The Stag Do

Bradley the badger woke up with a stinking hangover.

Wiping the remnants of crack-cocaine from his whiskers, he looked around the apartment. It was dark, but he could see enough to know that it was pretty much destroyed.

“Oh shit” he said, sitting up straight in a panic. “What the fuck happened? Are they scratch-marks on the wall?”

Chris the cat stretched out next to him, yawning loudly. “Yeah, sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re alive then?!” he purred. “What an epic night.”

Davy the dalmatian barked in his sleep and woke himself up. He poked his nose out of the pile of empty pizza boxes he had slept under.

“My god… I feel terrible. I’m never drinking again. I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Hair of the dog’s what you need” said Chris.

“Fuck off” snapped Davy. He was not in the mood. “And shut your eyes you twat of a cat. I’m trying to sleep and it’s like I’m on the fucking main road, what with you purring and staring.”

“Ooh!” squealed Harry the hedgehog, who had just uncurled from his slumber. Bradley had dropped a pint on him the night before and his spikes were all matted together. He looked like he’d been run over.

“You’re not still cat-fighting are you? You’ve been at it tooth and claw ever since that bird came back with Chris instead of you last night.”

“Eh? What bird?” asked Chris, panicking. He had a feline and a whole litter of kittens at home.

“You don’t remember?!” laughed Harry. “Precious – the parrot from the strip club. Have a look on the internet. Davy was tweeting about her all night, but she thought you were a pretty boy so she came back with you instead! He was so jealous.”

“Oh shit. The stripper? She came here?.. We didn’t?…Surely not?”

“Haha” giggled Bradley, “she was singing a fine tune all night!”

“And you looked like the cat who’d got the cream!” laughed Freddie the fox.

Chris put his whiskers in his paws, before desperately licking himself clean. He felt so dirty.

“Don’t cry over spilt milk” said Harry, trying to comfort him.

“Where is she now? She’s not still here is she?” asked Chris.

Wayne the weasel jumped up and turned the lights on.

“You’d best ask Davy about that” he said, pointing accusingly at a pile of feathers on the carpet.

“Davy got the late night munchies. He was hungry like the wolf!” guffawed Wayne.

Davy ran to the bathroom and was sick as a parrot.

The hungover friends all laughed.

“Guys” said Davy, walking back into the room, suddenly very sober and serious. “Who shut Leonard in the bathroom?”

“What?” said the friends, all fearful at once. “Leonard? Did he come out?!”

Davy nodded sombrely as Leonard the lion strutted into the room. His mane looked dishevelled after sleeping in a bathtub and he was understandably quite angry.

“Where’s Steve?” he growled. “I’m starving!!”

“Steve?” asked Davy. “Which Steve?”

“Some Best Man you are” piped up Michael, quiet as a mouse until now. “Steve. You know. The Stag? The one you organised this whole thing for?”

Leonard took one look at Michael and fled.

Five minutes later, the front door opened. In walked a bedraggled Steve with a box-full of bacon butties.

“Oh, you’re awake then” he said, shaking the water off vigorously. “It’s raining cats and dogs out there.”

The friends took one look at each other and howled in laughter. 

“That was the best night in history!”

 

Copyright © Matty Millard 2012

www.mattymfiction.wordpress.com

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