“The Space Aliens are attacking” yelled Captain Klaus Von Kitten.
            “You’re the only ship in the area” replied Moonbase 4 in a panicked voice.  “Only you can save us Captain Kitten."
            “Oh fuck” replied Captain Kitten.

            Norman stared at the page for a long time.  Perhaps, he thought to himself, it wasn’t quite as easy to write a book for children as he’d hoped.  He hated children so very much and couldn’t stand forcing Captain Kitten to speak unrealistic dialogue.  Captain Kitten would be very stressed in a situation that, on the face of it, seemed pretty hopeless.  Captain Kitten would say “Oh fuck”.  He was a flawed antihero, not some cartoonish slab of bravado.  Captain Kitten was a textured character unlike those created by hacks like that Harry Potter bitch.
            “Your dinner’s ready dear” shouted his wife from downstairs.
            Norman closed the laptop, extinguished his cigarette and trudged downstairs.
           
            “How goes the book dear?” asked Helen as she ladled some peas onto his plate.
            “It’s not going well dear” replied Norman forlornly.
            “Oh it’ll be fine dear, you’ll soon be rich and famous.  Then I’ll be able to give up work and we can go live somewhere sunny.”
There was a hint of pleading at the end.  If only Helen realised how doomed they both were… well… she’d probably kill herself to be honest.
Norman ate his peas.

