Bird was on campus when he noticed Kafka angrily feeding the squirrels chicken tenders from the university café.
“Man, if you aren’t going to eat those- not all of us have Tenure for just showing up. I just had a spit roasted rat for breakfast with homemade potato chips.”
‘That’s actually metal.” Replied Kafka, genuinely meaning it. “Have you ever eaten random cans of seafood just to gross out AND out pretentious human beings?”
“Sir, my Birthright is pretention. Trash Royalty of Chicago still bleeds blue, homeslice.” Bird replied with a fist-bump. “So how do you like the nepo-baby Ombudsman gig.”
“I’m not an Ombudsman.” Kafka states.
” …and I’m not a trained Sufi Shaykh.” Bird responds. Glaring. He was now also a catboy; yet, more menacing than before. Sharp grey ears, claws, and teeth just a little bit pointier in just the right places to look pleasantly threatening. “Would you like my assistance with arguing your case to the command hierarchy I refuse to respect? I have had three cups of coffee in addition to Rat & potatoes.”
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“To whomever is in the old Ombudsman’s office, duh. Butthead…which is, where, exactly?” Bird inquired.
Kafka sighed as Bird tailed behind him a half step like a skulking grey shadow with cat ears as he passed through his Dad’s old classroom, up the stairs, around the landing, past the bathrooms on the right and terrible writers on the left, on the left hand side…
….just as Kafka was about to knock.
Bird firmly grasped the door handle and consciously turned it open- much to Kafka’s horror and trepidation.
Inside, was exactly Whom Kafka thought was meant to be in this office, with similar carved bookshelves to his own, inlaid with soft warm lighting at a switch [and secret compartments, at least in Kafka’s]
Around Duke Leto2’s neck was a black cat, asleep and lightly drooling over his left pocket, snoring lightly showing a peak at a tiny metal Fang.
“FFS, THIS IS NOT PLOT RESOLUTION” screamed Bird.
“Narrative theme on repeat since 2008, hackneyed. Played out. No mirrors, no cell phones, no watches either. C’mon guys. This is getting really really old.” pleaded Kafka.
“Shh.” Duke cautioned, “Cat is sleeping. Cat Fang is radio. Man pacemaker is also radio. Fang plus pacemaker is peace.” explained Duke Leto.
“This is the most unreasonable justification for the “cat scarf” plot device ever, Duke. Just come clean.”
Duke shrugged and removed the cat from over his heart.
….and suddenly the radio echoed off of every surface of the room in concert,
“-Can you hear me? This is #NATSEC-FISHHAWK-ALPHA-SEEKING IMMEDIATE EXTRACTION. INCREASE IN INSTITUTIONAL PRESSURE HAS RENDERED ESCAPE VECTORS FROM WITHIN VOID AT THIS TIME. MY HEALTH IS AS FOLLOWS: POISONED, YES. CHELATION: SOMEWHAT. ACADEMIC RIGOR-“
Bird gently picked the black cat up from the desk. Patted Ruh on the head a few times, then replaced him right back on Duke’s shoulder.
“Stagnation or relational stability?” postulated Mewlana Duke Leto2.
He couldn’t be Ibn Arabi until his fur grew back.
He really regrets his haircut. When you sheer the human mane, the fur of the cat is also shorn.
The Chronicals of Alaraf 