Operation Biscuit Liberation
Sep. 30th, 2025 03:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unicornfartz“Thank you all for coming,” Chester says. “You are here because you all possess special skills critical to ensuring the success of our mission.”
“It’s not because we’re your only options?”
“Quiet, Nacho.”
“What skills do I have?”
“Your special skill is that you know when to shut up and listen, Boomer.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Murray raises his small arm. “And what is our mission?”
“Excellent question,” Chester says. “Tonight, we launch Operation Biscuit Liberation!”
“And… uhhh… what is Operation Biscuit Liberation?”
“Murray, stop interrupting me with stupid questions.”
“Right.”
His tail swishing languidly back and forth, Chester paces back and forth, meeting the eyes of each of his confederates with the gravitas of a general reviewing his troops before a battle—Boomer the Golden Retriever, Murray the Rat, Nacho the Parrot, and Mittens, the little ball of fluff the human woman brought home a few weeks back.
Privately, Chester isn’t sure Mittens isn’t a turncoat spy, informing the humans of their nighttime activities behind his back. He’s eager to please. Maybe too eager. So, this will be a good test of the furball’s loyalty. They aren’t the perfect team, but they will do.
Murray raises his hand again. “I have a question.”
Chester sighs. “What is it?”
“Why are you the leader of this mission?”
“Because I have the brains on this team,” Chester announces. “I am the planner. My plans are the best and ensure our success.”
“Do they though?”
“Murray, shut your yap or you won’t be a part of our mission.”
“And what is our mission again?” Mittens asks.
Chester clamps his mouth shut and swallows down his howl of outrage as he silently counts to five, praying to Bast above for patience.
“Our mission is Operation Biscuit Liberation,” Chester says through gritted teeth.
“And… what is Operation Biscuit Liberation?” Boomer asks.
“Finally, a good question,” Chester says. “For too long, the humans have held all the power. They decide when to give us biscuits and often withhold them for petty offenses. The time has come for us to take that power back. The time has come to say we will not stand for their tyranny. Tonight, we will take the biscuits for ourselves!”
Chester speaks with fervor and zeal but when his speech ends, he’s met with blank stares. The others exchange curious glances. Boomer finally turns to him.
“I always get biscuits when I want one,” he says.
“Because you act like an idiot. You roll around on the ground or chase your tail—you’re better than that, Boomer. You shouldn’t have to perform to earn a biscuit. You’re not one of those poor souls in the circus for crying out loud.”
“I don’t mind."
“But you should!”
Murray’s whiskers twitch. “I don’t get biscuits at all. In fact, whenever the human woman sees me, she screams and chases me with a broom.”
“And I don’t even like biscuits,” Nacho adds. “I like the sunflower seeds they give me.”
“What’s a biscuit?” Mittens asks.
Chester runs a paw over his face and grumbles in frustration. “You are all missing the point.”
“And what is the point?” Murray asks.
“We must teach these humans they do not have power over us.”
“They feed us, walk us, and give us lots of love,” Boomer says.
“All in all, I don’t think we have it very bad here.”
“You’re still mad the woman sprayed you with the water bottle when you scratched the sofa, aren’t you? That’s what this is all about?” Nacho asks.
“I actually think it’s just about Chester getting more biscuits,” Murray says. “I mean, look at him. He really enjoys his biscuits.”
Chester glances at his ample belly and frowns. But then he scowls at the rat. “Look. It’s time to act. To declare that we will not be controlled,” he hisses.
“Okay. I enjoy biscuits,” Boomer says. “What’s your plan, Chester?”
Nacho scoffs. “You always work so hard to please everybody, Boomer.”
“I like it when people are happy. I don’t like it when they’re upset,” the Retriever replies, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
“My plan is simple. Nacho, you will act as a lookout and if you see the human woman or any of the others, you do that screechy thing with your voice,” Chester says.
“What about me? What should I do?” Mittens asks excitedly.
“If the humans do come, you will create a diversion. Do something cute,” Chester says. “You know they can’t resist that.”
“And what are you going to do?” Murray asks.
