Carlos the Angry Cat: Mothers Day

Arnold had gone.  He’d gone!  Carlos could barely contain himself.  This meant … things!  He could sleep.  He could watch the rest of Olan Rogers’ videos.  This was going to be great.  Carlos lay there in his bed.  AudioWhores blared as he looked around thinking about the possibilities.  His eyes met the peeling 1980s wall paper, the flat pack wardrobe  and the pine desk.  Carlos loved it.  His little kingdom was in perfect order and enjoying a reign of tranquility without Arnold.  Carlos’s eyes were stuck on his desk.  His calendar was brightly coloured with pictures of parrots in hats to be sure, but that’s not why Carlos’s eyes were stuck.

It was March.  After a line of crosses the date today was the 10th.  The 10th.  What was the 10th… Mothers day!  Carlos went into a cold sweat as panic over took his body.  This meant one thing, Carlos’ mother was coming all the way from his native Brazil.  Braving a look at his phone Carlos even saw a text from her.  She was on her way.  Carlos flew out of bed with force of a disturbed banshee.  He threw on any clothes he could find and ended up in a pair of dirty jeans and a Mighty Boosh t-shirt.  He pulled on a pair of knackered green converse that in reality were probably worse than going bare foot and ran out his front door.  He ran down the dull and distintergrating corridor, down a dark creaky stair case and out onto the street.

The street ahead was just a street.  A few houses and blocks of flats, some cars parked on the side and a crazy lady selling live penguins. Y’know, just your average street.  Carlos knew though that this tarmac was destined to betray him as it carried his mother straight to his front door in a cloud of samba music, confetti and overly strong perfume.  Carlos lived at the bottom of a dead end, he ran up to the main road and could feel the vibration of incoming terror on its way.  From the left Carlos guessed.  He ran right.  Renowned as a rebellious figure within Wickam-under-Siege Carlos decided there was no harm in borrowing a car.  Armed with his meanest face he glared at the car door.  Concentration caused lines to erupt across his face.  Alas, it was no good.  He punched through the window and hot wired the car.  He was off.  Grey sped past him.  The sky, pavements, buildings, expressions – there was more grey around Carlos than in a Homebase colour chart.  Eventually the houses turned to trees and the sun peaked its head from the side of an oddly guitar shaped cloud.  Carlos was ready for fresh air and country smells to sidle up to his nose and refresh him.

What actually happened was the smell of manure, flying through the air before it slammed into Carlos’ face.   Helpfully there was a pub close by, complete with windows and doors to keep away all the bad smells the countryside could hide.  Carlos pulled up off the road into the pubs gravel car park.  A sign skipped in the breeze, revealing the pub to be called The Bear’s Coat.  After a Workaholics flashback had passed Carlos got out the car.  There was something wrong though.  Carlos the Angry Cat could tell, sadly he couldn’t tell what.  Gravel crunched under Carlos as the gravel hurt his feet through the holes in his converse.  Limping through the door the warm hair hit Carlos and sent good vibes tumbling through his body.  Sadly again though the manure essence was still clinging to his nose and blocking a quite formidable odour.

Carlos turned towards the rustic looking bar selecting his cider of choice.  Unhelpfully next to the chosen cider, Roundboy Ruin, was someone Carlos hadn’t seen for a while

‘Roger?  Wha .. wha .. what are you doing here?’ Carlos said uncertainly.

‘When you left, before, I forgot that we had a little unfinished business’ informed Roger, the coke dealing fox.

‘We did?  Did it involve deodorant?  You still smell all kinds of bad!’

‘Actually … no.  You were going to take me to see … Finding Nemo’ Roger said shakily.

‘Really?  How did you find me?’ Enquired Carlos wearily.

‘It’s actually a really long ….’

‘Do you know what, I’m going now.  Buy it on DVD, and get your hands on some Lynx.  We had some good times, and I admire your dedication but this is decidedly odd.’

‘You’re lucky I have go do a deal anyway’.

Carlos suddenly realized Mothers Day with your mother isn’t such a bad thing.

David Horn

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Carlos the Angry Cat: The Back Story

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

Carrier Pigeons

Carlos the Angry Cat: The Back Story

Carlos was an angry cat, and it was only half eight in the morning.  Apart from a documented history of anger management issues he’d also had daily second breakfast at number 74 whisked away in a slightly unstable moving van.  Oh how he’d miss in-depth conversations about the environment, politics and the price of wet food.  He wandered the block, thinking about how everything had changed.  The place was full of posh professional types now, no time for anyone – barely time for a morning shit.  Time to move on thought Carlos; he was young, likeable and adaptable he reasoned.

