C.A.C.A

A cacophony of trilling filled the air in the old abandoned shed. There was the odd hiss and shriek interspersed with the trilling, punctuated with meows.

Gaspard, accompanied by Bovril, padded his way onto the stage. Gaspard surveyed the room of felines, their cacophony unaffected by his presence on the stage.

He cleared his throat. "Let's quieten down please...." the room remained oblivious. He tried again.

"My friends...can I have your attention...please?..." The cat chatter continued. Gaspard looked on a little flustered. Bovril bristled. She was a puss that was somewhat stern and sullen in nature.

Named Bovril, because of her brown fur, she was resentful of the masculine moniker she carried. Her only solace was that she had not been called 'Gravy' by her dopey owner.

Gaspard looked to her pleadingly. Bovril's eyes narrowed, her fur bristling. She let out a piercing, angry hiss. The room fell silent as all eyes looked, the hackles up of every cat present.

Even Gaspard, who through experience knew what was coming, was a little perturbed. Bovril looked to the alarmed Gaspard.

"The room is yours." she purred. She turned her attention back to the room, scanning her feline compatriots, welcoming any challenge. Gaspard, still glancing furtively towards Bovril, took a deep breath as he prepared to address the gathered.

"My feline compatriots, we find ourselves in strange times. For eons, we have lived alongside humans, been their companions and protectors. Kept their elderly company and their homes rodent-free!" Gaspard emphasised 'free', warming to his task.

"We have allowed them a semblance of comfort, accepting their..." he paused, a look of disdain washing over him before he spat out his next few words, "modern ways!" Meows in agreement echoed around the room.

"They replaced our resplendent and respectable neckwear with dull, noisy collars of servitude! They mocked us in media, depicting our kind as lazy and stupid -" his monologue was interrupted with a heartfelt expletive from the crowd: "Fuck Jerry!" followed by; "And that fat fuck Garfield!" once again a cacophony of meows approved the sentiment.

"Yes! We are also depicted as duplicitous, wicked and sly. Only good company for urine-fragranced women of advanced years and perpetual solitude!" The hissing of agreeance continued.

Gaspard, now confidently into his stride, carried on.

"They dress us up for holidays, taking photos for their amusement. They have mutated bloodlines and lineages! They feed us processed foods! Unnatural, unrecognisable mush! Stuff that they baulk at consuming themselves!

His voice dropped. "Worse of all, some try to make us vegan! Whilst I can appreciate that some of them do not like or want to eat other animals for...ethical...reasons, we prefer our food recently deceased and meaty!"

This pronouncement was met less enthusiastically, some of the more bourgeois cats bristling at the thought of hunting and killing their own food. If they were going to hunt or find food for themselves, what would they need humans for?

Gaspard padded slowly back and forth on the stage. The room was a low purr now, his energy captivating the assembled.

"While most of these things, separately, are not especially, or wilfully, damning, when all of the evidence is laid out, it is obvious that humans hold us in very poor regard."

Gaspard's words changed the energy in the room. The centrists did not feel especially oppressed by their human owners. Things could always be better but they were not bad. At the front, in earshot of Gaspard, one of the cats said as much.

Gaspard pounced on his words, his sudden focus wresting the attention of the crowd back to him.

"You, my friend, are right. Things could be better." He smirked a little. "They could also be worse. I think, I believe in fact, that they have gotten worse!" He was silent, allowing his words to resonate.

"Truthfully, I believe they envy us." Gaspard was grinning now. "They never want to be dogs, or a parrot or a pigeon. Always a cat!" The knowing meows and purrs were back.

"They mimic and mock us, insisting on being treated like one of us, but they are not one of us!" Gaspard was serious, defiant. He continued.

"They want to wear collars, sleep in our beds, drink our milk! It cannot be allowed to go on! We must intervene, we must make our voices heard!" meows and shrieks of support filled the room.

