Cats & cash

I keep aimlessly adding to this thing: here's the next scrap from BRYAN THE TYGER... this fragment of my fake novel shall go down in history as the part that ventures to flirt with the concept of money.

P.S.

In other news: my Public Private Diary is fully printed; also I made a list of my latest novels that have been printed but not included in any collection.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

After a long and weepy goodbye, we leave our new friend, the cool teen Eastman, and gallop back to our castle. Bounding thru the creaky wooden entry gate, I roar:

“Nous! Zephyros! Come see how much bacon Myala and I brought home!”

Our kitty-cat castle-mates sprint forth and affectionately start to lick our fur.

“Stop licking our fur, you kittens; now feast your eyes upon THIS,” and I spread out the banknotes that we earned from our recent sale.”

“Who-o-o-oa,” the kitty-cats almost faint.

Nous asks: “Is that a sensu?”

“What’s a sensu?” I reply.

“A Japanese paper folding fan.”

“No,” I say, “what I am holding in my paws is not a sensu. This is hard-earned money.”

“Ooh! What’s money?” asks little Zephyros.

“Uh . . . it’s a very hard-earned thing; much-loved,” I say, “and extremely sought-after . . .” Then I realize that I don’t know how to put it into words, so I cast a pleading look toward Myala.

“Money is like a type of poem, hon,” Myala explains to little Zephyros; “it’s like a game that higher-minded creatures compel themselves to play, lest they lose the knack for barbarity. For it causes everything to be more overtly either overvalued or devalued.”

Little Zeph is now fast asleep.

“How much money is there?” asks Nous. “And what can it do for us, besides providing a gentle breeze?”

“O my daughter, you’re looking at one thousand caesar banknotes.” I wave the greenbacks like a sensu. “And what these can do for us is secure a seat at the Fat Cats Table, so that we can contend in the economy.”

Nous is trying to grasp the idea. “And what’s ‘the economy’?”

“It is exactly like the jungle.”

Nous suffers a flash of understanding: “Well then why not simply go back to contending in the jungle itself? Why add a second jungle on top of the first? If you wanna fight, then just fight: tooth and claw!”

“Nous,” I say, now growing exasperated, “I just devoured the global ibex population; I think I understand the attraction of physical strife. But this is something different — this is a subtler evil whose allure bemuses even human nerds. It’s like sipping rocket-fuel as table-wine. Instead of bashing one’s sibling in the face with one’s own forepaw, the destruction that one can wreak by way of money is as if one were able to control the Great Spirit itself: thus one can persuade one’s opponents to bash their own face, with their own forepaw! And one can just pose afar off looking smug while expending zero effort.”

Nous crinkles her kitty-cat visage: “But what if I don’t have any desire to bash my siblings in the face? What if I just like to chase balls of twine, wrestle with the flaps of cardboard boxes, and converse with the sharks of our peninsula?”

“Look, Nous, dear,” I say condescendingly, “you are much smarter than me, that’s for sure. But just let me have my fun: I got my paws on a thousand caesars and now I aim to invest in some corporations, take some financial risks; launch a startup; become a quirky new entrepreneur; crash a few flying saucers; maybe purchase my own casino . . . I’ve also always wanted to attend a boardroom meeting with other shareholders in a company that ranks among the largest by total revenue for the current fiscal year. Can’t you understand that urge? Are we not all felines at heart here?”

Nous is now fast asleep.

“OK, I’ve put our little ones to bed,” I whisper to Myala, “they’re down for the count; now let’s go on some adventures in the lands of finance.”