Every muscle in his body shuddered as he watched yet another display from his over-active neighbor. Fascinated, yet horrified, these nightly productions had seeped into his soul. He could no more look away than he could chew off his own leg.

The spectacle was too fascinating, and too angering, to ignore.

Miss Thang, as he liked to call her, seemed to have a penchant for the roar of the greasepaint, and smell of the crowd. She reveled in wagging her tail-end around for everyone to see, much to the delight of the onlookers.

Why did he watch? Even he didn't know. Perhaps it was to see her fall. To see the crowd throw a terrapin at her instead of tasty morsels.

But no, it was deeper than that. She had that grace that fed his own will-o-the-wisp desire to be on Broadway. Galleycat or not, the girl had the moves.

"What’cha doing?"

The voice at his shoulder had him spinning around. He shuttered his envy with a look of contempt.

"Ah, her again," his woman whispered. "You really have to let go of that, you know." Her hand slipped to his back and she shouted out the half-raised window, "Yoh. Yeah you. Your mother wear's army boots!"

He cringed at her crude, snarky tone, knowing that he could no longer hide as a harmless bystander. She'd muddled everything up. All eyes were on them both, and he felt obligated to shout a taunt of his own.

"Yeah, that's right, um..." He had to pause to think. No way he wanted to be in this position now. Life was tough enough without pissing off everyone in the neighborhood. And he was outnumbered by far. He yelped out the words, "Show us some promenading poodles."

Just saying it gave him strength. "Yeah, stop this happy, crappy bat segundo and give us a real show." For emphasis, he added, "Amateur!"

It should have made him feel great, and it did, until Miss Thang gave him a misty look through her big green eyes. She hopped from the stage in nothing flat, tail tucked between her legs.

He knew in that moment he’d just destroyed a fellow artist. Maybe not someone who performed things he was in to, but an artist none the less.

At his back, his woman said, "It will be okay. She is good, and strong. Granted, I got a bit tough, but the true test of whether she wants it enough is if she can take criticism. And a bit of taunting. The whole world is hers if she just works for it."

And he knew it was true. He leaned his head into her hand, searching for the ear-scratch he desperately needed. All would be well for Miss Thang if she was tough enough.

She sighed. "Okay, enough of this. There’s a Clooney movie on and ... I need you to check out these bunions. I should give up wearing sandals.."

Yap sighed.

Another exciting night in NYC.

If this was truly New Yorkers it would be "ya mutha wears fucking army boots"...but no matter.
Killer Yapp (two p's please) is glad to find himself in the mix.

Scores to come

1 comment:

Jade L Blackwater said...

I have mental images of cats doing the can-can on stage...