“Look what I’ve gotten you dear” smiled Helen excitedly.
Norman slowly turned in his chair, making sure to hide the screen and its acres of white, glaring emptiness.  Oh Jesus…
“It’s Captain Klaus Von Kitten” giggled Helen.
“Yes… it is…” said Norman, trying his hardest.
“He’s going to inspire you” she said and thrust the kitten into his hands.  “Hold still, I’m going to get the camera.  We can put the photo on the back of your book…” she said and ran downstairs, arms waving excitedly.
Norman stared at the small kitten in a knitted spacesuit.  It had Captain Kitten’s signature red paw-print on its chest.  The small black and white kitten looked very hot inside the suit.
            “I should probably apologise” Norman told the kitten quietly as he held it up for closer inspection.
            A pair of small green eyes regarded him sleepily.  The small creature’s breath smelt of pepperoni.  It seemed that Helen’s culinary cluelessness also extended to the animal kingdom. 
He could have sworn it burped in his face.
            Helen returned with the camera.  She handed Norman something woollen.
            “Put it on dear” she giggled.
            Norman reluctantly pulled on his new matching woollen space helmet.
            “Hold up Captain Kitten” she ordered.
            Norman raised the unfortunate kitten up to around eye-level and stared at its dangling paws clad in their woollen spaceboots.  A series of flashes temporarily blinded him.
            “Aw” simpered Helen, “I’m going to run downstairs and start designing the cover.”
            Norman forlornly realised this meant that she was going to make a terrible mess on the dining room table with her shotgun-like approach to watercolours.  He also knew he’d have to comfort her when she inevitably knocked the filthy water over or went outside the lines and burst into tears.
            Norman placed the kitten on the desk and watched as it slowly teetered over to the laptop.  It reached out with one paw and tentatively depressed the delete key.  Norman watched as four months work was deleted in under a second.  Half a page and a dozen obscenities entered the ether.  He half-heartedly clicked on “undo” and the computer calmly corrupted the file and rebooted.  His new harshest critic the sat down on the desk and began licking its small woollen paw.
            “Oh” said Norman.
            “You need to start again Norman” replied Captain Kitten between licks.
            Norman stared blankly at the kitten.      Great… paranoid delusional schizophrenia…  How very creative… That’s going to look great on his bio when he submitted a carpet tile smeared with his shit to Random House.
            “I am really talking to you Norman” the kitten said, finally halting his licking.  “You’re not insane.”
            Norman continued to stare at the kitten.  He couldn’t reply to the kitten, to do that would be to acknowledge his problem and that would only lead to some very heavy medication.  Talking to imaginary creatures and living in a cardboard box might be fine for the adult fiction crowd but it would be career suicide for anybody who hoped to pimp their work doing a guest spot on Sesame Street.
            “Speak to me Norman.  You can’t just pretend I’m not here… it will only hurt my feelings… and when people hurt my feelings Norman… well… you know…” said Captain Kitten and slowly dragged a single claw along the top of the desk.
            Norman reached for a cigarette with a trembling hand.
            “Writers…” sighed Captain Kitten and flipped down his plastic visor.  “Norman… you understand me better than anyone else.  You know that, while I’d eventually save humanity, I’d be doing it partly for my own selfish reasons.  I’m a hero to others but I have my own demons, my own flaws, my own rules.”
            Norman heard a crash from downstairs and a load shriek.
            “She must learn to clean up her own messes Norman” Captain Kitten chided.  “You will not always be here to hold her hand.  One day you may have to join me in saving the universe… and… that’s a dangerous game…”
            Norman unconsciously tapped his ash into his coffee.
            “There are no safety-nets Norman, not in this game.  One Alien spaceship can destroy your ship… one tiny speck of rock flying through space can punch a hole through your spacesuit and you…”
            Norman made to stand.
            “Don’t you fucking help her Norman…” snapped Captain Kitten.
            Norman froze.
            “That’s right, I said ‘fucking’.”
            “Children’s books can’t have swearing in them” quoted Norman automatically.
            “So call it Young fucking Adult or something… I don’t care as long as we stop the fucking aliens.  Are you starting to get this yet Norman?”
            Norman shook his head.  Captain Kitten seemed to sigh and then slammed four sharp little claws into Norman’s hand.
            “Listen to me fuckwad…  The universe needs you to write our battle strategies.  I’m a loose-cannon who lives by the skin of his tail. I’m impetuous and nobody’s better in a fight… but I still need the sage council of Major Frog” Captain Kitten growled.
            “So go talk to Major Frog” snapped Norman at last.
            “Major Frog’s dead, he was killed in that brothel on page four of your synopsis.  This is why we need you. Norman, you’re the galaxies only help” Captain Kitten said angrily, the claws sinking deeper.
            “What does my magical talking cat friend want me to do?” asked Norman sarcastically.
            “We’re going to write the book Norman” glowered Captain Kitten.  “In the future this book will guide us.  It is why I travelled back in time.  I have to help you.  The prophecy said this was the only way.”
            “Does this mean it sells?” asked Norman, perking up considerably.
            “Yes, in massive numbers” replied Captain Kitten, retracting his claws.
            “Great” laughed Norman delightedly, “Helen will be delighted.”
            “It starts selling in about ten thousand years Norman.”
            “Oh” Norman said and slumped.
            “If it helps, we give your pauper’s grave a make-over” Captain Kitten said and gently patted Norman’s bleeding hand.
            “Why should I bother?” asked Norman miserably.
            “Revenge...”
            “Why?  They haven’t done anything to me.  You’re the only one who’s done anything to me” grumbled Norman as he began cleaning the blood from his hand with a wet-wipe.
            “I’ve lied to you Norman, that smash wasn’t Helen knocking over the water again.  That was the aliens.  She’s dead.  There was nothing either of us could have done.”
            Norman stared blankly at the kitten once again.
            “They too have the power of time travel.  They must have followed me here.”
            “Helen?” shouted Norman.
            Captain Kitten grabbed Norman by the collar and shouted into his face.
“You stupid prick…  They’ll be up here soon and we’re both going to die.”
There was a horrible sound coming from the stairs.  It was as if someone was dragging a bucket of pig-guts over a rock festival microphone.  A series of high-pitched clicks and wails pierced the air.
“Quick Norman, lock the door” snapped Captain Kitten, pulling a small pistol from his spacesuit pocket.
Norman, unsettled by events, decided that it was probably best to lock the door.  It almost certainly wasn’t an alien Killderbeast but at the very least he didn’t want Helen to come in and see him discussing Space Politics with a kitten.  He carefully slid the bolt home and moved the ottoman in front of the door for good measure.  He walked back to his chair and sat down.  It was only then that he noticed the small pistol in Captain Kitten’s hand.  He looked at it closely.
“Why are you clutching a piece of macaroni stuck to a small cotton reel?” he asked.
“Your late wife made me this Phase-o-blast-o-ray from specifications I gave her.”
“Does it do anything?” asked Norman.
“It does.”
“Show me.”
“No Norman… it is only good for two shots.  We will need those.”
“But it takes three hundred shots to kill the three-headed Killderbeast” said Norman sarcastically
“Yes Norman.  They’re not for the alien.”
“Oh.”
“It will not hurt Norman” reassured Captain Kitten.  “Now, quick… start writing, we haven’t much time.”
Norman miserably tapped at the keyboard for a few minutes.
“You’ve spelt my name wrong” said Catpain Kitten.
“I’ll spellcheck it at the end” replied Norman absent-mindedly.
“Why has my name badge changed then?” asked Catpain Kitten.  “Be careful damn you, you’re breaking the future.”
“Do you want to lose your legs in a space accident?” asked Norman irritably.
Something knocked at the door. 
“That’s probably Helen coming to tell me dinner’s ready” said Norman.
“Helen’s dead.”
“So you say.”
“If you open that door you’ll be killed Norman.”
            Something began kicking the door and screaming in a strange alien language.
            “Hurry Norman, write…”
            Norman, suddenly unnerved, sat down and began typing rapidly. 

