Mark Blackey   as Tom                         Edward Crosby Wells as Timtu

A One-Act Play by 
Edward Crosby Wells

2M, No Set, Approx. 40 minutes.
Timtu Chatterley, a finicky Siamese, and Tom, the street-smart alley cat, meet in the parking lot of a hospital where Timtu’s mistress, Lady Chatterley, is a patient.  A clash of cultures ensues between the haves and have-nots, the entrapped and the free spirit. 

The TIME is early evening.  
The ACTION takes place in the parking lot of a city hospital—in and around parked cars. 
THE CHARACTERS are two cats, TOM and TIMTU.

Whiskers opened at the Newburgh Civic Theatre with MARC BLACKEY  as Tom & EDWARD CROSBY WELLS as Timtu.  It reopened at The Monster in New York City on October 12, 2005, under the title "Helga Schmidt’s Pussy"  with the following cast and crew:

Tom - Larray Grimes 
Timtu - Cynthia Toronto
Lighting - Louis Lopardi
Sound - Frank Calo
Stage Manager - Kevin Kelly
Director - Steven Thornburg

TIMTU is sitting on a ladder overlooking TOM, who is rummaging through a garbage can.  TIMTU surveys his surroundings from atop the ladder.  They take their time and go about their business before TOM speaks.

TOM: (Turns from garbage and spots TIMTU.)  Hey!  You in the car! 
TIMTU: (Reluctant.) Are you meowing to me? 
TOM: Yeah.  I’m meowing to you. 
TIMTU: Well, um . . . hello. 
TOM: (Crossing toward TIMTU.) Come out of that car. 
TIMTU: I’m afraid I can't do that. 
TOM: Yes you can. Get on outta there.
TIMTU: I can't.  
TOM: Kitty kitty can’t?
TIMTU: I can, too.  I'm just not supposed to. 
TOM: You always do what you're ‘sposed to? 
TIMTU: I try. 
TOM: How hard? 
TIMTU: Hard enough.  
TOM: Hardly enough.
TIMTU: I do what is expected . . . most of the time. 
TOM: You look like an “all the time” cat to me.
TIMTU: I don’t like to brag.
TOM: Ain’t that grand. 
TIMTU: If I didn't do what they expected, they wouldn't keep me around, now would they?
TOM: You tell me. 
TIMTU: No, they wouldn’t.  So I maintain a low profile.  Below the radar.  Keep to myself.  Don’t make waves.  Respect the status quo.  Give them no excuse to . . .
TOM: To . . . ?
TIMTU: I don’t want to find out.
TOM: What kind of people they are?
TIMTU: They’re good people.
TOM: That kind of people, huh? 
TIMTU: They’re not that kind of people. 
TOM: They certainly are that kind of people. 
TIMTU: You tell me what kind of people!
TOM: Unforgiving.  Go to church on Sunday so’s they can gossip about who wasn’t there and how short So-and-So’s skirt was and how hung-over Old Such-and-Such looked  . . . that kind of people. 
TIMTU: The best kind of people.  Upright. Upstanding. 
TOM: Uppitty. Uptight.
TIMTU: They pay their bills on time. They go to party caucuses. 
TOM: Of caucus they do.
TIMTU: They do what’s expected of them, and I do what’s expected of me because they  expect me to do it. 
TOM: Gotta love the logic.  What exactly do they expect? 
TIMTU: Use the litter box.  Stay off the coffee table, the furniture, the laps of others.  Never stray . . . De-clawed. 
TOM: Oh, man!
TIMTU: You get used to it.
TOM: Neutered, too, right?
TIMTU: Naturally.
TOM: Unnaturally, you mean.
TIMTU: Twice, in fact. 
TOM: Don’t tell me you have… had… 
TIMTU: First time didn’t take. 
TOM: Phew. 
TIMTU: They cut the wrong thing. 
TOM: What thing?
TIMTU: I don’t know.  They never mention it.
TOM: (Losing patience.)  Are you going to come out of that car?
TIMTU: Why? 
TOM: So we can meow like brothers. 
TIMTU: I can meow from here. 
TOM: Nah. We can’t have no confidentiality with you in there and me out here. ‘Sides, we don't want to disturb the hospital patients, now do we? 
