrrrrrhh!”
Neal unlocked the door and tossed his keys into the bowl on the table.
“Mwarrrrr!”
“Henri?” Neal turned to where the piteous sounds were coming from. Henri lay draped dramatically across the upper level of his cat tree, paws in the air. “Somethin’ up, buddy?” Neal started going through his mail.
“So, so weeeak!”
“Uh-huh.” Neal distractedly opened his cellular bill and checked the balance.
“I iz dyingk. Tell Simone I loaf her.” Henri’s right paw reached out beseechingly.
“Dammit, they didn’t apply that credit!” Neal said, making a mental note to call customer service in the morning and returning the bill to the table. He took his jacket off as he made for the hallway that led to his closet to change. When he emerged, Henri was lying, unmoving, on his side right on the floor in front of the doorway. “Oh no, my cat has died,” Neal deadpanned. “Whoever will inform me of my shortcomings?” He stepped over Henri and went to pour himself a glass of red wine.
“U not funneh, Nealz.” Henri said, getting up and heading toward him.
“Neither are you - I come home to this performance every night. Don’t tell me you’re starving, there’s still kibble in the bowl.”
“It taste liek unhappiness.”
“It’s thirty-five bucks a bag, and is the top of the line. The first ingredient is salmon - your favorite.”
“U hatez me.”
“It’s the same stuff I used to buy, just low fat, and I do not hate you. I’m doing this because I love you, Henri, because if you’re fat you become a joke, and then people start calling you Garfield. Would you put me through that indignity? You don’t even like lasagna.”
“Garfield,” Henri said with disgust. “Shallow characterizashons and prurient jokingkz do no ting to lift unimaginatif storytellingkz.” Henri would not stop talking about his feelings about the film after Peter had shown it to him and Simone one weekend. “Iz even insulting to dogs.”
“Word,” Neal agreed. He bent over and picked up Henri’s food dish, dumping the stale food from the morning and refilling it. He had a thought. “Hey, if I put tuna juice on this, do you think you’ll like it any better?”
“Perhaps.”
Neal thought he could go for a tuna salad sandwich for lunch the next day.
4.
“Come on, let’s play.” Neal waved the feather toy close enough to Henri’s head to move his whiskers. Henri shook his head and gave him an odd look. “Henri, you used to love to play, what’s wrong now?”
“I moar interested in intellectual pursuitz.”
“Not buying it,” Neal said, dragging the feather up and down the cat’s body. “I saw you checking out that centerfold in last month’s Cat Fancy. Abyssinian, huh?”
“Dey haf big… ears.”
“You sly dog.”
“I still man, Nealz.”
“A chubby man. Come on!” Henri swiped a paw at the feather, but was too slow to catch it. “You’re losing your touch, Henri!” He made the feather dance in front of Henri on the bed. One paw shot out and caught the tip, but Neal dragged it away. He rested it on Henri’s head briefly. Henri twisted around onto his back with lightning speed and captured the thing between all four paws with a triumphant grunt.
“I catchez heem!”
“And there he goes!” Neal said, wresting the feather away and letting it flutter down on the opposite corner of the bed.
“Ah ha!” Henri shouted, twisting around and leaping on top of it.
They played with the feather for another fifteen minutes, until Neal let Henri catch it for good and the cat held it captive beneath his belly, licking the outer vanes of it and purring. “See, that’s all it takes for you to get a little exercise,” Neal pointed out. “Wasn’t that fun?”
“Wuz divertingks.”
“You know, there are lots of girls up at the LOLCat sanctuary in Connecticut . I could take you up there one weekend, see if you can make some new friends.”
“I liek dat,” Henri said, releasing his grip on the feather as Neal began to stroke the fur along his back. “But no yet. I no sexeh yet.”
Neal laughed. “OK, we’ll wait until you’re all hot again, buddy.”
5.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Neal asked.
“He’s lost two pounds - impressive!” Dr. Hackney reported.
“I workingk out,” Henri said proudly. If he had the proper anatomy for it, Neal would swear he’d have flexed a bicep.
“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
“It was rough at first, but we’ve been doing pretty well,” Neal admitted.
“Well, one more pound, and I’d say we’re in good shape,” Hackney told Neal. “And that means no slacking, buddy,” the doctor said, addressing Henri. “No undoing all that hard work with more whipped cream.”
“U iz killjoy, Hack-a-knee.”
Later in the taxi on the way to pick up Simone for the weekend, Henri pawed at the side of his carrier to get Neal's attention. “Nealz.” Neal unzipped the top a bit and Henri’s head popped out; he hated being cooped up in the carrier.
“You should be proud of yourself, buddy,” Neal told him, rubbing at his ears. “I sure am.”
“Tank U, Nealz.”
“To celebrate, I’ll pick up some salmon belly for you and Simone for a treat this weekend.”
“Only one tiem, Nealz - I not sexeh yet.”
“You’re plenty sexy.” Neal noticed the odd expression on the cabbie’s face and added, “Uh, for a cat. So what do you want to do with Simone this weekend? Felix the Cat marathon?”
“Exploringkz. June iz out of town.”
“Ah ha - the garden awaits.” Henri loved June’s garden. Bugsy did not love Henri. Given that it was early May, and the butterflies were in abundance, Neal thought Henri and Simone scampering in the garden was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. He mentally prepared a picnic for them all and considered asking Peter and Elizabeth over. “So, you feeling good? You glad you went on a diet?”
“Iz no diet, Nealz, iz lifestyle choice.”
“A good way to look at it.”
“I glad UR in my lifestyle, Nealz.”
“Me too, Henri.”
----
Thank U for UR tiemz.
Next story: Neal and LOLCat Henri vs. the Snowpocalypse