Page 131 of Precious Hazard

Tap. Tap.

A man, dressed in a strange black outfit, looking like one of the lunatics the Mean One sometimes watches on TV, turns the corner, sneaking inside the room. He halts, looking around in the dark, then removes something from his belt.

A weapon!

Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

He has a weapon!

By God’s fleas! The stupid Mean One picked today of all days to whisk Milene on a date instead of protecting his lair! Useless! No instinct at all.

Click.

A beam of light extends from the intruder’s hand, sweeping across the room from corner to corner.

Oh. It’s a flashlight.

I flatten myself on top of the bookshelf, keeping utterly still. Not even a whisker twitches on me as I watch this strange interpoler snooping about my territory.

Is he a thief? He’s not opening any drawers, not pulling out anything. An assassin? Sent by a Mean One’s enemy to take out Milene’s mate?

Darn it, I have such horrid luck!

You should have come over an hour ago, you idiot! Before the Mean One left!

I continue observing the intruder as he walks around, checking out every nook and cranny. Under the furniture, behind the curtains, even between the cushions of the couch. Is he searching for something?

Not an assassin, then.

When he’s done with his weird-ass inspection, the snooper takes out his phone and heads to the kitchen.

“Fred,” he says quietly into his device. “Are you sure it’s supposed to be in the living room? Because it’s not here. Should I check the rest of the place?”

The man is too far away for me to hear the answer, but that reply must have been some kind of instruction because the intruder moves toward the cupboard. My cupboard!

He is a thief!

“Alright. I’ll try that.” He nods as he reaches inside. Taking out a can I’m all too familiar with. He sets it on the counter. Opens it.

What the fuck? Did he feel like having a snack in the middle of his dumb robbery or something? Whatever. No one comes into my den uninvited. No one steals my food! I shall deal with him immediately and without mercy. I shall— Fuck! I’m starting to sound just like the Mean One. That’s terrible. Back to the issue at hand.

I’m judging the distance between my hideout and the hungry burglar. Calculating how many leaps would be needed to land on his back. Plotting the force required to— Oh, what is that wonderful smell?

Yum, yum, yum! The divine scent of tuna fills the air.

Suffering nine lives! Drool spills out of my mouth. I’ve been getting nothing but tasteless kibble shit and zero treats for weeks, and a mere sniff of that mouthwatering aroma makes me want to rev up my purr engine.

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

The intruder lowers the can of tuna to the kitchen floor.

Nope. Ignore him. It’s some kind of a trick.

Everyone knows not to take fish from strangers.

But dog’s balls, it smells so good! Tempting me. Tempting me.

This dumb forced diet has turned my poor tummy into the size of a pea. How much can a starving cat be expected to handle?Mmm…Maybe just a sniff? A quick little bite—to recoup my power—before I turn my focus to disposing of this unwanted visitor.