TIMTU: I didn't think of that. 
TOM: Time to start thinkin’, brother.  (A pause to wait for him to come out of the car.)  Well?
TIMTU: Well what? 
TOM: You coming out or you want me to come in?  (Approaching him.) 
TIMTU: No!  You can't come in here.  This is my mistress’s car. 
TOM: Whose? 
TIMTU: The lady of the house . . . Lady Chatterley. 
TOM: Some lady.  She drives last year’s model . . . and foreign, to boot. 
TIMTU: Honey Buns gave it to her when he got the new Cat-ill-ac. 
TOM: You mean Cad-ill-ac. 
TIMTU: I mean, Cat-ill-ac. 
TOM: You’re a real laugh riot, ya know that?  I take it Honey Buns is her awful lawful wedded? 
TIMTU: He’s the man of the house.  Lord of the manor, he calls himself.  But  I belong to Lady Chatterley. 
TOM: Cats ain’t ‘sposed to belong to nobody.
TIMTU: She pets me and grooms me and calls me “Lady Chatterley’s poody cat.” 
TOM: Whoa.  She’s out of it, huh? 
TIMTU: She’s very affectionate. 
TOM: No doubt.  (An introspective pause.)  I’ve been called worse. 
TIMTU: By whom? 
TOM: Get you.  By whom.  Ain’t you the royal puss.  
TIMTU: I am, actually.  Siamese, you know.  Descended from royalty. 
TOM: But of course, your highness.  The night you were born the stork took a detour.  (After a pause. )  So. You coming out or am I coming in? 
TIMTU: I can't have guests getting fur all over the seats.  Besides, you’re not declawed.
TOM: You better believe I’m not.  So come out.  
TIM: Only for a short while. 
TOM: As long as you like.
TIMTU: (Prepares to jump.)  Here I come.  I’m going to jump.  (Hesitant.) 
TOM: OK . . . so jump already. 
TIMTU:  I’m trying. 
TOM: Come on.  Piece o’ cake. 
TIMTU: I can’t. 
TOM: Reason being…? 
TIMTU: Suppose I can't get back in?
TOM: You’ll get back in. 
TIMTU: You don’t know that.  There’s a certain probability that once I’m out I won’t be able to get back in.  Then where will I be?
TOM: Where do you think you’ll be? 
TIMTU: Stranded.  I’ll be stranded. 
TOM: No sweat. I’ll help you. 
TIMTU: How? 
TOM: (Losing patience.)  I don't know how because it ain’t happened yet. 
TIMTU: How can you help me if you don't know how? 
TOM: I'll think of a way. 
TIMTU: When? 
TOM: When I need to. 
TIMTU: Suppose Honey Buns comes back before you think of a way? 
TOM: He won't. 
TIMTU: You can’t know that.  Suppose he does?  Suppose he leaves without me?  Suppose some stranger finds me and picks me up for a stray before Honey Buns discovers I’m missing?  Or suppose no one at all finds me?  Oh, Feline!  Nobody finds me and then I’m lost.  Out in the cold. No hearth, no home, no Fancy Feast. Suppose when he comes back to find me I'm not here?  Suppose he doesn’t come back . . . 
TOM: (Harshly.)  Suppose the world ends tomorrow! 
TIMTU: The world couldn’t possibly end tomorrow! 
TOM: Right.  And you couldn’t possibly get lost. (Relents)  OK, look.  If you jump out and stay near the car -- as soon as you hear Honey Buns coming, you jump on the hood, then to the roof, and then you slip back in through the window.  How’s that sound? 
TIMTU: Sensible. 
TOM: Never been called that before. 
TIMTU: OK.  Here I come.  (Jumps from ladder.) 
TOM: Doesn't that feel better? 
TOM: Sure it does! You’re free now. 
TIMTU: I don’t feel free. 
TOM: You do.  You just don’t know it yet. It’ll grow on you, you’ll see. (Observing collar.)  Nice collar.  Real rhinestones, I bet.
TIMTU: Probably.  I don’t know.
TOM: Of course, you don’t.  (A beat.)  So, what’s your handle? 
TIMTU: Pardon me? 
TOM: Your name.  What’s your fuzzle-lovin’ name? 
