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In a neighborhood where everyone strived to be boring, a family was beset by extraordinary events and, thanks to their cats, barely noticed. Princessa was curled up in the company of her favorite human, Speedy. She watched the youngest of the Moorcoch household practicing his routine of unwrapping a chocolate bar without letting go of the videogame controller. With a corner of the wrapper secured in his mouth, Speedy jiggled his head until the weight of the candy broke the plastic. All that hard work resulted in short-lived pay off, the snack bypassed the chewing phase and disappeared down the boy’s gullet. His tabby guardian was amazed. Princessa had been to many worlds, a fact that threatened to show in her much larger, much bluer than normal eyes. No where in her homeland beyond the wall of sleep had she witnessed such sorcery.

The phone rang and Speedy answered, then conversed with his friend for a while. All the Moorcoch cats were interlopers from the dreamland and possessed supernatural abilities and intelligence; most of them could understand but not speak other tongues. Talk about meeting Speedy’s friend’s new pet worried Princessa. When the call ended and Speedy rushed out the house, Princessa was behind him like a shadow.

Queen Beyonce (a harried tabby that clung to Speedy’s sister, Lucy) and King Louis XIV (a ragamuffin hiding behind a thick, luxurious white coat) heard the commotion and decided to follow, alighting from the second story windows. Louis’ dismount was imperfect and caused him to roll off the roof and land in some bushes. Otherwise, Speedy and his cats made it to his friend’s house without event.

It was a poorer area. These yards were smaller, less green with older, crummier homes. Night came around the hour that Speedy turned down a dirt path that lead into a single-story home that smelled like senescent tv dinners, dirty mattresses, and cigarettes. A stranger scent in the air kept the cats outside where they questioned every inch of the property with their keen senses. Trouble loomed though they couldn’t find it anywhere in the yard; they decided to take the search indoors.

There were complications along the way. As she was snooping, Princessa found a bird; the little, chirping, clueless thing was bathing in the sludge of a concrete bird bath across the street. Speedy’s safety was not as interesting.

An open window provided entry for Queen Beyonce, who landed behind a recliner in a room where a box tv blasted cartoons. King Louis was not as good at being a cat. He made several attempts up the same ledge and on the best leap managed to hook a claw into the soft, old wood, which chipped away, dropping him to the ground. Plan B was a noisome fit: he rolled onto his back then yowled as loudly as he could. Speedy and his present company were startled by Louis’ cries. They grabbed guns and flashlights, then crept out to investigate.

Princessa only saw and heard the small, blood-filled feathery thing taking a bath. She was hiding in a patch of flowers surrounding the lawn décor, watching, waiting to strike. Eagerness showed in her wiggling behind, telegraphing the ambush, causing the bird to flee. It gained three feet into the air before it was caught in Princessa’s claws.

Four scared, armed humans surveyed the yard in the shaking beams of their flashlights. When light fell on Louis’ performance, the people screamed and ran away.

“Its a raccoon!” One said, but pronounced it “ray-can”.

The king planned to follow them back into the house but they didn’t realize he was in tow and slammed the door in his face. XIV’s next effort was successful. Pawing at the front door received the intended response: Speedy and his friend, who was still jumpy from the raccoon scare and was holding a shotgun, let Louis come inside where they canoodled him then quickly forgot he was there. He and Queen Beyonce tailed them up into the attic, listening to the other boy describe his new mogwai.

Princessa wasn’t even hungry. When she had it pinned under her paws, she bit into its stomach, then chomped onto a loop of warm guts. Screeching issued from the bird, its broken wings flapping against the ground. Meat strings were pulled out of the bird and wrapped around the post of the bird bath for several revolutions, then Princessa trotted back to the other side of the street.

