Prologue
As our playlet opens, Fluffypuss sits guard high atop the tchotchke cabinet in a ‘Burbian living room. Practicing mindfulness, she breathes in for two. Holds. Exhales for four. Naked as a jaybird except for a sapphire blue collar and hot pink ID tag, Fluffypuss wonders, “is smoking weed around your cat bad?” A multitasker, she simultaneously hums, in a shout-out to Don Quixote,
Patient to a fault, Fluffypuss waits for a hot chance to ambush the ever-wobbling Passing Authority Figure (PAF) whose unsteadiness implies a taste for Mary Jane. Fluffypuss’s sister, Peekaboo, the family alpha puss, is in the kitchen, methodically picking out chicken bones from the household trash. She aspires to be a forensic anthropologist.
The PAF enters the room wearing a bright yellow polyester, ankle-length robe. Taking an occasional toke on a joint, she is higher than a kite, but always alert to life’s many alluring opportunities for the improvement of others. She is a serious person.
Act I: The Best Revenge Is A Good Dump
F-Puss: “Hey, lady. Who let the dogs out?”
PAF: “We don’t have any dogs.”
F-Puss: “My point exactly.”
PAF: “Oh, Fluffypuss. My pussy wussy. Let mommy give you a big kissy wissy.”
F-Puss: “Give me liberty or give me death. Immediately.”
PAF: “Come to momma and let me kissy your nosey.”
F-Puss: “Hey, lady! You’re stoned.”
PAF: “This is good shit, man!…Mmmm…I want to kissy your nosey!”
F-Puss: “Lady, if you kissy my nosey, I will take a revenge dump in your lingerie drawer.”
PAF: “But, Fluffypuss – “
Intermission: Popcorn, Soda, and M&Ms For Sale in the Lobby
Act II: Is Smoking Weed Around Your Cat Bad?
F-Puss: “Lady, talking to you is like engaging in conversation with a lamp. Sometimes the light’s on; but mostly it’s off. Don’t you pay the electric bill?”
PAF: “I am a good mommy! I perform exotic dances for you and Peekaboo, wearing only a turban and my silver Manolo Blahniks!”
F-Puss: “I believe that, at the time, I was staring out the window watching Skippy the Squirrel try not to electrocute himself on the power line.”
PAF: “But you love it when I rub the side of your head. Why can’t I kissy your nosey?”
F-Puss: “You have no concept of boundaries, do you?”
Emotionally drenched silence
F-Puss: “Let me put it to you this way. Being kissed on my nosey is demeaning. It infantilizes me. It embarrasses me in front of my friends.”
PAF: “But you don’t have any friends. Just your sister.”
Intermission: Marie Jane & Pot Brownies For Sale in the Lobby
Act III: Boundaries: The Bedrock of Relationships
F-Puss: “Ya know what, lady? Every time you kissy me on my nosey Peekaboo gives me A. BIG. FAT. NOOGIE. I’m tired of being her punching bag just because you have nosey issues.”
PAF: “So what I’m hearing you say is that you need boundaries.”
F-Puss: “You bet your sweet bippy. I want to live my own life. To dream the impossible dream. I want to get a room of my own in the city. Ya know. Like that dame, what’s her name…Virginia Woof Woof?”
PAF: “But you can’t afford a room of your own in the city. You don’t have a credit rating.”
F-Puss: “How do you know?”
PAF: “Tell me, what else would make you happy, my Fluffy-wuffy-pussy-wussy? How about a toke? Or I can roll a new one just for you.”
F-Puss: “Hey, lady. Are you a stoner?”
PAF: “Fliffy-wiffy-pissy-wissy! It’s not nice to call your momma a stoner! Hey, do you have any chocolate? Or maybe some Oreos?”
Intermission: Dance Party in the Lobby!
ACT IV: The Fur Flies
F-Puss: “Lady! Listen! Going forward, you are to treat me like an equal. No more baby talk. You will pet me only on the sides of my head, 10 times per side, after meals and before bedtime. And I’m not happy with snack. Next time try truffles.”
PAF: “Do we need parent-child counseling?”
F-Puss: “Lady, I think you need counseling.”
PAF: “But Fluffy-wuffy-ookum-snookums. I’ve been in therapy for 49 years. Can’t you tell?”
F-Puss: “Not really. I also want you to change my name. ‘Fluffypuss’ is humiliating. It conjures images of your hoo hoo fur burger. It makes me want to stick my left paw down my throat and heave a fur ball right smack into the middle of your granola.”
PAF: “What name do you want?”
Emotionally drenched silence
F-Puss: “Pussypants.”
PAF: “My wittle Pussypants. I want to give you the biggest wittle kissie right on your nosey posy.”
P-Pants: “DO. NOT. KISS. ME. ON. MY. NOSE. DO. NOT. DO. IT.”
Giant smooching sounds. Peekaboo enters carrying a dead mouse and a drumstick. She stalks Pussypants and pounces. Fur flies. And then…Boom! Bop! Boogie! Woogie! Noogie!!!