            “Are you fucking kidding me you?”
            “What?” asked Norman sleepily.
            “We’ve been at this for five hours and you’ve written…” Catpain Kicken ran his paw along the screen, “Seventy fucking words.”
            “That’s quite good for me” smiled Norman.
            “You’ve spelt most of them wrongly and used no punctuation.”
            “I was going to get Helen to fix that up at the end” Norman said defensively.
            The door was beginning to crack under the beast’s onslaught. 
            “The ancient scrolls said you wrote this book in a single evening” shouted Catpain Kicken.
            “Oh…”
            “What?” screeched the kitten.
            “You see… I always planned to say that in the letter to the agents…  I thought it would make me sound dynamic… a… er… literary prodigy…”
            Catpain Kicken stared at Norman for a very long time.
            “The scrolls said you finished it tonight…”
            “Well, I was going to also say I’d written it ages ago and my wife convinced me to dust it off and send it in…  Look…”  Norman said and pulled up the draft of his accompanying letter.
            Catpain Kitten read it slowly.
            “Oh fuck” said the kitten and held his head in his paws.
            “Do you realise how hard it is to get published?” countered Norman angrily.  “All the websites say you need a hook…”
            Catpain Kicken stared at him.
            “You’re an utter fucking prick Norman.”
            A large piece of the door broke loose and fell to the floor.  Tentacles slid through and began blindly groping for the lock.
            Norman typed feverishly as Catpain Kicken began slashing at the tentacles with his claws.  One of the tentacles coiled around the small kitten’s throat, lifting him high into the air.
            “Hurry” gasped Catpain Kicken as his vision began to blur.
            Suddenly the creature exploded in a fountain of gore.
            The small kitten fell to the floor and landing on all four paws.  He shook his head back and forth until his vision cleared and slumped to the ground.
            “What did you do Norman?” asked Catpain Kicken.
            “I wrote that they were allergic to cats” smiled Norman triumphantly.
            “Genius” laughed a tired but triumphant Catpain Kicken.
            Norman typed something quickly.
            “Ow” yelped Catpain Kicken.  “What happened then…”
            “I just spayed you, we don’t want you wrecking the furniture” replied Norman.
            He chuckled happily to himself and awaited the dozens of sluts who were now time-travelling back to shag him.

back to duck.