//------------------------------//
// ...and Asshole Cat 
// Story: Johnny Spurs and A-hole Cat 
// by Daemon McRae 
//------------------------------//

The sun had just started to rise over Appleoosa. A bright, intimidating figure over the mountains, as the land it shone over was dusty, hot, and known for being rather unfriendly to those who enjoyed such commodities as cold water and humidity.

The sunlight fell over the land in a wave, as it always does. Across the mountains for a few moments, which held it back and provided shade for a large portion of the land. But like every morning, eventually the sun had risen high enough that its rays passed even their persistent peaks. It continued to shine, over the orchards, the deserts, and the towns. The light touched the buffalo's homes and the blacksmith's forge. Soon it could be seen from all over.

But there was one particular spot in which it shone whose reception was less than bright...

Through the window it shined. Creeping over the sill, across the floor, and made it's way up to the bed. Slowly, uneventfully, and predictably, until it reached its eventual mark: Johnny's half-opened, half-asleep eye.

"FRRRRRG, dammit! That's bright!" he cried, throwing his hooves over his eyes and turning violently away from the sun's rays. Violently... and right over the side of the bed. WHUMP. "...ow. Every morning. Today. TODAY IS THE DAY I turn the bed AWAY FROM THE WINDOW."

A snide, holier-than-thou voice chimed from underneath the bed, mere inches from Johnny's face. "Right, and today's also the day you quit smoking, get laid, move out, and become famous. Just like every other day. Oh, WAIT..."

"Shut it, Asshole," Spurs moaned, pulling himself up from his unceremonious crash landing, taking the time to crack nearly every joint in his body.

"Oh, Johnny, you wound me to the quick!" Asshole Cat feigned distress as he cried out, crawling out and stretching languidly across the floor. He took no time in leaping up to the bedpost to be nose-to-nose with his "owner". "If that's wasn't my 'name' I'd be horribly offended! So what's it gonna be today, boss?" he asked nonchalantly, licking his tan fur. "Diamond dogs? Sandcats? Or maybe you just wanna ruff up a townie or two for some loose change?"

The dark green stallion kicked open the fridge, scrounging for what little food they had before next paycheck. "Anything to keep his Holiness fed, am I right?"

And then the knocking came...

The horse and cat traded glances, the cat giving Spurs a knowing smile while the latter moved with little enthusiasm to open the door. Little enough, in fact, for the newcomer to knock twice more. "Right, RIGHT. I'm coming." He swung open the door and gave whoever was on the other side of it a dry look. "Can I help you?"

The young mare who'd been knocking gave no time in delivering what could almost have been a practiced speech: "Oh, you've got to help me! Your flyer says you take on ANY kind of work, right? Well, you've GOT to do something about my coltfriend! He won't leave me alone! I keep telling him it's over, but he just gets so mad! And he keeps following me around and-"

"Ma'am," Johnny interrupted, putting a hoof to her mouth. Which got her to pause long enough for him to get a good look at her. Pink mane and tail. Yellow coat. Some random apple based dessert for a cutie mark. One of the orchard's family, no doubt. "I don't care what your reasons are. Just point me at the guy and get out of the way."

He dropped his hoof, and she went on another excitable ramble, this time about how happy she was he'd decided to "help" her. He let her get about a sentence and a half out before he interrupted again. "PARDON me, miss," he raised his voice to get her attention, "but it would do me an awful lot of good if you could let me know what the guy looks like. I've started a few fights with what ended up being the wrong stallion. I don't make that mistake anymore."

Behind him, he could almost feel Asshole dropping air quotes as he said "anymore". "Yes, Johnny, you've certainly gotten over your habit of beating up people that AREN'T the bad guys."

"I said quiet, you. This pays for dinner, if you care to remember. Now come on," he barked, nodding at the cat to get it in gear, while the mare produced a picture of the offending ex.

"He likes to spend a lot of time near the pass beating up stray Sandcats and bringing them back. Keeps telling stories at the saloon about how he took on a whole pack of the things, the liar. He'd be one of those two places about an hour from now. Please hurry! I don't want to deal with him another day!"

The cat and horse traded glances again, one that said "Oh, look, THIS shit again," and headed off.

