u/bofstein

After making sure no one was watching, Farley headed towards the guarded entrance.

“Hey Farley, glad you could join us,” said the guard, stepping aside quickly.  “It’s gonna be a big one tonight.”

With his characteristically stoic nod, Farley headed inside, where about a dozen council members mingled, waiting for the meeting to start. They gave him a polite berth and deferential nods, avoiding staring at his scars, as he walked silently through the crowd.

Shortly, a large gray cat stepped onto a pile of pallets at the end of the room and yowled, and everyone looked over.

“This meeting is called to order,” he said.

The attendees slowly padded around to lounge in their preferred spots and meowed in confirmation.

“We have a packed agenda tonight,” the chaircat announced from the pallet.  “Bigglesworth will provide the map updates, with new locations for coyote dens, bird feeders, and territory boundaries.” Two orange cats hissed at each other.

“The recent virality of a raccoon named ‘Jimothy’ with a spinal deformity has prompted a proposal from Duchess Biegnet to promote stray cat sympathy through targeted visibility of some of our more… unique community members.” Everyone glanced over at Tripod.

"And finally, the Den Owner’s Association is increasing the monthly dues of dead birds.” Indignant mewling started up, and the chaircat raised his voice. “I understand times are tough, especially with the coyote problem. But these donations are critical to support our less fortunate community members.” Everyone tried not to look at Tripod again. “Remember it is just a suggested donation amount.”

“First, however, we have a serious matter at paw,” he said grimly. The room quieted, all ears pricked.  

“One of our members has broken our most sacred rule: do not be taken inside by humans. Ghost, please step forward.” Eyes downcast, a young tabby stepped out of the shadows of the back corner and onto the pallet, where shocked cries broke the tense atmosphere.
Below his head the offending item - a white plastic cone, enshackling his neck. Most had heard about his shame but not seen the cruel device themselves

“While he was able to escape eventually, we know that he spent the night at the human facility. By the bylaws of the Stray Cat Council, I move to revoke his membership.” 

Before anyone could second the motion, Farley stood up and trotted over to the pallet.

“Point of order,” he interrupted. “I have some questions.” Murmurs filled the room.

“Duchess,” he started, looking over at the long-haired Persian, “your coat is looking particularly fine today.” She preened. “I wonder if that has anything to do with the human that regularly brushes you on their screened-in patio?” Gasps filled the room; Duchess Beignet widened her eyes in horror but said nothing to deny the accusation.  “Does a screened-in patio count as ‘inside’?” Farley mused aloud while chittering filled the room.

“Brutus,” he said next, and the guard slunk down. “It may not be our most sacred rule, but singing anything from Cats was banned last year. So why did I hear you belting ‘Memory’ on patrol last month?” 

“I didn’t know anyone could hear me,” he whispered. “It’s just so catchy…”

“That’s enough,” the chaircat said sternly. “Some of us are not perfect, but that’s very different from being treated by a human doctor overnight, and returning with that abomination attached.”

“True,” Farley conceded, “none of us is perfect.” He looked pointedly at the chaircat. The room silenced once more, noses twitching in anticipation. “Did you know that on Sundays, I like to nap on that deck up the hill? Why, I have a wide view of most of the neighborhood from there. Including… the Church.” The chaircat’s grey fur seemed to go paler, and his ears flattened against his head.

“I think you’ve made your point,” the chaircat rushed out. “I suppose it’s good to be reminded of the importance of charity and forgiveness.” A pause. “And, discretion,” he emphasized.

“Ghost, you can stay on,” the chair announced. “Further lapses may result in expulsion. And find a way to get that thing off.”

Farley left directly after the meeting, not speaking up again, satisfied with the awed whispers that followed in the mythic tomcat’s wake.

He followed a familiar path up the hill, once again making sure he was not being watched, and entered a disguised cat door. 

“Mr. Fluffykins!” squealed a young girl. “You came to visit again! Would you like some scritchy-witchies and treats?”

He purred.