“The humans were diabolically clever in building the counters too high for me to jump on,” he says. “So, I am going to climb onto Boomer’s back and he will stand up, giving me an easy jump to the counter. From there, I will be able to open the treasure chests in which they store our biscuits and ensure we all get as many as we want. Easy.”
“You’re a cat,” Nacho says. “Shouldn’t you be able to jump up there on your own?”
“As I said, they were diabolical in building their counters. They, very purposely, built them too high for me to jump up on.”
Murray snickers. “I think the real reason is Chester has gotten too heavy to jump up there on his own. I did hear the human female call him, Chonky Chester once.”
“What’s chonky?” Mittens asks.
“That,” Murray replies, pointing one of his little clawed hands at Chester’s ample midsection swaying beneath him. “Is what is called chonky.”
“Oh. Okay,” Mittens replies.
If Chester were able to blush, he would have. “I’m not chonky. I’m fluffy.”
“If you say so,” Murray says with a laugh.
“Are you done?” Chester huffs.
“I guess so,” Murray says. “So, that’s your big plan?”
“That’s my flawless, excellent plan, yes.”
“I have a better plan.”
“You don’t.”
“I do. And it doesn’t involve breaking poor Boomer’s back—”
“That’s it,” Chester yowls. “We don’t need you. Get out.”
“But—”
“Get out! No biscuits for you!”
Murray stares at Chester for a minute, then shakes his head and turns away, chuckling to himself as he slunk away into the darkness.
“Don’t we need him?” Boomer asks.
“We don’t need him. We’re fine.”
“I think we need him,” Nacho says.
“We’re fine!” Chester hisses. “Now, take your places. Nacho, you’re on lookout.”
Nacho rolls his eyes and flaps away. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Good. Now, Mittens, go wait in the hallway and if Nacho gives the signal, go be stupid and cute,” Chester orders.
“Got it! You can count on me!” Mittens replies and trips over his own feet before getting back up and streaking off to take his position.
With his compatriots in position, Chester turns to Boomer. “Ready?”
“Uh huh.”
They walk over to the counter. “Now, lay down.”
Boomer lays down as ordered and Chester climbs onto his back. Boomer grunts and groans beneath him. Chester leans forward, his mouth right next to the Retriver’s ear.
“Do you have something to say, Boomer?”
“Nothing,” he gasps.
“Good. Now stand up.”
The big dog struggles and strains, but finally manages to get to his feet. Chester steadies himself on the dog’s back as he quakes and shakes beneath him.
“Hurry,” Boomer gasps.
“Quiet.”
Chester crouches down and focuses, then propels himself upward. For a moment, he feels weightless and like he’s flying. Chester smiles. But then he lands half on the counter, his back feet scrabbling and scraping to find purchase.
“Bloody hell,” he grunts.
Chester struggles, but finally manages to pull his heft on top of the counter. He pants and takes a moment to catch his breath.
“They built it even higher than before,” he huffs. “These humans are diabolical.”
Below him, Boomer is stretching his back, grunting and grumbling under his breath.
“Do you have something to say, Boomer?”
“Nothing at all.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Chester turns and grins to himself as he stares at the small cabinet where the humans store their biscuits. His grin turns to a wide, toothy smile as he can taste victory on the tip of his tongue. He would show these humans he is not one to be trifled with.
“Victory!” he shouts.
Ambling over to the cabinet, Chester bounces a couple of times and raises his heft, balancing on his hind lags. Flicking out his claws, he wedges them beneath the lip of the cabinet door and pulls. And when it swings wide open, Chester gasps.
“You!” he hisses.
Sitting on the floor of the cabinet, his belly stuffed and a smile on his face, Murray pops the last of the biscuits into his mouth and chews. Chester stares aghast at the empty box of biscuits.
“Me,” he says around a mouthful of biscuit.
“How?”
“Because my plan was better than yours,” Murray says with a smile.
“Impossible!”
The rat stares at him with an almost drunken grin on his face and burps. “I guess you’re not the brains of this outfit after all, huh?”
“It’s not because we’re your only options?”
“Quiet, Nacho.”
“What skills do I have?”
