Do you know what I did? The rat race king selected two of his best mice minions to fight me. Those mice thought they would feast upon my sleek, shiny coat for they had envisioned my dead body a ceremonial public banquet to be placed upon and served on their dirty refectory table. Bad move, king rat.
I heard its neck snap a crunch in between my back teeth. That poor first minion; it had no chance. It chose foolishly to sneak up at my front doorstep wearing a flared up chest filled with fury. That was the end of him. I haven’t yet finished him off. He’s still gasping for some air.
Oh, but that second mouse minion was sure putting up a fight. He was plumper around the belly than the first minion. He liked tossing and flinging lit matches inside my kitchen’s backdoor. Unfortunately, his tiny forebrain forgot to calculate my ability to sniff out smoke fumes at least 150 feet away. What a dunce.
He was left stunned and shocked by my supernova act. I had pranced then pronked over the flames, curving my back like an African gazelle, when my two front claws landed on his back. Instinctively, my right-paw claw chiseled a hole on the right side of his face. And on that holey side is where I hooked and hung him flat against one of my kitchen walls, frameless.
Black Cat Words 