“Poor guy,” Travis says, patting the kitten lightly on the head. Looking at Nick he says, “This is the most spoiled cat on the planet, man.”

“Except for when John scares the bejesus out of it,” Nick remarks. “Or when you put him in paper bags.”

“What? He likes the bags, man.”

“Not when they’re stapled shut.”

Ian laughs and looks to Travis.

“It’s funny as hell. He totally loses it. I’ve never seen a cat go so berserk.”

“That’s mean,” Ian argues.

“Nah. I treated my little sister the same way—makes ‘em tough.”

“You put your sister in a paper bag and stapled it shut?” Nick asks.

“Oh yeah.”

“No wonder…”

“All right,” Travis admits with a shrug, “she’s not exactly well-adjusted, but she’s tough!”

Ian watches, wondering which parts of the conversation are true. He didn’t grown up with Nick and Travis and can never guess what’s fact from bullshit.

Travis turns to Ian to defend his actions. “Despite what Nick will tell you, I did not staple the bag shut. I just crumpled the top shut. And I only did it twice.”

“Three times,” Nick argues.

“Whatever,” Travis says.

Absinthe yawns and stretches and then begins sharpening his claws on Travis jeans.

“What’d he do?” Ian asks.

“It is hilarious. He totally freaked out when I let him out. He was running from one room to the next like a bolt for about ten minutes.”

Turning to Nick, Ian suggests, “That cat is a little demented.”

Nick just shrugs. What animal living with John, Travis and himself wouldn’t be a bit off its rocker?

Still thought, the noise the cat made was maybe a bit much.

Travis picks Absinthe up, the kitten’s claws detaching from his jeans, and tosses it lightly to the floor. A little disoriented, the black cat examines the room for a moment and then makes its way into Ian’s lap.

“Hey there,” Ian says nicely, reaching out to scratch Absinthe’s head.

In a fit, the cat falls onto its back and attacks Ian’s hand ferociously with all four legs. Ian grapples confused and shocked with it for a moment and then shoves it to the floor. “Shit,” he says, examining his newly wounded hand.

“Now tell me you wouldn’t stick it in a paper bag for fun.”

Nick just shakes his head. “He’s just play-ing,” he says, making the schizophrenic behavior out to sound adorable.

“What’s the story?” Ian asks, changing the subject.

Travis gets up to peer into the kitchen at the clock on the wall. “We’re supposed to meet Kristin at Shitty Bar in about a half an hour,” he replies making his way back to his seat. Absinthe, having disappeared for a moment now suddenly appears behind Travis, maniacally clawing its way up the back of the couch and taking a swing at his head. As soon as he turns to confront the blur behind him, the kitten dives back down into the chasm behind the couch. “She’s got a friend visiting, and wants us to show him the town.”

“That oughta’ be fun,” Ian replies.

“I figure we’ll get him real drunk and get him laid. That about sums up any given night here.”

“Just about,” Nick agrees.

Ian starts laughing at something he’s thought of. Nick and Travis wait until he stops. “You –” Ian says, trying to talk through convulsions, “you should introduce him to the Flod.”

Travis and Nick both wince at the thought. “I just don’t think that would be very nice,” Nick says.

“That’s just mean, man,” Travis agrees.

Just then, John walks in. “Okay — let’s go.”

“Well. Thank you so much for joining us,” Travis says sarcastically.

“Sorry. I got held up.”

“Yeah, we should definitely go,” Ian interjects, checking his watch.

They all wait for each other to make a move.

“All right,” Travis says, “who’s drivin’?”

“Not it!” Ian and Nick say at the same time.

“I’m not drivin’ your asses anywhere,” John replies.

“We could all pile on the motorcycle,” Travis offers.

“I’m tired of bein’ the driving bitch.”

Travis reaches down into his pants pocket. “I got ten bucks. Anybody beats me to the Engine Room gets a pitcher on me.”

“You serious?” Nick stops to ask, but John is already off the couch heading for the door. Ian leaps past Travis and intercepts John, just sliding past. John manages to grab Ian’s shirt and pulls him back into the apartment where Nick, having finished pulling on his shoes, pushes past both of them. John follows, and Ian, having stumbled a little hurtles himself out the door, using the door frame for leverage. Travis stands up out of the armchair, looks around the apartment and then at his ten dollar bill. Nodding, and speaking quietly to Alexander Hamilton, he says, “Well, that worked.”

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy, Unthreaded