He got in and was on Right Move straight away, eyes closed and lucky claw extended he randomly selected a place.  Through unsure eyes he examined where he’d chosen, Rhosneigr flashed on the screen.  To a city cat like Carlos who’s idea of ‘out in the the sticks’ was Essex this seemed ideal.  Having spent his last pennies on a healthy supply of weed Carlos headed to Euston station.  Avoiding the tube he took his healthy weed supply, laptop and a limited selection of clothes via foot mentally saying goodbye to places.  Bye London Bridge. Bye London Eye. Bye ally that was great for a sneaky wee after a night at the pub.  He even bumped into Rodger the coke dealing DJ fox with a slight b.o problem on his way – crying tears from both the smell and sadness.

Angry Cat

Carlos finally made it to Euston, the next train to North Wales was to Bangor at 14:17.  He killed 20 minutes before heading to platform 12 past the roman style rhino statue.  Short on money but rich in charm Carlos failed to persuade the Virgin Trains guy to accept a near perfect rendition of Nick Cage’s 4’33 performed ironically.  After being told this wouldn’t fly it was bribery via weed for the win.  Inside the train was warm and cosy, the red plush seat accepting Carlos gladly.  Pulling out a surprize mp3 player Carlos put on the trendiest band he knew, The Puking Monkeys, and dosed off.

Rudely awakened by a train attendant he got off the train and into Bangor and frankly it was cold!  Based on decidedly shaky directions to the bus station he walked past an overly yellow pub and took a left at the clock tower.  He got a couple of funny looks due to his choice of casual suit but was soon speeding across the Menai Straights.  After an hour and a half and 50 stops he was in Rhosneigr.  Slightly worried about his future but mainly about his haircut Carlos took stock of what Rhosneigr was missing.  A good beach, summer-time student and surfer influx AND a tragically under-served aging local population.  Rhosneigr needed a pot dealer.

And that’s how Carlos of Brazil via London got a new job, house and girlfriend in the space of a month.  He then inexplicably left Rhosneiger when he inadvertently caused a police crack down when he started selling horse meat and moved to Wickam-under-Siege.  Every cloud and all that though; there was a charming newt called Arnold to terrorise, wait the other one, befriend.

Read the original instance of this story here.

David Horn

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Arnold the Newt 2: The Case of the Camden Drug Dealers

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 2

Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1

The clouds drifted through the sky, bulging with snow.  Below in the dark lay the town of Wickham-under-Siege.  A patchwork of roofs stared up at them.  Flat ones, terraces – there were even pointy ones that looked  like really odd but ‘artistic’ boobs.  Under one of the flat roofs Arnold slept.  He was dreaming about killer snowmen, partly because he’d fallen asleep to Dr Who but mostly because newts can’t handle the snow.  Arnold woke up just as the dream was reaching its horrific climax.  The Snowmen had him!  Worse, they were about to make him watch My Super Sweet Sixteen.   Arnold looked out as snow drifted like melty knives of doom at his window.  His newt senses tingled and a thought leaped across his brain.

R                O              A              D             T               R                I                P

He smiled with excitement and licked his eye with his newty tongue.  He stared out at the snow with the fierce intensity of someone who had just seen the last biscuit snatched away by an unsuspecting future victim.  Meanwhile his thoughts had gone into movie voice-over mode.  “Arnold the Newt; fighting snow, driving fast and eating biscuits – like a boss”.  Arnold left his flat.  He’d still not moved from the genius one room flat with the kitchen and bathroom in easy reach of the bed.  After robbery number fifteen though he had downgraded the security.  The Repel door-less Doorway 5000 had become a straight up door.  After putting on thermal undies, five layers, two hoodies and a coat he was good to go.

Every road trip needs a bitch; y’know someone to lift stuff, stick petrol in the car, take the shame when directions from strangers are needed – the usual things.  The word Arnold probably meant was companion.  None the less he was banging at Carlos the Angry Cat’s door.  Carlos appeared.  Angry at all times, sleepy Carlos was the worst.  The first and the most offensive word to cat kind to leave his mouth was “Pussy”.  This happened twenty times for new letters happened.

“It’s 6am, why are you at my door? Why do you look like the guy that recovered Captain America from the crash?”

“It’s snowing!” stressed Arnold, “I’m a newt.”

Carlos looked on blankly, standing in a Avengers t-shirt three sizes too big.

Frustrated, Arnold continued “newts like licking things.  It’s kinda what we do.  We especially like licking our eyes.  In the snow our tongues get stuck to our eyes.  Problem.  So we are going to go on a road trip to somewhere warm!”

“Make me leave this building and I will make you do the best and most detailed snow angel the whole world has ever seen”.

Horrified, Arnold walked away and down the stairs.  He braved the snow fall like Scott of the Antarctic, nobly dodging small disappointed looking children trying to find enough snow to at least make a footprint.  He cautiously ran down the street as someone who had to get toilet paper before answering an urgent call of nature might until he found his car.  The ex-mountain rescue land rover was camouflage and battered, still against the urban jungle it still took him a while.  He jumped in, as his tongue flicked up. Then he sped out the city.

