Dead fluffy December
The stray, part 1
You’re a stray cat, bought for Christmas but dumped after a few days. It’s cold and you’re freezing. You’re very hungry, even the newsprint looks good. You’re hiding in an alleyway from the snow.
“Nyu mammeh?”
A little voice, a dirty fluffy comes beside you.
“Wub?”
You’re very hungry, so you pounce and devour the little fuzzy. Your stomach roils and aches. You need more.
“Bwuda?”
“Whewe is dummeh?”
“Babbehs! Miwkies!”
You round the corner and see a dozen or so fluffies in the light of a flickering bulb. The biggest is only as big as you are. You creep closer in the dark. The largest is a pegasus with torn wings…
Then lightning!
A crack!
The fluffies scramble around, stomping each other as they try to get into the boxes next to the warehouse. One box wobbles and falls on the biggest one.
Its head explodes.
“Scesul fwend nuuuu!”
“Smawty! Fluffy am nuw smawty! Hewd follow!”
If you weren’t hungry, you’d feel sorry for all the dead, but you’ll die. You eat the squashed babies and then tear off and eat the big dead fluffys legs.
“Eeek, mustah!”
You’re full.
“Gu away ow get biggest owwies!”
It’s cold.
You move on, hoping to find a warm place.
New lightning and a car almost hits you. The man yells at you. You run, for lack of a better way, then fall backwards on the cold, wet tarmac.
(What next, fluffy community? How should the cat’s life go on?)
For Dead Fluffy December