“I didn’t leave the window open…” Said the friend. It was a measure of courtesy, however; it was hard to breathe amid piles of soiled, moldy laundry. Harder to move through was the filth that carpeted the floor – it was worse than Speedy’s room! Whereas Speedy would never let a crumb escape, his friend’s living space was a grave yard of rotting meals. Candy was everywhere – not just the plastic wraps. Half-hearted, part-chewed quasiforms in peanut, chocolate, and other ingredients meaningless to a cat, were scattered all over like droppings that were spared the chance to clog up this kid’s digestive tract. These monsters were food for others. Roachs, ants, and other critters glutted and thrived in the mess; rodents roamed without worry or a sense of secrecy. If the other boy’s instructions were to be trusted, a mogwai living in such a resource rich area would be dangerous.

It was hard to be sure. He was always chewing on something and continued to do so even as he spoke. The scent of an unknown creature permeated above all else and could be followed out the window. Whatever a mogwai was, the cats didn’t want it loose in their hunting grounds. A moment later, the slobby one started to catch up.

“Its gone!” To his surprise only, his new pet left the topless cardboard box that was expected to be its home. On cue with the resulting tear-sputtered profanities, a very large man, who smelled of alcohol, cheese, and sweat, emerged into the attic. He also screamed.

“THE FAMILY CACTUS HAS BEEN STOLEN! ITS FUCKING GONE!” The missing mogwai was forgotten, which is probably how many things died in that house. Three fat, round faces went white and all chewing ceased. Speedy followed his obese friends out of the attic and joined them in their darkest hour. By then, Princessa had regrouped with the other cats. Peering out the window with her enormous, blue-glowing eyes, she spied something peculiar in the street, several blocks away. They decided that was their next clue. As they left out that window, they could hear people in the tv room sobbing, sharing their favorite memories of the family cactus. Even shitty parents would stop Speedy from coming here.

From the intersection, Louis could make out what they had seen from the window: the stolen prickly plant, smashed to bits. The king was so shocked, he didn’t notice the headlights coming from the truck speeding down the cross road. Princessa howled and Louis flipped out from the vehicle’s trajectory. The driver was screaming at the animals and swerved with the obvious intent of colliding with the royal feline, but missed and zoomed away.

Examination of the wasted cactus revealed trace amounts of saliva. It was past midnight. Juices from the spiky green victim trailed off into the backyard of a nearby residence. They cowered low against the side of the house and advanced in quiet, knowing that somewhere in the garden they just walked into their quarry awaited. Rows of crop up and down the small property was boxed in by tall, wooden fences. A loaded clothing line dissected the agriculture into two triangles. Underneath a swaying sheet, in the middle of the lot was a strange, spherical mass. It looked like a cocoon. King Louis moved in for closer inspection and did not like what he smelled. The object in question resembled a number of scents the felines had picked up throughout the evening; hints of cactus and the fur of a lifeform they had never met. Except there was an off quality. Whatever Louis was poking his nose into had changed in the few blocks to this point, continued to do so in front of him. Sparse light was enough to view the rapid vicissitude beneath the translucency of the green, slimy cocoon. It pulsed, shook, and grew very slightly.

They were out of time. A rogue sprinkler ambushed the scene, hissing as it spewed water into the garden in a clockwise rotation. Everything was drenched in a matter of seconds. Their fur coats were devastated and would require hours of grooming. Queen Beyonce lifted a very large rock off the ground and hurled it at the assaulter, snuffing it out. Unfortunately, the mogwai cocoon was also wet. As a result, it steamed and sizzled, pulsated with high energy then multiplied into three squirming, growing pods. When the globs were bigger than the cats, they unraveled into arms, legs and grins all covered in scales and barbs. Cackling erupted from the Cactus Daddies as they danced, waving their arms in a sign of aggression.

King Louis didn’t wait. He yowled and raked at the nearest gremlin, removing an arm that fell apart like meaty fruit gushing with black nectar. Spines on the monster’s skin scathed the King’s delicate paws and, though he cried out, he continued hacking the Cactus Daddy into a salad.

