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“H-hey, Morty, l-look at me.”
Morty, who is sitting on the couch watching TV, looks around the room without seeing Rick.
“Do—urp—down here, Morty.”
Morty looks down with a raised eyebrow, his eyes widening comically.
There stands his grandfather as a little blue cat. He’s standing on his hind legs with his front paws on his little hips, looking proud of himself.
“Uhhh…? What the fu—” Morty squints his eyes; for not the first or last time, he wonders what the hell is wrong with his grandfather.
“I’m Cat Rick, Morty! Cat Rick!" He cries while doing jazz ‘paws,’ as if he just did something amazing.
Morty stares at him with half-lidded eyes as he watches him hold his pose as his ears flick, whiskers twitch, tail sways, and his grin becomes a little more desperate and strained.
“A-And what do you want me to say, Rick? Every Thanksgiving, you turn yourself into a turkey so you can get a pardon from the president; just last week, you turned yourself into a teddy bear so you could see what the spin cycle is like inside the washing machine,” Morty continues. “You change into something every other week; it’s not something n-new, y’know?” He sits back down on the couch and then turns his attention back to the TV.
Rick deflates a little. All he wants is Morty’s attention and affection; he deserves pets and cuddles, and he will not be ignored. And he knows exactly how he’s going to get it.
A devilishly evil grin breaks out on his furry face as he eyes a three-legged table that’s set up by the banister of the stairs, laden with family pictures framing a beautiful glass vase. The vase was a wedding gift to Beth and Jerry, and it was the last thing Beth got from her mother.
He shouldn’t even be contemplating carrying out what he’s preparing to do, but in desperate times, truly horrible means are necessary.
He lumbers over and lunges for the table leg, trying to hook his claws into the wood, but he quickly discovers that being a cat is more difficult than he expected, as his claws won’t come out. Instead, he sighs and settles for shimmying up while wrapping his arms and legs around the table leg. He reaches the top and clutches the edge, attempting to pull himself up while his back legs kick frantically for support.
He claws and pulls himself all the way up, using his front paws. He sits there for a few minutes, breathing heavily, before adopting a determined look and advancing toward the vase. He pushes it while yelling, “I will not be ignored!!!” as he turns to face Morty.
Morty is startled by Rick’s yell and the following sound of glass shattering. He jumps off the couch and whirls around to find Rick standing on a table with his mother’s favorite vase lying in scattered shards on the floor.
He really should have known better than to leave Rick on his own, especially after knowing that since he didn’t satisfy his grandfather’s yearning for attention, something like this was bound to happen.
He walks over, mindful of the mess on the floor, and stands in front of his grandpa, crossing his arms over his chest. He gives him a disappointed look and scolds him. “Seriously, Rick? Mom’s going to think I did this.”
Rick points a furry paw at him and snaps. “You did do this! If you had just given Grandpa the love and attention he deserves, this never would have happened.”
Morty looks at him with a deadpan expression, clearly exasperated by his grandfather’s behavior. He stutters out as assertively as he can, “t-that’s it! Go stand in the corner!”
Rick’s ears flatten against his head, and he whines, “d-do I have to?”
“Yes! Now go park your furry little butt in the corner, or I’ll kick it to the curb!” The boy threatens while pointing at a wall that’s far away from the shattered glass.
Rick kicks his foot in protest and hops down far enough from the mess he caused to exhale a dramatic sigh, but he does as he is told, grumbling at himself that his life fucking sucks.