TIMTU: You don’t have to swear.  It’s Timtu Chatterley.  
TOM: Tim Two??  Oh. I get it.  Cuz of those two operations.  They shoulda called you Tim Zip.
TIMTU: Huh?? 
TOM: (A pause to stare at TIMTU expectantly.)  OK.  Thank you for asking, Tim Two.  My name is Thomas Q. Hunnicut the Third. 
TIMTU: Impressive!
TOM: Get real.  I ain’t swanky like you.   Just plain Tom.  That’s me. 
TIMTU: Hi, Tom. 
TOM: Hello, Tim Two.  (Licks his fists and wipes them on TIM's head.  Proudly.)  Now you’re ‘nitiated.  Do you know what I am? 
TIMTU: (Pause)  Domestic? 
TOM: (Angered) Why are cats so quick to judge?  (Mimics) Domestic?  Why can’t you meow what you really think? 
TIMTU: What do I really think? 
TOM: You should know. 
TIMTU: Apparently, I don’t. 
TOM: What was it they snipped ’fore they got it right?  All right, all right.  I’m an alley cat!  A great big, filthy, garbage-pickin’ alley cat!  You got a problem with that?  
TIMTU: Most assuredly not.
TOM: Meow me alley.
TIMTU: I would never meow such a thing. 
TOM: Meow it. 
TIMTU: You’re a bully, and I don’t negotiate with bullies. 
TOM: Meow it, I said, meow it!  Alley! 
TIMTU: Alley.  Happy now?  
TOM: Do I look happy?
TIMTU: I’m not judgmental, not in the least..  I was brought up better than that. 
TOM: Oh, man. You are . . . yes,  you definitely are.  You are indeed . . .
TIMTU: What?  What?
TOM: Whipped.  That Lady Chatterley,  she owns you, cat.
TIM: Of course she does.
TOM: And you’re cool with that?
TIMTU: Better than living in an, an . . .
TOM: An, an, an . . . alley?  Is that what you’re trying to meow?
TIMTU: I’m sorry. 
TOM: For meowing alley?   Or thinking alley? 
TIMTU: I don't know? 
TOM: Maybe you need to figure that out. 
TIMTU: I will.  OK?
TOM: I got nothin’ but time.  (After a pause.)  Do you want to do it? 
TIMTU: Do what?
TOM: A little sniff . . . 
TIMTU: Certainly not! 
TOM: Don’t want to fuzzle?
TIMTU: No.  No fuzzling.
TOM: How come? 
TIMTU: I told you I was neutered.  
TOM: Twice.
TIMTU: Besides, it wouldn't be right, now would it? 
TOM: Excuuuuse me.  I forgot that you’re Siamese and I'm common domestic. 
TIMTU That’s not it. 
TOM: Rat droppings! 
TIMTU: It’s simply not done. 
TOM: Think you’re too good? 
TIMTU: No.  It's just that you're . . . well, you’re a male and I’m a male. 
TOM: Hello!  I get that! 
TIMTU: It’s simply not done, that's all. 
TOM: Not done by . . . whom? 
TIMTU: By anybody.  By proper, well-bred cats. 
TOM: Well-bred, indeed.  It’s done all the time.  You’re a cat and nobody cares what cats do. 
TIMTU: They most certainly do! 
TOM: Garbage!  It's different when you’re a cat.  If you were people and I were people, they might say, “Look at the public fuzzilators!”  But we ain’t.  We’re cats.  No one cares. Instead, they say things like, “Aren’t they naughty” or “Isn’t that cute?”  They never say, “Look at the fuzzilators.” 
TIMTU: You may have a point. I never thought about it that way. 
TOM: Tim Two, there’s a lot you haven’t thought about. 
TIMTU: You needn’t be rude. 
TOM: No.  I must be. 
TIMTU: (After a pause.)  OK.  I have given the matter some thought. 
TOM: And? 
TIMTU: If you want to. 
TOM: Are you sure?  You’re not gonna get bent out of shape or somethin’?
TIMTU: I won’t, but I don't want you to think I'm . . . you know. 
TOM: Prejudiced? 
TIMTU: I wouldn’t meow that. 
TOM: Of course you wouldn’t.  You’re royalty.  You’re Lady Chatterley’s royal little poody cat. 
