For PicFic Tuesday, October 6th - The Cat on the Flagpole Affair

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

I seem to recall that in the past it was okay to write for previous PicFic prompts as long as they were posted on Tuesdays? I only got plunnied for this one when last Tuesday was almost over, and then the week was nuts, so I only had the chance to write this one this morning. The current prompt is intriguing too, and maybe I'll be able to get something written for it with its extended posting time. :)

Title: The Cat on the Flagpole Affair
Rating: K/G
Summary: Every ordinary day should include getting an adventurous Siamese down from a flagpole, shouldn't it?


By Lucky_Ladybug



It was just an average, ordinary autumn day in New York City. That was why Napoleon was standing at an open window on the second floor of an apartment building, watching as Illya tried to coax a beautiful Siamese cat inside from where she was perched on the horizontal flagpole positioned just outside the window. Yes, there wasn’t anything strange about that at all.

“Illya, this is ridiculous,” Napoleon sighed. “I’m sure if we leave her alone, she’ll come back inside by herself.”

“Perhaps,” Illya said. “But she may be too frightened to do so. Did you know, Napoleon, that cats are actually afraid of heights? They climb tall things like trees and suddenly realize how high up they are and are too terrified to come down.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Napoleon peered at the cat, who was now loafing on the flagpole with her long tail hanging down. “She doesn’t look particularly afraid.”

The cat let out a low-pitched Siamese yowl.

“She is,” Illya insisted.

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” Napoleon wondered. “You can’t climb out after her.”

“No, I can’t. Perhaps we will have to phone the fire department.” Illya held out the open can of sardines, prompting Napoleon to cringe from the aroma. “But I will try the temptation of food for a moment more first.”

Napoleon threw up his hands as he turned away. “I don’t understand how we ended up in this fix in the first place.”

“Because our friends from our fellow crime-fighting agency asked us to keep an eye on their neighbor’s cat while they were off on assignment,” Illya retorted.

“Yes, I know that,” Napoleon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “But still, Illya, can you imagine what Mr. Waverly would say if he could see us now?”

“Since we don’t have any pressing official duties at the moment, I am sure he would say that we should stick to it until we rescue Mrs. Pumpkin-Klanger’s cat,” Illya said matter-of-factly.

“And that’s another thing,” Napoleon went on. “What kind of name is . . .”

“What are you doing, Kuryakin?”

Both U.N.C.L.E. agents went stiff. “Oh,” Napoleon mouthed, seeing Illya’s quickly tensing body and scowling features.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Illya called out the window.

“It looks like you’re playing Boy Scout,” Mr. Ecks snarked, lowering his sunglasses as he stared up at the sight.

The cat yowled again, louder this time.

“If you distract her, she might fall,” Illya frowned. “Why don’t you make yourself useful by getting underneath the flagpole in case she does? You can catch her.”

“You’re lucky it’s me who ran across you and not Wye,” Ecks remarked, even as he actually did as Illya wanted and walked under the flagpole. “Wye can’t stand any kind of animal with claws, sharp teeth, or beaks.”

“Which pretty much eliminates almost every type of pet,” Napoleon intoned.

Deciding to ignore them, Illya turned his full attention back to the cat. “Alright,” he said. “I know you’ve managed to get yourself into a terrible predicament and you don’t know how you’re going to get down.” He set the sardine can on the windowsill and leaned out a bit farther, his arms outstretched. “I promise I will not let anything happen to you.”

The cat meowed, but finally started to stand. Hesitantly, she placed one tentative paw in front of her, then another, and slowly advanced along the flagpole. Below her, Ecks kept pace and moved with her, keeping watch in case she slipped.

Illya grasped her firmly as soon as she came within grabbing distance. He carefully pulled her inside and into his arms, where she immediately placed her paws on his shoulder and began to purr. Illya smiled, speaking to her softly as he stroked her coat.

Napoleon relaxed. “Well, that crisis is averted,” he declared. “Thanks to your mysterious feline magnetism. Now we just need to take her home.”

Illya nodded. “Mrs. Pumpkin-Klanger will be very glad to see you,” he told the cat.

“Does she do this sort of thing often?” Napoleon wondered.

Illya headed for the stairs. “She loves to wander all over this part of Manhattan. However, I don’t believe she’s ever come this far before. She’s lucky that she did it when we were close enough to come after her.”

“Yes,” Napoleon sighed. “Indeed.”

“By the way, Napoleon,” Illya said over his shoulder. “Do not forget the sardines.”

Napoleon made a face. “The sardines. Of course.” He turned and went back, retrieving the can from the windowsill.

“She deserves a good meal after the fright she had,” Illya said when Napoleon caught up again.

“I wouldn’t mind a good meal myself,” Napoleon remarked.

“After we return her to the loving arms of Mrs. Pumpkin-Klanger,” Illya said.

Napoleon was perfectly fine with that. He wasn’t crazy about the thought of taking the cat with them into a restaurant, even if they somehow found one that wouldn’t object.

Mr. Ecks was still outside when they reached the bottom. Illya gave him a cool look but said, “Thank you for cooperating.”

Ecks shrugged. “I don’t have anything against cats.” He reached out, petting the Siamese’s head. She half-closed her eyes in contentment, enjoying the attention.

“And she apparently doesn’t have anything against enemy agents,” Illya grunted.

Ecks smirked at him. “Former enemy agents.”

“Oh, how could I forget that?” Illya stepped back.

Ecks shrugged. “It must have just slipped your mind.”

“Yes,” Illya said. “It must have.”

“The cat’s feelings are especially interesting if she’s yours,” Ecks said.

“She isn’t,” Illya answered.

Napoleon decided it was prudent to enter the conversation. “Well, goodbye,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

“I’m sure we will too,” said Ecks. “And you might want to warn that cat’s owner about what she was up to.”

“We intend to,” Illya said. He started off down the street, carrying the purring Siamese.

Napoleon swiftly followed. “I wonder what Mrs. Pumpkin-Klanger will say about her cat’s exploits.”

“She’ll be alarmed, of course. And grateful that we rescued her.” Illya kept at a brisk pace down the city block, not bothered by the autumn chill in the air.

“Just how far away is her home?” Napoleon exclaimed. In all the madness of following her around once they had first caught sight of her investigating a newsstand, he had somehow lost track of their area.

Illya regarded him in amusement. “You know where the ACME Crimenet building is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Napoleon said slowly.

“Her home is in the apartment complex across the alley from it,” Illya told him.

Napoleon looked up at the street sign they were passing. “Oh.” He cringed. “Yes, we had definitely better warn Mrs. Pumpkin-Klanger about her intrepid cat.”

The cat meowed, almost as if in agreement.