The picture she'd given him was of a rather broad, tan and brown cookie-cutter of a stallion, looking like a dozen others that worked either the orchard or the mines. The only really defining features were the claw marks on his neck and his Cutie Mark: a shovel and mining helmet. "Not hard to figure out where he works," Spurs grumbled, shoving the picture into the ratty coat he'd grabbed on his way out.

"Of course," Cat mewled. "He must be a genius at digging up apple trees."

Johnny had to snicker a bit. Asshole could be funny. When he wasn't talking about you. It didn't take long for the pair to reach town, their little slice of heaven only half a mile removed. Nothing like true isolation to make a pony feel like part of the community.

"Ok, do we want to hit the saloon first and hope he's drunk? Or hit the pass and hope he's already fought one of the damn things?" the horse asked, looking left and right, respectively, once they'd reached a junction.

"I say we hit the pass," Cat recommended. "Less likely you'll be drunk when you get to him." He curled into a ball on Johnny's back, quickly losing interest in all the walking.

Johnny didn't acknowledge the statement, but he knew the cat was right. The last thing he needed this early was an excuse to drink. So he veered for the pass and hoped the guy was an early bird.

After yet more uneventful walking, he came across one of the only ponies brave enough to build their houses anywhere near the pass itself: Shotgun Gallop, possibly the craziest pony in Appleoosa. Either that or braver'n'a barrel of pissed off weasels.

"Hey, Johnny," she crowed from her porch, her signature tool cradled in her hooves. She tilted forward in her rocking chair a bit. "Gonna go beat up more Sandcats for me?"

"Nah, gonna go beat up the guy who beats up Sandcats. But if I see any extras I'll give 'em a one-two for ya," he called across her fence, then trucked on. He heard her snicker behind him, and grinned a little. Sometimes having friends crazier than you made getting out of bed more fun.

Yet some more uneventful walking, and they got where they were going. Well, Johnny got where HE was going. Asshole just snored. Spurs looked out over the fence that blocked off Sandblaster Pass, one of a few rather dangerous areas around the small town. For two reasons, mainly. Rockfalls and Sandcats.

Now, there is a very good reason why most ponyfolk stay away from Sandcats in general. MOST ponyfolk. Not because they're big, ugly, and have lots of claws and teeth (which they are, and do). Not because they're mean, intolerable, and make for poor company (on account of trying to rip your ribs out and clean their teeth with them. Which they do.)

Sandcats are disliked for the very reason they're called SANDcats. You can't tell the damn things apart from the ground they walk on till they open their big, toothy mouths at you. Which they usually reserve for the moment right before they bite your face off.

So coming across a pony who not only is currently jumping up and down on a Sandcat, but has a few more unconscious, possibly dead ones set aside, is unlikely. And also rather terrifying.

Johnny sneezed, and walked up to the stallion trampolining the feline's lungs.

Of course, Johnny made note of a few things, first. Even HE wasn't that thick. Namely a few small pebbles tumbling down one of the pass's rock wall. And how all the Sandcats were laid out. And the big oaf himself. He noticed quite a bit about the lug before ol' stompin-boots saw him.

"Yeah, whatcha want?" the tan stallion said.

Before Spurs could respond, Asshole woke up. Yawning and stretching like any typical cat, he then took a moment to look around. Then he spotted Big McLargehuge. "Oh, sweet Celestia, THAT'S the guy?"

Spurs nodded. "Scuse' me, mister. But your marefriend sent us here to talk to you. She says she really doesn't want to go out with you anymore," he shouted, having left some distance between himself and his 'target'.

A distance Biggy decided to close off a bit. Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, what'd she say? Cause it's all lies, and that little foal ain't goin' nowhere. She's stayin' with me, y'hear?"

Johnny shook his head and grinned. "Now, see, I normally don't like to brag, but this is the part where I tell you that I'm smarter'n' you."

"WHAT'D YOU SAY?" yelled the as-of-yet-unnamed stallion. "Nopony talks to Iron Mines like that!"

Asshole cat tugged on his "owner's" ear. "Yeah, boss, you might want to give him this one," he cautiously advised.

Spurs just glanced over his shoulder, and twitched his ear a few times. Cat raised his own eyebrow, and saw what he thought was a shadow of a smirk. A look he knew really well.

