Rargh
A shit short story for your enjoyment.
Upon a sunny day, a rather large cat was walking along a rooftop. He met a pidgeon. Instead of trying to kill it, he asked it a question. (much to the pidgeon's surprise, who had nearly had a heart attack at the sight of a cat so close.)
"Small and rather deaf bird, why am I so hairy?"
The pidgeon blinked. "I don't know. Maybe you were born on a snowy day, and your skin has never forgotten it, thus the excess hair."
The cat sat and thought about it, but wasn't satisfied. He climbed down the roof, but slipped and fell in a pond. Panicking and scrabbling, he struggled out very fast, only to notice that he was in the Garden Of The Dog. The cat privatley refered to this as the Garden Of Doom, but kept it to his self, as his smaller friends considered this overexaggeration, but that was just because they weren't as large and could run faster.
"YOU! INVADER!" Screeched a voice. The cat didn't look back but bolted down the garden, hearing the panting as an over excited black hairy mass descended. He shot up the nearest tree, and looked down at the dog. Instant reaction caused spitting, and mass englarment of his back tail and eyes.
"...You're really hairy, did you know that?" Said the dog.
The cat deflated slightly. "Why do think that is?"
"Maybe cause you're so fat, you need that extra hair to cover you."
The cat gave The Stare (which was approved of by his friends) and jumped onto the shed next door. He made his way across a small field, and into the back garden of a townhouse, using the bins as access to the window. Landing with a flump in one of the sitting room chairs, he was instantly scooped up by a pair of female hands.
"Awwww! Snookums! Have you been out chasing birdies again? Well, don't worry, Daddy is in the kitchen, I'm sure he'll give you some kibbles instead!" He was stroked profusely.
"Why am I so hairy?"
Everyone knows that cats can't talk, but the cat's owner felt like she had a special connection with creatures of nature, so she seemed to answer anyway.
"Aw, sweetie, don't look like that, it doesn't matter, I like you just the way you are!"
He was finally set on the floor, where he made straight for the kitchen. The owners mate was in there. This was a good thing.
The cat 'rowled and wrapped itself round a pair of black leather boots, and perfectly on call, a piece of raw chicken was dropped from above.
"Go on. Outside with it. Otherwise she'll accuse me of trying to make you an animal or something by feeding you raw things. Go outside and kill some pidgeons like a good cat."
He squeezed himself through the flap and munched his chicken thoughtfully.
Life was good.
Upon a sunny day, a rather large cat was walking along a rooftop. He met a pidgeon. Instead of trying to kill it, he asked it a question. (much to the pidgeon's surprise, who had nearly had a heart attack at the sight of a cat so close.)
"Small and rather deaf bird, why am I so hairy?"
The pidgeon blinked. "I don't know. Maybe you were born on a snowy day, and your skin has never forgotten it, thus the excess hair."
The cat sat and thought about it, but wasn't satisfied. He climbed down the roof, but slipped and fell in a pond. Panicking and scrabbling, he struggled out very fast, only to notice that he was in the Garden Of The Dog. The cat privatley refered to this as the Garden Of Doom, but kept it to his self, as his smaller friends considered this overexaggeration, but that was just because they weren't as large and could run faster.
"YOU! INVADER!" Screeched a voice. The cat didn't look back but bolted down the garden, hearing the panting as an over excited black hairy mass descended. He shot up the nearest tree, and looked down at the dog. Instant reaction caused spitting, and mass englarment of his back tail and eyes.
"...You're really hairy, did you know that?" Said the dog.
The cat deflated slightly. "Why do think that is?"
"Maybe cause you're so fat, you need that extra hair to cover you."
The cat gave The Stare (which was approved of by his friends) and jumped onto the shed next door. He made his way across a small field, and into the back garden of a townhouse, using the bins as access to the window. Landing with a flump in one of the sitting room chairs, he was instantly scooped up by a pair of female hands.
"Awwww! Snookums! Have you been out chasing birdies again? Well, don't worry, Daddy is in the kitchen, I'm sure he'll give you some kibbles instead!" He was stroked profusely.
"Why am I so hairy?"
Everyone knows that cats can't talk, but the cat's owner felt like she had a special connection with creatures of nature, so she seemed to answer anyway.
"Aw, sweetie, don't look like that, it doesn't matter, I like you just the way you are!"
He was finally set on the floor, where he made straight for the kitchen. The owners mate was in there. This was a good thing.
The cat 'rowled and wrapped itself round a pair of black leather boots, and perfectly on call, a piece of raw chicken was dropped from above.
"Go on. Outside with it. Otherwise she'll accuse me of trying to make you an animal or something by feeding you raw things. Go outside and kill some pidgeons like a good cat."
He squeezed himself through the flap and munched his chicken thoughtfully.
Life was good.