Chubby Chick and Cheeky Chick lay around the coop listlessly. Henrika was a little worried. The chicks had lost their chirpiness. Chubby was chubby no more and Cheeky was anything but cheeky. She had to do something to elevate their mood.
“Chicks! Why are you always mooning around the house these days? Let me call Uncle Cattrick. He will take you two out and you all can have a good time.”
The two of them flapped their little wings and cried , “No mommy! Not Uncle Cattrick!”
Henrika was surprised. She and Cattrick had come together to Farmer Erik’s and they were the best of friends, even though some people thought they shouldn’t be. He was the quintessential cool cat, always with a joke but ready to lend a paw whenever needed. He was the chicks’ godfather too.
“What’s the matter? He’s always so full of fun and games for you all to play. Why don’t you want to go with him? You can tell me,” she coaxed clucking.
“He plays bad games. He wants us to tickle him with our beaks and scratch him in strange places,” Chubby chirped.
“He also looks at us and licks his lips, like eating ice cream,” Cheeky added.
Henrika was devastated. She felt as if the sky had fallen on her head. It was hard to believe but she could count on her chicks to tell the truth.
She resolved to accost Cattrick. But first she needed to talk to her flock.
Cattrick came in some time later. “Look what the cat dragged in!” He grinned.
“You purrvert!” She sputtered, mad as a wet hen. “How could you do this?”
“Wow, you’re in a fowl mood today. Get it? Ha ha..!”
“The cat is out of the bag, Cattrick. I know what you’ve been doing with the chicks.”
“What are you clucking about Henrika? Don’t get your feathers in a bunch over some chicken rumours. I’m your friend. Anyway, everyone knows you henfolk get together and cackle mindlessly,” he mewed derisively.
“The chicks told me everything. You’ve been the cat among the chickens. The whole flock knows about your foul pa(w)ssions. Now leave before I peck you out of one of your nine lives.”
“Ha! You threatening me? Aren’t you counting your chickens before they have hatched?”
Henrika clucked loudly and soon all the henfolk from the farm gathered round her. They looked nothing less than Amazons with their proud combs, beaks, and claws. Cattrick stared at them fearfully.
“Cat got your tongue, Cattrick? We might be hens but we’re no chicken. Run away quickly now, otherwise you will be resembling a headless chicken soon.”
Cattrick knew that the chicken had come home to roost for him. He slunk away, fearful of those sharp beaks and pointed claws. And so the brave henfolk belled the cat and prevented a ‘cat’astrophe.
A cool cat might be mighty cool, but
If you trust him blindly, you’re just a fool.
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