Huple's Cat
Late that night Hungry Joe dreamed that Huple's cat was sleeping on
his face, suffocating him, and when he woke up, Huple's cat was
sleeping on his face. His agony was terrifying, the piercing,
unearthly howl with which he split the moonlit dark vibrating in its
own impact for seconds afterward like a devastating shock. A numbing
silence followed, and then a riotous din rose from inside his tent.
Yossarian was among the first ones there. When he burst through the
entrance, Hungry Joe had his gun out and was struggling to wrench his
arm free from Huple to shoot the cat, who kept spitting and feinting
at him ferociously to distract him from shooting Huple. Both humans
were in their GI underwear. The unfrosted light bulb overhead was
swinging crazily on its loose wire, and the jumbled black shadows kept
swirling and bobbing chaotically, so that the entire tent seemed to be
reeling. Yossarian reached out instinctively for balance and then
launched himself forward in a prodigious dive beneath him. He emerged
from the melee with the scruff of a neck in each hand -- Hungry Joe's
neck and the cat's. Hungry Joe and the cat glared at each other
savagely. The cat spat viciously at Hungry Joe, and Hungry Joe tried
to hit it with a haymaker.
"A fair fight," Yossarian decreed, and all the others who had come
running to the uproar in horror began cheering ecstatically in a
tremendous overflow of relief. "We'll have a fair fight," he
explained officially to Hungry Joe and the cat after he had carried
them both outside, still holding them apart by the scruffs of their
necks. "Fists, fangs and claws. But no guns," he warned Hungry Joe.
"And no spitting," he warned he cat sternly. "When I turn you both
loose, go. Break clean in the clinches and come back fighting. Go!"
There was a huge, giddy crowd of men who were avid for any diversion,
but the cat turned chicken the moment Yossarian released him and fled
from Hungry Joe ignominiously like a yellow dog. Hungry Joe was
declared the winner. He swaggered away happily with the proud smile
of a champion, his shriveled head high and his emaciated chest out.
He went back to bed victorious and dreamed again that Huple's cat was
sleeping on his face, suffocating him.
--Joseph Heller, Catch-22.