Grumpy Tom -- The Conclusion

I saw Grumpy Tom approaching in the dark.  Weeds bent in his wake as if they had been knocked down by something heavy.  And he was making enough noise to embarrass most cats.  None of it was hissing.  In fact, he was crunching so many leaves and breaking over small decorative trees that tomorrow he would probably be impeached as king of the gunslinger cats.

Goon.

I could hear something metallic scraping over the concrete beneath me.  It stopped in front of my driver's side tire and Grumpy Tom flopped down on his side.

"You're panting," I said.

"No I'm not," he panted.  "I'm practicing hissing."

I really, really wanted to roll my eyes at him, but being a car I have only that one expression and it's difficult to read. 

"There," he said.  "Proof."

"You mean that you're a gunslinger?"

He was wearing what humans call a ten-gallon hat.  Scaled down to cat-size, it was probably a couple of tablespoons at best.  It was also bright yellow.  He wore a spiky collar with a name tag on it that said, "Grumpy Judy."  The ensemble also included a vest, white, with a John Travolta picture on the back in his iconic Saturday Night Fever pose.  The chaps looked to be on backward.  And he wore one purple boot, compete with a spur that flashed when he walked, like those lights in kids' sneakers. 

It wasn't until he quit moving and the spur quit flashing that I noticed the gun.  A string tied the massive weapon to his waist.  I thought surely someone had mounted a pistol grip onto a canon.  He tried to shove it toward me.  It moved a little bit.  I could now see that etched into the metal was the Smith & Wesson logo and the words .50 cal magnum. 

"This is how I saved your life tonight," Grumpy Tom said.

I said, "Can you even pick that thing up?  I mean, seriously, doesn't NASA use something like that as a backup for their rockets?"

"I can pick it up, and I will again tonight.  Because one of them got away."

"One of who?"

"Demons," Grumpy Tom said.  "Elephant demons."

It took a moment for that to set in.  I couldn't decide whether he meant demons that plague elephants or jumbo economy-sized demons.

"And the one that eluded me," he said and hissed.  "Was a Jedi."

I'm pretty sure I did roll my eyes that time.  "You've been eating the gun powder, haven't you?" I said.  "There was no one out there, and there certainly was not anything out of Star Wars.  George Lucas wouldn't let any of his Jedi play with you."

I then heard a thump on the roof and the tree next to the carport trembled.

"He's here," Grumpy whispered and pounced onto his pistol. 

Whatever it was moved down the slope of the roof.  I was pretty certain that the ceiling of the carport was going to come crashing down on top of us.  It would have been nice if Grumpy Tom had at least gotten the trigger cocked before that.

The roof didn't fall, but I heard a great impact upon the ground followed by a demonic growl. 

"Stupid trigger!"

Grumpy Tom had managed to move the pistol upright and propped it against my tire so it would not fall.  He was jumping up and down, spur flashing vigorously, and trying to move the hammer back.

Deep, wretched laughter came from behind the wall.  A blob-shaped shadow stretched across the grass in the moonlight and was moving closer.

There was a click at my tire.  Grumpy Tom hopped onto my hood and shouted, "I got it!  I got it!"

"Yes, but you left the gun by my tire!"

He hissed and tumbled back to the concrete.

The shadow shape was within a single step of breaking into view.  It paused, though, and let out the only in-person elephant trumpet that I would ever hear.  Then, finally, it stepped forward.

This pachyderm was eleven feet tall with glowing eyes, crimson like the LEDs in Grumpy Tom's spur.  Parts of its flesh appeared to be missing.  I didn't know whether it had rotten and fell off or whether it was a remnant of its encounter with the gray-striped gunslinger by my tire.

"Stupid trigger!" he yelled again.

"Grumpy Tom we need to get out of here!  Good Lord!  My parking brake is still on!"

"The trigger won't move!"

The elephant demon then lifted its head and stretched its trunk straight out.  I expected another trumpet blast.  But what I heard instead was a sizzle of energy, followed by a blinding lightsaber green glow.  It was his trunk.

He raised his trunksaber and clipped several tree branches that fell in a shower of sparks. 

"Stupid, stupid trigger!"

The trunksaber came crashing down.

"I AM A GUNSLINGER!" Grumpy Tom screamed, then let out the longest, loudest hiss yet (and I'm sure an equivalent butt pucker).  I don't know whether he even touched the trigger.  I doubt it.  I think the hiss is what did it.  There was an explosion as the gun went off.

A blazing .50 caliber bullet streaked from under my front bumper.  A yellow cowboy hat followed it and veered off into the grass somewhere.  The bullet struck the elephant demon just above the ankle, and the impact actually lifted the beast from the ground.  Both disintegrated into raven-colored ash.

Grumpy Tom was lying against the opposite wall.  I noticed just above him a roughly cat-sized dent in the bottom of the screen door. 

"You okay?" I said.

"Yep."  Then he hissed at me. 

The blast had actually knocked him out of his boot, which was sitting upright on the concrete and flickering.

The next morning Grumpy Tom was gone.  I missed him.  I guess I finally got rid of him, though.

Damn boot didn't quit flashing for four days.