“Your special skill is that you know when to shut up and listen, Boomer.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Murray raises his small arm. “And what is our mission?”
“Excellent question,” Chester says. “Tonight, we launch Operation Biscuit Liberation!”
“And… uhhh… what is Operation Biscuit Liberation?”
“Murray, stop interrupting me with stupid questions.”
“Right.”
His tail swishing languidly back and forth, Chester paces back and forth, meeting the eyes of each of his confederates with the gravitas of a general reviewing his troops before a battle—Boomer the Golden Retriever, Murray the Rat, Nacho the Parrot, and Mittens, the little ball of fluff the human woman brought home a few weeks back.
Privately, Chester isn’t sure Mittens isn’t a turncoat spy, informing the humans of their nighttime activities behind his back. He’s eager to please. Maybe too eager. So, this will be a good test of the furball’s loyalty. They aren’t the perfect team, but they will do.
Murray raises his hand again. “I have a question.”
Chester sighs. “What is it?”
“Why are you the leader of this mission?”
“Because I have the brains on this team,” Chester announces. “I am the planner. My plans are the best and ensure our success.”
“Do they though?”
“Murray, shut your yap or you won’t be a part of our mission.”
“And what is our mission again?” Mittens asks.
Chester clamps his mouth shut and swallows down his howl of outrage as he silently counts to five, praying to Bast above for patience.
“Our mission is Operation Biscuit Liberation,” Chester says through gritted teeth.
“And… what is Operation Biscuit Liberation?” Boomer asks.
“Finally, a good question,” Chester says. “For too long, the humans have held all the power. They decide when to give us biscuits and often withhold them for petty offenses. The time has come for us to take that power back. The time has come to say we will not stand for their tyranny. Tonight, we will take the biscuits for ourselves!”
Chester speaks with fervor and zeal but when his speech ends, he’s met with blank stares. The others exchange curious glances. Boomer finally turns to him.
“I always get biscuits when I want one,” he says.
“Because you act like an idiot. You roll around on the ground or chase your tail—you’re better than that, Boomer. You shouldn’t have to perform to earn a biscuit. You’re not one of those poor souls in the circus for crying out loud.”
“I don’t mind."
“But you should!”
Murray’s whiskers twitch. “I don’t get biscuits at all. In fact, whenever the human woman sees me, she screams and chases me with a broom.”
“And I don’t even like biscuits,” Nacho adds. “I like the sunflower seeds they give me.”
“What’s a biscuit?” Mittens asks.
Chester runs a paw over his face and grumbles in frustration. “You are all missing the point.”
“And what is the point?” Murray asks.
“We must teach these humans they do not have power over us.”
“They feed us, walk us, and give us lots of love,” Boomer says.
“All in all, I don’t think we have it very bad here.”
“You’re still mad the woman sprayed you with the water bottle when you scratched the sofa, aren’t you? That’s what this is all about?” Nacho asks.
“I actually think it’s just about Chester getting more biscuits,” Murray says. “I mean, look at him. He really enjoys his biscuits.”
Chester glances at his ample belly and frowns. But then he scowls at the rat. “Look. It’s time to act. To declare that we will not be controlled,” he hisses.
“Okay. I enjoy biscuits,” Boomer says. “What’s your plan, Chester?”
Nacho scoffs. “You always work so hard to please everybody, Boomer.”
“I like it when people are happy. I don’t like it when they’re upset,” the Retriever replies, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.
“My plan is simple. Nacho, you will act as a lookout and if you see the human woman or any of the others, you do that screechy thing with your voice,” Chester says.
“What about me? What should I do?” Mittens asks excitedly.
“If the humans do come, you will create a diversion. Do something cute,” Chester says. “You know they can’t resist that.”
“And what are you going to do?” Murray asks.
“The humans were diabolically clever in building the counters too high for me to jump on,” he says. “So, I am going to climb onto Boomer’s back and he will stand up, giving me an easy jump to the counter. From there, I will be able to open the treasure chests in which they store our biscuits and ensure we all get as many as we want. Easy.”
“You’re a cat,” Nacho says. “Shouldn’t you be able to jump up there on your own?”
