Gold orbs follow my slightest movement, waiting for the prime opportunity. My back turns, and the great beast swishes his tail in anticipation--The Game is on. One padded claw drops silently infront of another as he closes in on his prey. His satan-slanted eyes never leaving my unsuspecting back as I fold my laundry. He slowly picks up speed when he realizes I am preoccupied. His muscles bunch, his pelt ripples across his shoulders as he prepares to pounce. I hear nothing, until- CRUNCH. I turn swiftly to run to the kitchen, passing the entryway just in time to scream, "Raeef! You fat ass cat! Get out of the freezer!"
Raeef's such a fatty mcfatterson.
ReplyDeleteLove you.