Johnny turned his attention back to Mines. "Actually, biggy, I do. See, that's kind of what I'm good at: talkin'. REAL good at it, actually. Like, I could talk about how a pretty little thing like that doesn't need to be spendin' time with a big lousy fatboy like you. Or how I smelled you 'for I saw you. Or how you turn a LOVELY shade of crimson when you're mad," he added, as Iron advanced on him, beyond pissed off.

"Why you little-" he started, taking a few more steps.

The steps Spurs had been waiting for. "OR. Why I REALLY wouldn't stand there if I was you," he finished, grinning nice and wide.

Iron gave him a nice and confused look, just as Johnny bucked the rock wall of the pass with everything he had. Mines stayed confused for a second, before he heard a noise. THE noise, actually. Of rocks falling. He glanced up just in time to see a rather large family of boulders descend upon him with a nice rowdy "Imma fall on you now kthnxbai".

Johnny turned his head and shielded his eyes from the mass of dust that stirred up from the rock fall, then admired his handiwork. He trotted up to the pile of rubble. "You still alive?" he called. A loud groan from under a layer of rocks gave him his answer, and he shrugged off and walked back to town.

On the way back Asshole leaned over his shoulder and asked him, "Ok, how'd you do all that? Curious minds are DYING to know."

Johnny grinned. "Same way he did. I had a suspicion when I looked at the picture. Those claw marks? They're not from a Sandcat. Wrong number of marks, and they're too far apart. He got those with a rake." He stopped as he hit the barrier between town and the pass, waving down a nearby Sheriff's deputy.

The Deputy gave a sigh and trotted over. "What'd you do this time, Spurs?"

"Just my job. There's a guy buried under a bunch of boulders a ways in, but he'll be fine. If'n somepony digs him out. Bunch'a Sandcats, too. Thought you oughta know," Johnny grunted as he leaped over the fence.

The Deputy gave him a look. "Let me guess. Freak rock slide. And you just HAPPENED to find him."

"Just doing my civic duty," Spurs added over his shoulder as he trotted off. Once they were far enough away, as Johnny gave a glance back and watched the colt trot lazily down the pass, he continued, "Figured out the rest when we got there. The dude doesn't actually fight Sandcats. He's just a good climber. He gets himself up on the rock walls, then gets the attention of a bunch of cats, and when they get close enough, he drops boulders on them. Then he jumps up and down on them to make it look like HE'D squished 'em."

Cat whistled. "How'd you put that together?" he asked, hoping down off of the stallion's back. They'd just got home.

Johnny hung his jacket up again. "Little things. Like I noticed some small pebbles falling down, and saw a bunch of rocks pushed up to the edge of the wall. Usually they're much farther up. Be kinda hard for them to get there on their own."

"Fair enough," the Cat noted, leaping onto the bed. "But that can't be all of it, come on."

Spurs cracked the fridge open again, pulling out the last lonely Hard Cider. "The rest was all him. He wasn't sweating anywhere near hard enough. He didn't have any kind of blood or heavy dirt on him. Which, even if you're a ruddy genius at fighting Sandcats, you're gonna get filthy and bloody. Yours OR theirs. He didn't have a scratch. No one's that good unless it's Gallop, and that's just because she shoots the bastards."

"I hear my name?" a soft southern twang rang from the doorway. Johnny turned his head mid-swallow of cider to see Shotgun let herself in. "You go off on a job and don't bother to let me know you're ok? What kind of friend are you?"

Cat just chuckled from his spot on the bed.

Johnny nodded at her. "Come on in. I'd offer you some cider, but this is the last of it," he grinned, downing the rest in one big swig.

Gallop didn't waste any time. Trotting right up to him, she grabbed his face while he still had a mouthful of cider, planted her lips on his, and drank straight from his mouth. "Don't mind if I do," she said, pulling away and swallowing.

Johnny nearly choked. "Con-SARNIT, girl! Don't do that!"

"Then make sure you have enough left for the lady next time." She sported a mile-wide grin as she took a seat at the row of two-by-fours on stools they called a table.

Johnny took a moment to shake her off, -IT off, shake IT off, then sat down with her. "So what's brings you to our humble abode?" he asked, almost hesitantly. It WAS Shotgun Gallop, after all.

She grinned, then leaned close. "Well, I got a proposition for ya," she whispered.