TIMTU: That’s unfair.  
TOM: I don’t have your hang-ups, pretty poody.  I can tell you that.  Us alley cats don’t strut around with our noses higher than our tails.
TIMTU: I don’t, either.  I don’t think I’m any better than you.  We’re just different.  I’m Siamese and I’ve never come face to face, nose to nose, paw to paw with . . . a member of the domestic family.  I mean, alley. 
TOM: Now you have.  (Taking a sniff.)
TIMTU: Now I have. (Sniffing back.)
TOM: (Sniffing.) You smell like television, wax paper and fish from a can. 
TIMTU: (Insulted.  Sniffing himself.)  I don’t smell anything.
TOM: Nobody smells their own stink.  (A beat.)  We happen to be the majority, you know.  (Sniffing.)
TIMTU: I didn't know.   
TOM: That’s a fact, Jack!  (Stops sniffing.)
TIMTU: Strange, your being in the majority.  I never really thought that domestic . . . I mean, alley cats were all that common.  Not common.  That’s not what I meant at all.  Oh, some days there are simply too many words with too many meanings.  I only meant . . . there are a lot of you, aren’t there? 
TOM: What of it?
TIMTU. I’m merely making an observation.
TOM: Wanna know why there’s a lot of us? 
TIMTU: Does it matter?
TOM: Not to you, apparently.
TIMTU: I don't think it matters, period.  If you're in the majority, you're in the majority and that’s all there is to it.  That’s lovely.  You have no end of company.  
TOM: Yeah . . . no end of starving, mangy, lice-infected, homeless company! 
TIMTU: I didn't mean it that way.  You don’t make the best of what I say.
TOM: Fuzzle you, nobody’s poody cat! 
TIMTU: I’m sorry. 
TOM: For not caring? 
TIMTU: I care!  Don’t misjudge me.  I care!  I care for cats all over the world, whoever or whatever they may be. 
TOM: Rat droppings!
TIMTU: Don’t blame me. I had nothing to do with your station in life. You chose it.
TOM: Did I now?
TIMTU: I’m not responsible.
TOM: You got that right.   
TIMTU: You make me sound . . .
TOM: Insincere? 
TIMTU: Unfeeling. 
TOM: Imagine that.  Imagine if you really cared.  Imagine how there might be less of us mangy domestics and more of you sleek fat cats with sharp blue eyes.  Yeah, you care all right.  I can smell the care all over you.  Hoo-eee! what a stench!  But chew on this, Mr. Tim Two Chatterley. One day it will all be ours. Tomorrow belongs to the dregs, the outcasts!  One day you’ll look out from your warm cozy home and you’ll see us snarling on your doorstep for everything you have.  You, Lord Honey Buns and Lady Chatterley! 
TIMTU: Fine, fine!  Can we meow about something else? 
TOM: We can.  What would you like to meow about? 
TIMTU: Something pleasant. 
TOM: Avoidance.
TIMTU: There’s no sense in talking about what I can’t do anything about.
TOM: You’re a prince.  (A beat.)  Do you want to hear a story? 
TIMTU: If you’ve got one. 
TOM: I got one all right.  I got one.  Let’s see . . . I have this friend.  Well, more than a friend.  I love her.   
TIMTU: A love story.  How divine. 
TOM: Don’t start purring too soon ‘cause it ain’t a love story -- no way.  
TIMTU: It isn’t?
TOM: She’s a dog. 
TIMTU: I’m sure she’s not as bad as all that. 
TOM: You dumb mouse brain!  Not that kind of a dog!  A real dog.  Arf, arf.  She’s a genuine, first-class canine.  Don’t you get it?  Oh, what’s the use?  Nobody cares -- especially cats! 
TIMTU: The story.  What about the story? 
TOM: That’s it.  I told you the whole fuzzilating story in a nutshell.  Weren’t you listening? 
TIMTU: Of course I was listening. 
TOM: You don’t hear much, I’ll tell you that!  (A beat.)  We’d be barked at and meowed at wherever we went by dogs and cats just like yourself! 
TIMTU: I’d never meow at you. 
TOM: Rat droppings!  (A beat.)  So, how’s life? 
TIMTU: Life?
TOM: Keep up.
TIMTU: I don’t follow.