The light from Princessa’s pupil-less eyes fell on one of the remaining two cacti, brightened hotter until her target caught fire. Screaming, flailing around, shedding fiery darts that started much of the backyard ablaze. Sheets on the clothing line burnt up in seconds, but the fences and house took longer to kindle.

“SCREEEEEE!” Then it exploded, creating more fire. The last gremlin tried to escape. By then, sirens filled the air and were getting nearer, louder. If they didn’t kill it before the fire department arrived, there was a solid chance it would get hosed and reproduce. Tripling their efforts, the clowder harried the cactus daddy with claws and teeth but failed to cut it down in time. Emergency response was there, smaller vehicles swarmed around a large, red behemoth parked in the street. Men in uniforms were scrambling around, barking commands at one another, preparing to fight the fire. In its moment of desperation, the gremlin broke free of its slayers, leaping into the air and catching a high velocity beam of water that sent it spiraling into the night sky. The cats gave chase.

Cactus Daddy flew far, but couldn’t have left the neighborhood. Around the block they spotted a house that had a hole in front on the second floor. Pajama-clad onlookers showed the way.

The gaping wound provided entry for the royal couple; Princessa could not make it up the blue siding before a pit bull shot out from the shadows, bounding toward her. She was taken by surprise and the beast got its maw around her flank. In the next turn, she flew over the chain-linked fence.

Some unholy commotion could be heard on the floor below. King and Queen slipped unnoticed into the kitchen where a family had been taken hostage by the daddy of all cacti and his many children. Four humans (two adults, the rest children) were tied together by rope and seated on the kitchen table. A few feet away from that was an island topped with shiny stone where upon Cactus Daddy lorded over the hellish dinner. More granite counter top surrounded these features on both sides. On the white tiled floor bounced little, grinning, singing gremlin cacti balls. Opposite the staircase (where the cats were hiding), past the hostages was a door that led out to the side of the property.

Beyond that was the neighbor’s fence, behind which Princessa was shielded from the dog. She stalled for a moment to consider her next move and also to lick off some of that sprinkler spit, ignoring the snarling, whining tail-wagger. Getting inside the house was going to be tricky.

While the gremlins were distracted in their gaiety, Queen Beyonce hopped onto the counter and threw a large appliance at Cactus Daddy, knocking him to the floor.

“That goddamned cat threw my microwave!” Said the father, tied up on the table. His lack of gratitude wounded Beyonce. King Louis leaped over the spiky gremlins and reached the other side of the dining area, unlocked and swung open the exit. The fiend that hounded down Princessa looked in Louis’ direction. Its ears perked high up and its head cocked, eyes wide with surprise, then it bolted after the cat on his side of the fence.

Meanwhile, Beyonce was overwhelmed by bodiless gremlins. They didn’t really attack her, their prickles tangled in her fur like evil brambles, immobilizing her. These devilish poof balls giggled and chomped at her, hoping to taste blood but her coat was too think. Rescue burst through the door in the form of a pit bull. The giant, dumb thing endeavored to catch King Louis; once again it changed objectives: without a moment of hesitation, the family pet was upon Cactus Daddy, who was still on the floor reeling from the microwave attack. Mighty jaws clamped down on the foe, and the dog shook its whole body with surprising force. Cactus Daddy was wiggled apart into hundreds of globby pieces.

His fruit-sized offspring would soon cease their laughter as well. In seconds the canine slaughterer had nothing left between its fangs and it looked to the next distraction. Cacti babies bounced off but not quickly enough and pit bull smashed them one by one under its massive paws. On their way out, the clowder stopped so that Queen Beyonce could amend a wrong-doing. Still very upset at the man’s comment, she jumped onto the man’s shoulders. By now, he and the rest of his family had passed out from the excitement, but he could still be redeemed. Leaning over the unconscious man with her paws on the top of his head, Beyonce released golden redemption into his face. It was a lesson he would be washing off for days.