The Second Floor | Here Kitty, There Kitty (63.19)

[mragland]

5.24.2063 – Richmond upon Thames, Greater London

It only took a few days of living with Sir Pouncealot for Alfie to decide that he had had his fill. The cat was somehow everywhere and nowhere at once. The club had adopted the gray tabby a week after his jaunt through the outfield, but days before that the marketing department had contrived to make him into the club's newest mascot. The merchandise appeared in the team store with alarming alacrity: Sir Pouncealot t-shirts, Sir Pouncealot hats, Sir Pouncealot baseballs, Sir Pouncealot coloring books, Sir Pouncealot pencil cases, you name it. They apparently ordered three fuzzy mascot costumes (the kind some poor bloke had to prance around in) from Japan, though those hadn't arrived yet.

The marketing people were more excited about the damned cat than anything else that had happened on that field this season. Alfie overheard a group of them in the cafeteria saying that Sir Pouncealot was worth nine points of something called 'fan interest' whatever that was. They were determined to milk him for all we was worth. Alfie was beginning to suspect that they might have released him onto the field themselves. Though surely they couldn't have done, seeing as how none of them were covered in claw marks from that vicious little bastard.

The veterinarian had given the feline his shots and also neutered him prior to the club taking him in. A supply closet had become Sir Pouncealot's little fiefdom. And who had to feed him? Alfie. Who had to clean out his litter box? Alfie. The intern, Matt, threatened to walk out if forced to have any further interaction with the cat. Alfie couldn't blame him. Sir Pouncealot seemed to take his recent castration personally and was quite prepared to take his ill humor out on anyone near at hand.

“The cat was a stray,” Alfie said to the marketing director who was determined to keep Sir Pouncealot on the premises, “he doesn't care for the company of people at the best of times.” Alfie, of course, was overruled.

Now here he was, roaming the halls after hours trying to find the cat and put it in its closet so his crew could see to the floors without worry of attack. Alfie turned the corner to the player development cubicles. The lights were off, with the exception of one that was flickering such that it created a strobe-like effect in the room. The caretaker made a mental note to have the electrician come back out and fix the light for good this time. Alfie noticed that one of the computer monitors also seemed to be on. He walked over to the cubicle in question and saw by the little green light that the computer was running as well. He noted the name plate, 'James P.' it read. Alfie bent down to shut off the equipment and was imagining the refresher on data security poor James P. would be getting in the morning when he was startled by a small blur in the corner of his vision. Alfie spun around, but couldn't make out anything in the intermittent dark and dim light. He began to move slowly towards the light switch panel on the wall when he heard a troubling sound. An angry growl coming from beneath one of the desks.

It was a sound Alfie recognized from his childhood. The family cat, Mr. Boots, would make that sound if anybody tried to take away his favorite toy mousy.

Alfie smiled and chuckled at himself. “Alright, Pouncy, there's a good lad. Come on out so Alfie can take you back to your room. I might have a nice tin of kippers for you,” Alfie said as he pulled out a thick pair of leather work gloves from his back pocket.

The growling took a turn, to Alfie's ears, for the sinister and he paused. Something was off.

Then he heard the soft hum of the rotors of one Arlo's new security gizmos, a flying drone that roamed the offices, equipped with camera, microphone, and heaven knew what else.

Alfie, determined to not be caught on video being mangled by the office cat, and deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, put his gloves away and turned from the desk.

It was at this moment that the little gray figure darted out, flitting between Alfie's legs and back down the hall towards the stairs, making hardly any sound at all.

'We should probably put a bell on him,' thought Alfie as he chased after. The security drone rose a foot in the air to avoid a collision with the caretaker's forehead as the man rounded the corner. Alfie barely caught sight of the cat dashing up the stairs. He followed at a light jog.

A bit out of breath after taking the stairs two at a time, Alfie saw Sir Pouncealot casually drop something in front of the door to the general manager's outer office that he had been carrying in his mouth. The cat then ran back in Alfie's general direction, but giving the man a wide berth. Alfie decided not to lunge at the cat, but to go retrieve whatever little beastie he had deposited on the floor.

As he got closer, Alfie could make out the little gray body, four legs, and a tail, but … no hair. Alfie put on his gloves, picked the thing up, and looked it over. There was certainly no life in it, Pouncy had seen to that, but it looked … mechanical? A tiny little robot, is what it was. Had to be.

“Well I'll be ...” said Alfie.

[Jwalk100]

The Monarchs need to sell a lot of Sir PounceAlot merch to pay Peyton.