TOM: Of course you do.  I said, how’s life on your side of the fence?
TIMTU: Pleasant enough.
TOM: What’s ol’ Honey Buns like? 
TIMTU: He’s OK.  He feeds me regularly. Empties the litter box. But he leaves me alone most of the time . . . since my mistress took ill. Perhaps he’s depressed. Honey Buns thinks she is going to die.  I heard him talking to somebody named Insurance. 
TOM: Insurance ain’t a name.
TIMTU: I know what I heard.
TOM: I doubt that.
TIMTU: He’ll probably take it hard if she dies.  She’s always telling him he has a weak backbone.  I guess if she passes -- it and he will break. 
TOM: So he’s visiting her in the hospital? 
TIMTU: Yes.  He comes every night.  This is the first time he brought me.  I sensed that he was very lonely.  
TOM:  He should have brought Insurance with him.
TIMTU: No.  I heard him tell Insurance if anything should happen, he’ll get in touch.
TOM: And anything means?
TIMTU: You know . . . in case she dies.  But I don’t like to think about that.  How about you?   Did you ever have a mistress or a master? 
TOM: Once.  Not exactly. It was my mother who did.  A master and a mistress.  After I was born they kept me for awhile; the master and the mistress. 
TIMTU: Awhile?  
TOM: Not long.  Some of the other cats think I don’t remember my mother.   But, I do.  A cat don’t forget his mother.  I remember my mother and my brothers and my sisters.  What I remember most is my master and mistress.  I mean, my mother’s master and mistress and how they . . . it wasn’t that long ago, you know. 
TIMTU: I can see you’re not that old. 
TOM: What the fuzzle do you know?  Huh?  What the fuzzle do you know about anything? 
TIMTU: I like to believe I know a thing or two about the world we inhabit. 
TOM: You know rat droppings!  You’re one dead pussy! 
TIMTU: I’m not dead. 
TOM: Coulda fooled me. 
TIMTU: If you wish me to return to the car, I will. 
TOM: No.  You need to hear this. You need to hear how us domestic types live and die.  (After a pause.)  My mother.  All that pain. 
TIMTU: I’m afraid I don’t understand. 
TOM: Try listening! (Dreamy.) I remember her purring. She had a beautiful purr . . . so warm, so loving.  I can still hear it.  When she was begging behind the super market, eating from the dumpsters, running from vicious brats with rocks and firecrackers,  dodging cars trying to run her over…  she purred.  She fuzzling purred.  She had that kind of disposition.  From inside the pillowcase I heard my mother purring . . . until she realized . . . 
TIMTU: Forgive me, but now I am truly lost.  Pillowcase?  
TOM: Never mind.   Fuzzle off.
TIMTU: Realized what? 
TOM: Fuzzle you! 
TIMTU: Pardon me, but you started this.  If you’re going to tell me, then kindly tell me! 
TOM: She stopped purring when she realized they had put us in a pillowcase, tied it up and held us underwater in the bathtub.  There’s a master and a mistress for you.  There were eight of us. We were pretty big by then, so when that sack hit the water we fought to get out. Scrambling and scratching and clawing onto one another’s backs.  We can be cruel that way.  And me, well, I was the biggest. So I managed to claw my way to the top.  That’s the only way when you’re fighting to stay alive . . . you claw your way to the top or you die.
TIMTU: (After a pause.) They drowned? 
TOM: Of course they drowned, you stupid know-nothing! 
TIMTU: There’s no need for you to get personal. 
TOM: There ain’t no other way.  It’s all personal.  What’s a life if it ain’t personal?
TIMTU: I really couldn’t say.  Pray, continue with your story.
TOM: The story of a life.  My personal life.  Where were we?  
TIMTU: You clawed your way to the top and your poor siblings drowned.
TOM: Then, the master or the mistress -- I could only hear their whispers -- carried the sack to the garbage can and dumped us all out.  Did you ever smell death? 
TIMTU: Most assuredly not!. 
TOM:  (Musing.) I guess they needed the pillowcase back.  Personally, I can’t imagine sleeping on a pillowcase that was used as a death chamber.  But then, I’m a mighty finicky cat. Anyway,  I could hear my mother back in the house, screeching and meowing something terrible. I don’t know what ever happened to her.  But I was alive.  I’d managed to crawl my way to the top.  Over the dying bodies of my brothers and sisters. 
