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Rated: E · Short Story · Fantasy · #993417
'Tongue-in-Cheek' short story about a cat gone bad, well, maybe
What's For Lunch

With the slightest effort, he rises from reclining on the bed, stretching his feline muscles and curling his long bushy tail up over his back. A slow yawn splits his enigmatic face, revealing white fangs glistening as the light from the window glances off of them. He turns his face to the door as it opens, and his large green eyes widen as an enticing smell wafts inside and into his waiting nostrils. The powerful legs tense as he leaps down to the floor, and he darts between the legs of the person stepping into the room. A cry of dismay follows him as he swiftly dashes down the hall, and the delicious scent grows even stronger as his paws begin to slow in his search for what is calling him forth.
'Ah, that smell..., what is it? Where is it coming from, and why does it have to be so delectable to me?' the cat ponders to itself as he comes to a halt before the door to the room he'd never been allowed into before. To his surprise, it was ajar, and his whiskers nearly flare out straight as he drinks in the wonderful aroma assailing his senses. With a quick flick of his tail to the left, the cat saunters into the room, its senses focused on what was tempting it to come within.
To the surprise of the curious feline, it at first appeared that he had been misled, for the surroundings seemed devoid of any hint of where the source of the alluring smell was emenating from. And then, his eyes focus on what is laying in plain view before him on the bed, and his feline eyes grow huge as his tail swishes back and forth like a maddened snake. As his hind end begins to wriggle slightly, he focuses his sights on the sleeping form and then leaps up into the air, landing solidly on the bed and waking the young man there.
'So, it is you, the one who was here before....! I thought so,' he says silently in his mind, and the eyes focusing on him begin to fill with the apprehension he had seen the last time. A low growl emenates from the cat's throat as he flexes his claws, and with a blur of sudden movement to fast to make out, he sinks his paws' sharp daggers into the flesh that gives way far easier than before. Odd, what is this? Hmmmm, does not smell the same at all, the cat with the oddly-colored fur ponders, and then lunges forward, sinking his fangs into the bare arm he is holding down. 'Ah, now I recognize that smell!
I think I should change my name to Garfield, for I am eating lasagne!'
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