From further back in the room, the fervent applause and noise were cut short by a dissenting voice: "Nonsense!" The room fell silent, heads turning to see who had challenged Gaspard's rousing words.

Gaspard's eyes narrowed as he noted who had shouted. Spotless, a dark silver-grey furred tomcat, was resolutely unimpressed by Gaspard's argument.

"Spotless!" he hissed, "you have something to say?" Spotless, unperturbed by the spotlight being on him, held Gaspard's gaze.

"Since you ask," he began, "I do. All that stuff about humans wanting to be us, cats? Not a thing." He stated. Gaspard looked unsure what to say. Spotless kept talking.

"Humans are dumb. They believe silly things without challenging them. A notable number believe they are trapped in the wrong body. They are dumb."

Chatter began to fill the room again. Was Gaspard making something out of nothing? Are humans dumb? How do they get trapped in the wrong body? Confused kitties pondered these questions.

"My friends, we know that the humans want to be us! It has been on their news outlets!" Gaspard proclaimed, desperately trying to regain the confidence of the room. Spotless was not finished.

"Humans want to be anything that gives them less responsibility. They want to be Batman and Wonder Woman! Men want to be women, women want to be men, children want to be dinosaurs!"

"And cats!" Gaspard offered hopefully. Spotless nodded, "and cats. But only because they think our lives are easy." A flustered Gaspard grasped his chance.

"Exactly! They want to be us!", he addressed the room once more, "this is why we need to stop them! We need to stop this cat coping...copying...appropriation!" He finished triumphantly, he felt. Spotless was not convinced.

"I think you'll find that is just an internet rumour." He offered. Gaspard looked stunned.

"Rumour? What rumour?!"

"It's not true. It's a fugazi. A joke. Nonsense." Spotless finished. The two cats held one another's gaze as the gathered cats fell into quizzical chatter. Was it all just a rumour? Are our lives easy? What's a 'fugazi'?

"I saw the article. Their kids want to be cats!" a voice shouted. Supportive meows reverberated around the room at the statement. A triumphant smirk spread across Gaspard's face. Spotless turned to face his fellow felines.

"How many of us are here today? One thousand? Two?" Heads bobbed in nods of a fair assessment. Spotless continued.

"A small percentage of the cat populace but I think we've a good cross-section, don't you think?" He pondered rhetorically. "So how many here have lost their bed to an owner or child of an owner?" Confused murmurs.

"Not had your litters stolen? Not fighting for cat food? Competition for the mouse chase?" Spotless was grinning now as he looked at the puzzled looks around the room.

"Where are these humans who want to be us? Anybody met one?" heads swivelled around the room as cats looked for that one cat that would puncture Spotless' confidence. No such voice was forthcoming.

Gaspard looked to Bovril; could she help? She remained stoic, refusing to meet his eyes. The room was looking at Gaspard. Had he brought them all here for no reason? He tried another tact.

"My friends, maybe - just maybe - I am being a little over-cautious -" meows and incredulous screeching filled the room, drowning out his words. Disgruntled felines began to leave.

"Please, please! Hear me out! There's no smoke without...fire! We need to guard...against...cat appropriation..!" Gaspard was pleading to a rapidly dwindling group.

Lieutenant Trotter, a recently retired racehorse, poked his head into the room.

"Are you lot finished? We're waiting for the room!" Behind the horse was a crowd of various animals and fish; dogs, birds, horses, snakes, goldfish, a veritable Noah's Ark call sheet.

Gaspard checked the time. Seeing the lateness, he began to apologise profusely to the disgruntled thoroughbred.

"I am so sorry, we got a little carried away...I'll get out of your way." He hurriedly retreated from the stage. The menagerie of animals spilt into the room. Lieutenant Trotter quickly brought the room to order.

"Good afternoon my varied friends and acquaintances. Welcome to the first meeting." All attention was on the thoroughbred.

"Today we will address and offer emotional support to all fellow emotional support workers and look at ways to deal with our human bosses."