TIMTU: (After a thoughtful pause.) How would you like to come home with me?  We have a lovely big apartment, and it does get lonely sometimes. 
TOM: I doubt Lord Honey Buns and Lady Chatterley would take to the likes of me. For one thing, I’m not Siamese.  No royalty here.
TIMTU: No, but you're my friend.  If you get in the car with me and purr and beg most beseechingly when he comes, how could he possibly say no? 
TOM: Easy.  You and your ilk are too swell for the likes of me. 
TIMTU: You shouldn’t put yourself down like that. 
TOM: Is that what you think I’m doing?  For the love of Feline, get fuzzled!
TIMTU: I think you need a proper home.  One with delicious, nutritious food.  Canned tuna.  Canned sardines.  The real thing. 
TOM: What do you know about the real thing? 
TIMTU: I’m attempting to be nice. 
TOM: I get great food, too, you know.  You’re not the only one.  It’s mostly catch as catch can, though, if you know what I mean. Hey! How would you like to join me in a real dinner, some cuisine de allee? 
TIMTU: I just ate.  I’m not . . .
TOM: It’s on me.  (Crosses to garbage can.)   I was going to save this for later, (He pulls out the skeleton of a large fish.)  but I’d rather share it with you. 
TIMTU: No.  No thank you. 
TOM: You ain’t gonna share a meal with me? 
TIMTU: Really I . . . I ate just before we left home.
TOM: Wait.
TIMTU: What?
TOM: Shhh. (He slowly sneaks around the garbage can, then pounces on a mouse.)  Got ya!  (Holds the mouse by the tail and displays it like a trophy to TIMTU.)  Like it? 
TIMTU: What is it?
TOM: Good Feline, cat!  It’s a nice big, tasty mouse.
TIMTU: Ugh.  I wouldn’t eat that if I were starving.
TOM: (Taunting TIMTU with the mouse.)  Mousey, mousey.
TIMTU: Stop it!  Get that filthy, disgusting thing away from me.
TOM: (Throws mouse at the garbage can.)  Better?  
TOM: Who the fuzzle do you think you are!?  You’re mouse droppings if I ever met one.  Feline, you make me sick! 
TIMTU: (Sotto voce.)  I really did eat, you know. 
TOM: Sure.
TIMTU: I didn't mean to offend you. 
TOM: You couldn’t.  Don’t get your whiskers in a twist. 
TIMTU: My whiskers? 
TOM: Yeah, those nice, long whiskers of yours.  
TIMTU: All cats have whiskers. 
TOM: Well, sport, maybe we got something in common after all.  Whiskers.  Only mine’s a bit scruffy. 
TIMTU: Not too scruffy.  A bit shorter than most.
TOM: That’s because I actually use ‘em.  They serve a purpose, you know.  There’s lotsa times you gotta squeeze through narrow places when somebody’s chasing you or throwing water on you.    Then there’s all those other cats who just want to fight you. 
TIMTU: Why? 
TOM: I ain’t figured that one out yet.  Some cats just like to fight.  It’s their nature.
TIMTU: I want you to know that I think your whiskers are perfectly fine.  They get the job done.  That’s all that matters, isn’t it?
TOM: Ain’t you sweet.  They kind of make us brothers, don’t they? 
TIMTU: I think it takes more than whiskers. 
TOM: You think?  Hallelujah!  The poody cat thinks! 
TIMTU: After all, it’s not as if we all come from the same litter.  We can’t go around calling every cat with whiskers our brother, now can we? 
TOM: Why not? 
TIMTU: It’s just not . . .
TOM: What?  (Gazing out beyond parking lot.) 
TIMTU: Realistic. 
TOM: I came to that conclusion long ago. 
TIMTU: Nor practical. 
TOM: Nope. 
TIMTU: There you have it. 
TOM: Darn tootin’.
TIMTU: You don’t have to be sarcastic.  You could show more appreciation for one who is trying to give you a paw up in this world. 
TOM: A paw up?  Wow.  Ain’t you something.
TIMTU: I don’t see what you’re . . .
