novella
Active Member
Animal Corporation
art II is Here!!
The air above the gray cubicles was filled with the soft hum of computers and the ticky-tacky sound of hundreds of keyboards tapped by the claws of industrious cats. Herbie the mailroom mouse pushed his cart through the maze, quietly slipping incoming reports and faxes and customer complaints into inboxes, all the while trying to become invisible. He crept past Tabitha Cling's office door hoping not to be noticed. The cubicle cats were bad enough, but T. Cling was a cat who wanted to be a dog, and she let you know that at every opportunity.
"Mouse," she barked from within.
"Y-y-yes, Ms. Cling?" Herbie mewled.
"Step in here."
Oh piss. Herbie wanted to crawl into a hole in the wall. But he needed his job. He needed cheese money. He needed money to take Flora, the love of his small life, out scampering. He squeezed his tiny black eyes shut and walked into the office as if walking headlong into a trap.
"Mouse. I need a belly scratch. Pronto." Tabitha Cling lifted her paws, exposing her soft belly fur. Herbie had no choice. He reached out a tiny mouse finger and scratched a bit.
"Ahhhh," she purred. Obviously she was a cat. Who was she kidding? "Very nice," she purred. "And would you bring me a biscuit from the cafeteria? I need that right away. Starving. Haven't eaten since before." She slipped a few coins into his tiny hand.
"Yes'm. Must go. Job to do," Herbie squeaked as he shot out the door and down the corridor, pushing his mailcart at a desperate clip to the elevator bank.
One floor up. Top Management, the fleet of porcine rosy-cheeked vice-presidents who spent hours at lunch every day, their large heads half-immersed in their troughs, stuffing their puffy cheeks. Their translucent ears twitched with greed even while they ate.
As a rule, the Big Pigs never turned a head toward Herbie. It was as if he didn't exist. They only concerned themselves with employees of consequence: the well-dressed salesdogs who brought in new accounts and revenue, the arrogant stallions who ran satellite offices and marched into the building once a month, dropping their huge piles along the halls as though the janitor rats should enjoy cleaning up behind them.
The Big Pigs' regal offices were arrayed along a plushly carpeted corridor that smelled of wet leaves and earth. The rich environment overwhelmed poor Herbie. It was mostly terrible to deliver mail on this floor.
But then there was Flora, sitting at reception, her pretty little nose sniffing the air expectantly, her delicate whiskers groomed ever so precisely. My beautiful snow-white girl, Herbie thought. He licked her neck affectionately and nibbled her left ear just a tiny amount. Flora's eyes were the prettiest shade of pink Herbie had ever seen.
art II is Here!!The air above the gray cubicles was filled with the soft hum of computers and the ticky-tacky sound of hundreds of keyboards tapped by the claws of industrious cats. Herbie the mailroom mouse pushed his cart through the maze, quietly slipping incoming reports and faxes and customer complaints into inboxes, all the while trying to become invisible. He crept past Tabitha Cling's office door hoping not to be noticed. The cubicle cats were bad enough, but T. Cling was a cat who wanted to be a dog, and she let you know that at every opportunity.
"Mouse," she barked from within.
"Y-y-yes, Ms. Cling?" Herbie mewled.
"Step in here."
Oh piss. Herbie wanted to crawl into a hole in the wall. But he needed his job. He needed cheese money. He needed money to take Flora, the love of his small life, out scampering. He squeezed his tiny black eyes shut and walked into the office as if walking headlong into a trap.
"Mouse. I need a belly scratch. Pronto." Tabitha Cling lifted her paws, exposing her soft belly fur. Herbie had no choice. He reached out a tiny mouse finger and scratched a bit.
"Ahhhh," she purred. Obviously she was a cat. Who was she kidding? "Very nice," she purred. "And would you bring me a biscuit from the cafeteria? I need that right away. Starving. Haven't eaten since before." She slipped a few coins into his tiny hand.
"Yes'm. Must go. Job to do," Herbie squeaked as he shot out the door and down the corridor, pushing his mailcart at a desperate clip to the elevator bank.
One floor up. Top Management, the fleet of porcine rosy-cheeked vice-presidents who spent hours at lunch every day, their large heads half-immersed in their troughs, stuffing their puffy cheeks. Their translucent ears twitched with greed even while they ate.
As a rule, the Big Pigs never turned a head toward Herbie. It was as if he didn't exist. They only concerned themselves with employees of consequence: the well-dressed salesdogs who brought in new accounts and revenue, the arrogant stallions who ran satellite offices and marched into the building once a month, dropping their huge piles along the halls as though the janitor rats should enjoy cleaning up behind them.
The Big Pigs' regal offices were arrayed along a plushly carpeted corridor that smelled of wet leaves and earth. The rich environment overwhelmed poor Herbie. It was mostly terrible to deliver mail on this floor.
But then there was Flora, sitting at reception, her pretty little nose sniffing the air expectantly, her delicate whiskers groomed ever so precisely. My beautiful snow-white girl, Herbie thought. He licked her neck affectionately and nibbled her left ear just a tiny amount. Flora's eyes were the prettiest shade of pink Herbie had ever seen.