Cruising along the motorway Arnold tried to remember the Great British deserts.  He was always bad at geography though and couldn’t remember any.  So he drove about, and about, and then along.  Then he saw a hastily erected sign for 100% safe teleport services with only eight accidents, and a whole eight users.  He drove for a day along the motorway, before taking an exit and entering an abandoned business park.  The sky was grey above the concrete buildings   Broken doors and boarded up windows lined the street as he drove through the village of business that was the park. Crows flew from the decaying buildings as he passed.  In the center of an abandoned car park was a  glowing orange screen the size of a double decker bus.  Wearing ear defenders against the electric hum sat a bored looking teenager with a 90’s computer and a till.  All this was supported on a lemonade stand that looked like it had been put together by Ozzy Osbourne.  It even had ‘Sharon’ scratched on it’s side.  The teenager, who’s name badge tells me his name was Darren looked equally bored at the idea of serving.

“Oi mate, would you like to take a trip? Anywhere, any dimension – £4.78.”

To be continued.

David Horn

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Story: Arnold the Newt 1:  The Life and Times

Story: Arnold the Newt 2: The Case of the Camden Drug Dealers

Arnold the Newt 1: The Life and Times

It had been a busy month for Arnold the Newt.  Since moving to a flat above the alley he’d been on a veritable inventing spree.  To his fellow inhabitants of the universe he’d invented the biscuit, dogs and making him truly proud, headphones – saving buses and trains everywhere from bad taste.  But today he was exhausted and caffeine was on his list of things to invent tomorrow.

He sat in his tiny flat watching rain spatter against his window whilst questioning if the flat really was as genius as the estate agent had made out.  I mean yeah, an all-in-one room kitchen, living room and observatory is manageable and convenient but lets be honest for the newt about town it’s a touch cramped.  Lost in the mildly damp world outside his window Arnold didn’t hear Carlos the Angry Cat come through highly advanced security and ventilation solution, the door-less doorway.

Carlos watched Arnold, the thought of what he was about to do, causing a huge toothy smile to cascade over his face.  Poking him in the side with frankly shamefully slow reactions Arnold looked up sleepy, confused and annoyed.

‘Oh, its you’, left Arnold’s mouth before he could think of anything more offensive

A good bit of well thought out trouble making is appreciated by the residents of Wickam-under-Siege, but as hard and frequently as Carlos tried he was still largely infamous as an idiot.  Grabbing Arnold by the scaly newty hand, Carlos took the dazed newt out his flat, down the stairs and threw him in the back of the Al Cameno he’d stolen from the set of My Name Is Earl and shipped back to the UK.  Come on, I know he’s an idiot but that’s a little impressive right, anyway I digress.

As Arnold started paying attention to the world beyond the really odd black stain on the inside  of the Camino’s door he wondered why the letters CT were floating about his head but mostly noticed Wickam-under-Siege and all its pointy stress factories were disappearing far behind them.  Looking at Carlos he realized he was out his tree on weed, nearly too chilled to even consider steering.  I don’t think Arnold would deny he was panicking, but luckily as is the way with everyone’s favourite green herb Carlos was soon too hungry to continue and pulled in at a petrol station.  No longer angry Carlos the Famished cat rushed into the shop, only to be kicked back out flying into the side of his car.

From the door strode forth a roving gang of  ninja mice. Hungrily Carlos took one look before asking,

And what do these cheesy waffers think they’re doing?

They cartwheeled across the car park and surrounded the pair.  Silently the leader bowed at Arnold and walked towards him – ninja stars aching to be thrown.  Now ladies and gentlemen, never mess with a sleepy newt.  Fixing the furry assassin with his big eyes he charged forward.  Ducking a blow he uppercut into the mousy nose waiting above followed with a crushing blow to the stomach before something weird happened.

Bernard?’ Arnold enquired of the flailing rodent.

Barnie Arnnie – haha had to be!

Not a cage fighter anymore mate’ Arnold countered, ‘this douche kidnapped me, and worst all woke me up – get him!’

Good, we already had him on our death list for using the term ‘cheesy wafter’. We are not a delicious sounding crisp!

The mice moved in, en-circling the starving yet calm cat.  Upon them they had the finest arsenal of weapons from ninja stars to swords.  They even had fair trade wooden clubs, when you hit things with them you can really tell the quality y’know.  All of these things were to good for Carlos though.  One after, each mouse gave him a Glasgow kiss before carrying him into the shop.

Originally posted in a previous blog here.

David Horn

Related Posts:

Story: Arnold the Newt 2: The Case of the Camden Drug Dealers

Story: Arnold the Newt 3: The Road Trip Part 1