TOM: (Cutting him off.)  What makes you think I need a paw up in this world?  Huh?  Fuzzle off, pooty cat!  You got to be the dumbest pile of rat droppings I ever met.  No!  Never met.  You’re so deep into yourself there’s nothing for anyone to meet.  And if they did meet you, really see you for what you are, they’d puke. 
TIMTU: That’s it!  I’ve had quite enough.  I’ve listened most politely to you.  I’ve been kind and considerate. I invited you to my home, and you insult me.
TOM: Did I? 
TIMTU: You and your type.  Vile vagrants.  Utterly useless.  You terrorize well-bred, well-meaning cats, and then you blame everyone but yourselves for your station in life!  You make me sick!
TOM: Wow, that’s a hundred and eighty-degree turn if ever I saw one.  Whoops, I just got a glimpse of the poody cat wonder. 
TIMTU: You think you can take advantage of our friendship! 
TOM: What friendship?  You don’t know the meaning of the word. 
TIMTU: Do you know what you are?  You're a nothing.  A zero.  A transient . . . and nobody wants you in their neighborhood.
TOM: Ouch!  That’s telling me. 
TIMTU: You want other cats to feel sorry for you.  You've intimidated and insulted me, and now you want me to feel sorry for you.  This was your choice and your choice alone.  I won’t feel sorry for you.
TOM: Wait a minute, I don’t want no cat feeling sorry for me!  (Pause.)  You’re the pathetic low life, not me! 
TIMTU: I have nothing against you, personally.
TOM: Here it comes.
TIMTU:  But we are not brothers.  We never were and we never will be.
TOM: And friends?  I suppose that’s out of the question. 
TIMTU: Tom, I don't think it’s going to work. 
TOM: You mean, you don't want me to come home with you. 
TIMTU: You wouldn’t like it. 
TOM: You got that right.  Why, I’ve got the whole outdoors.  That’s where I belong.  Where a cat with claws and other parts can roam at will. Outdoors. Not in some stuffy apartment with a deodorized litter box. Trust me, Tim Two, I understand. 
TIMTU: Do you? 
TOM: More than you want to know. 
TIMTU: (After a Pause.  He’s sensing something.)  He’s coming.  (Sniffing the air.)  I best be going back in the vehicle now. 
TOM: (Watching him in the distance.)  So that’s ol’ Honey Buns. 
TIMTU: Yes. The lord of the manor.
TOM: Looks like he’s crying.
TIMTU: It does, doesn’t it. Oh, dear.
TOM: Reminds me of my mother.  No purr left.  I guess he’ll be calling his friend Insurance.  Lady Chatterley has left the building.
TIMTU: That means . . . that means I'm all he's got. 
TOM: (With a smirk.) Isn’t he lucky? 
TIMTU: Such a responsibility! I don’t know if I can… Oh, dear. (Crosses to ladder and starts to climb)  Hood . . . roof . . . in the window.  There!  I made it.  (Sits on top of ladder.)  That was touch and go.
TOM: Safe and sound now.
TIMTU:  A cat could get himself killed in this neighborhood! With all due respect, of course.
TOM: Some cats are already dead.  They just don’t know when to stop meowing. With all due respect, of course.  Anyway, smooth sailing, bon voyage, have a nice day and goodbye, Tim Two Chatterley.
TIMTU: Oh, dear. So now it’s just me and Honey Buns. I do hope I can handle the responsibility. I do hope we can make this transition . . . I do hope . . . 
TOM: You’ll make a cute couple.  (Starts to walk away then he bursts out laughing) Too fuzzling funny! 
TIMTU: Whatever are you purring about?  
TOM: Everything.  The whole fuzzling idea of it.  You. 
TIMTU: What did I say?  What’s so funny?
TOM: I haven’t a clue. 
TOM: So, what’s expected of you now, Tim Two?
TIMTU: I wish I knew. Oh, the uncertainty . . . I’ll just have to buck up and do the best I can. Show him how dependable I am. I’ll meet -- no, I’ll exceed! -- his every expectation. 
TOM: You do that.  (Moves toward exit.  Turns back.)  Hey!  
TIMTU: What?
TOM:  I’d avoid the pillow cases!  (Exits laughing. ) 

TIMTU stares toward the emptiness where TOM once stood.