“As I said, they were diabolical in building their counters. They, very purposely, built them too high for me to jump up on.”
Murray snickers. “I think the real reason is Chester has gotten too heavy to jump up there on his own. I did hear the human female call him, Chonky Chester once.”
“What’s chonky?” Mittens asks.
“That,” Murray replies, pointing one of his little clawed hands at Chester’s ample midsection swaying beneath him. “Is what is called chonky.”
“Oh. Okay,” Mittens replies.
If Chester were able to blush, he would have. “I’m not chonky. I’m fluffy.”
“If you say so,” Murray says with a laugh.
“Are you done?” Chester huffs.
“I guess so,” Murray says. “So, that’s your big plan?”
“That’s my flawless, excellent plan, yes.”
“I have a better plan.”
“You don’t.”
“I do. And it doesn’t involve breaking poor Boomer’s back—”
“That’s it,” Chester yowls. “We don’t need you. Get out.”
“But—”
“Get out! No biscuits for you!”
Murray stares at Chester for a minute, then shakes his head and turns away, chuckling to himself as he slunk away into the darkness.
“Don’t we need him?” Boomer asks.
“We don’t need him. We’re fine.”
“I think we need him,” Nacho says.
“We’re fine!” Chester hisses. “Now, take your places. Nacho, you’re on lookout.”
Nacho rolls his eyes and flaps away. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Good. Now, Mittens, go wait in the hallway and if Nacho gives the signal, go be stupid and cute,” Chester orders.
“Got it! You can count on me!” Mittens replies and trips over his own feet before getting back up and streaking off to take his position.
With his compatriots in position, Chester turns to Boomer. “Ready?”
“Uh huh.”
They walk over to the counter. “Now, lay down.”
Boomer lays down as ordered and Chester climbs onto his back. Boomer grunts and groans beneath him. Chester leans forward, his mouth right next to the Retriver’s ear.
“Do you have something to say, Boomer?”
“Nothing,” he gasps.
“Good. Now stand up.”
The big dog struggles and strains, but finally manages to get to his feet. Chester steadies himself on the dog’s back as he quakes and shakes beneath him.
“Hurry,” Boomer gasps.
“Quiet.”
Chester crouches down and focuses, then propels himself upward. For a moment, he feels weightless and like he’s flying. Chester smiles. But then he lands half on the counter, his back feet scrabbling and scraping to find purchase.
“Bloody hell,” he grunts.
Chester struggles, but finally manages to pull his heft on top of the counter. He pants and takes a moment to catch his breath.
“They built it even higher than before,” he huffs. “These humans are diabolical.”
Below him, Boomer is stretching his back, grunting and grumbling under his breath.
“Do you have something to say, Boomer?”
“Nothing at all.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Chester turns and grins to himself as he stares at the small cabinet where the humans store their biscuits. His grin turns to a wide, toothy smile as he can taste victory on the tip of his tongue. He would show these humans he is not one to be trifled with.
“Victory!” he shouts.
Ambling over to the cabinet, Chester bounces a couple of times and raises his heft, balancing on his hind lags. Flicking out his claws, he wedges them beneath the lip of the cabinet door and pulls. And when it swings wide open, Chester gasps.
“You!” he hisses.
Sitting on the floor of the cabinet, his belly stuffed and a smile on his face, Murray pops the last of the biscuits into his mouth and chews. Chester stares aghast at the empty box of biscuits.
“Me,” he says around a mouthful of biscuit.
“How?”
“Because my plan was better than yours,” Murray says with a smile.
“Impossible!”
The rat stares at him with an almost drunken grin on his face and burps. “I guess you’re not the brains of this outfit after all, huh?”
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no subject
Date: 2025-09-30 11:20 pm (UTC)LOL Well, that and gluttony, yes.
Fun story.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2025-10-01 01:45 am (UTC)I loved this little note. I had totally assumed that Murry was a pet, and not just an interloper in the household!
And clearly more clever than Chonky Chester.
no subject
Date: 2025-10-01 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-10-06 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-10-07 05:44 pm (UTC)