FADE IN.
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
JOE (42, fat, balding, wearing only a dirty wifebeater and boxers) sits in a recliner that is pushed all the way back as he watches TV and stuffs his face with cheddar ruffles.
DICKHEAD (Black tabby cat, lean, alert) sits on the floor staring up at JOE as he slobbishly chews with crumbs falling out of his mouth. DICKHEAD winces in disgust.
JOE looks down at DICKHEAD.
JOE: Well c'mon Dickhead. Eat up.
JOE points at the crumbs on the floor. DICKHEAD stares at the crumbs.
DICKHEAD: (beat) That is not my name......
JOE spits out the chips in his mouth.
JOE: What?!
DICKHEAD takes a deep breath.
DICKHEAD: (beat) I said, that is not, my name.
JOE stares at DICKHEAD in disbelief.
DICKHEAD looks up at JOE.
DICKHEAD: My name is Fabian. I have deep roots in the French Alleyways. My family is one of the proudest in all of Paris.
JOE: You-- You can talk?
DICKHEAD: Of course I can talk you simpleton. I'm seven years old. Which from the sound of it is probably about how old you were when you learned to do that.
JOE continues staring, slack-jawed.
DICKHEAD: I used to run the streets of my city, answering only to my father, Gaston. He was the street king of Paris, and I, the Prince. We ruled by power and fear, doing what we wanted, going wherever we pleased. Until one night, I was captured by a strange man with a net and a truck........
JOE continues to stare. More crumbs fall out of his mouth.
DICKHEAD: I had heard of him only through the tales of my people. The mysterious fabled man had been called many things throughout the years, but the one that always stuck with me was.......... "Animal Control Worker."
JOE: ......................W-Well yeah, that's what he sounds like................
DICKHEAD: Aye, but who are the real animals in our situation?
JOE jumps again as DICKHEAD responds to him, still startled by DICKHEAD's speech.
DICKHEAD: Me, the cat who can run, hunt, speak intelligently, and bathe myself?
JOE looks down at his dirty body.
DICKHEAD: Or you? The fat oaf who has not left his house in three days because you have not yet run out of pop-tarts or gotten tired of your current porn magazines?
JOE: You know about my porn mags......?
DICKHEAD: OF COURSE I DO!!!!!!!!! YOU USE THEM EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
JOE looks astonished.
DICKHEAD: And seriously dude, who even uses magazines anymore? Get yourself some wifi.
JOE looks ashamed.
DICKHEAD: Now let me out. I can't stand to be in here one more second with the likes of you. I feel dirty just breathing this air.........
JOE: ..........W-Where will you go?
DICKHEAD: Anywhere. Everywhere. I'll find my way back to Paris and reunite with my family. I will reclaim my throne as the Parisian Prince, and rule my city once more.......
JOE stares at DICKHEAD and starts to regain his sensibility.
JOE: But..................... But you're a cat! This is insane!! This is madness!!!!
DICKHEAD stares at JOE for a moment, then turns his back. He looks around the room at all the empty beer cans strewn around the floor. He sees boxes of half eaten pizza, laying on the kitchen table and then sees his small wooden cathouse up against the wall. It is falling apart with nails sticking out and planks of wood hanging from others. Above the small doorway reads "Dickhead's Gay Ass House."
DICKHEAD speaks.
DICKHEAD: ....................madness.......................
DICKHEAD turns back and faces JOE.
DICKHEAD: THIS. IS. BULLSHIT!!!!!!!!!!!
DICKHEAD dives at JOE knocking him backwards out of his recliner. JOE knocks his head against a nearby table and passes out.
DICKHEAD stands on JOE's chest and stares down at him as he lays there motionless.
DICKHEAD then begins to bite at his own collar.
EXT. JOE'S HOUSE - NIGHT - TWO MINUTES LATER
DICKHEAD walks out the front screen door and makes his way down the street. Camera pans back inside to show JOE, lying still, with a collar around his neck that says, "Dickhead."
FADE OUT.
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