“Not too noisy, I hope?� Enikie looked over to Solana as she finished clearing the table.

Solana shook her head, “No, it's very comfortable here. Very lively.� There was that word again. Why did everything have to be so alive these days? Yet it was also comforting, as if she was trying to take in the liveliness around her to fulfill the strange lack of her own.

“You know, Ester works in your area. He goes by there every day. Hates the hour commute, but says his job is a good paying one.� Enikie began.

“I thought Ester was a girl's name.� Solana asked, realizing it may sound rude, though secretly it amused her.

“Don't let him catch you saying that.� Enikie laughed, “His parents must've had a sense of humor. He never told me if there was a reason on it or not, but he doesn't go with any nick names so I suppose he prefers Ester. Anyways, I was wondering, and I hope I don't seem too bold, if you'd like to work here. I really do need an assistant to help care for the place and the children, especially when all of them are home. We struggle on money, but I'm sure I can work out a decent payment.�

Solana caught her breath, looking down at her hands guiltily, “Er, I actually have a job. Going steady for almost four years now.�

Enikie gave a ready laugh again, “Oh dear, I'm sorry I didn't even ask that first. I must seem rather presumptuous.�

“I'd love to help out though. I don't think I can be here every day, but perhaps I could contribute money? I don't really use any myself.� Solana offered.

“Oh goodness no, I don't wish for any charity. We'd all enjoy your company, is what I meant.�

<End drabble.>
Another never-to-be-finished story. I figured if vampires had so many different stories about them with skin that burns in the light or just glitters, or whatever, zombies should be more than brain-hungry things. I did have a nice plot laid out with a particular zombie defect that'd be important later and of course large corporation intervention, but meh.

The intricate twine of thread through thread gleamed dully with dew in the cavernous basement. The spider dutifully ignored the constant drip of a nearby leak, the lone sound echoing in the large room. Years of abandoned construction work was revealed through the piles of rock and steel, wood and crates. Unlike the fickle humans that used to come and go, however, the spider did not abandon its work. The weaving tapestry began to take form, a rare perfect circle with gentle curves between each perpendicular line. Fate itself could hardly create such a perfect weaving.

An abrupt thunder of footsteps down the creaking stairs penetrated the stagnant air, stirring it to life once more. Two figures swathed in black dragged a third across the room, ignoring the pleas and the struggles against them. They dropped the young woman at their feet, though rested their palms on her shoulders in a silent warning before lowering their heads in a respectful bow.

“My lady Kiara, we bring you the chosen one.� One of the figures spoke, a male voice dipped in trained monotone with a hint of satisfaction. The other figure simply laughed quietly, a feminine hiss under her breath.

[i]Good work, my faithful servants. Bring her to me.[i] The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, only it wasn't loud and it seemed to leave out the echo that the room naturally brought forth.

“Chosen one?� The girl blurted out as she was dragged forward again, her blue eyes wide with shock and her pale skin seemingly even more white, “I'm no chosen one! Chosen ones have powers and, and, things!�

The voice seemed to chuckle, a mirthful, sinister chuckle that shook the soul, [i]Dear girl, 'chosen' merely implies the choice upon taking you. You weren't chosen for any particular athletic or mental ability. You watch too much television I'm sure. I just asked my followers to bring me the closest person. You are the chosen one because you are conveniently nearby, and I'd really prefer not to wait any longer.[i]

The young woman blinked, now irritated, “I don't even watch the news.� A pause as she was dumped on the ground again, this time in front of a chair with a small box on its seat. She rearranged her priorities to go back to panicking at her current situation of being abducted, “What do you need me for then? You aren't going to...� She was about to ask if she was to be killed, but decided against giving the voice any funny ideas.

[i]A ritual was recently performed which brought my soul back to life. Unfortunately my body is long since decayed, so I need a new one. It won't hurt a bit. You'll simply not exist anymore.[i] The young woman shivered, knowing at once she was in the presence of a demon. They were rare now, having been mostly extinguished by trained fighters centuries ago, but they weren't completely unheard of. Mostly the weak kind of stragglers that posed no harm to humans. All the dangerous kind were dead. Or at least used to be dead. The pale girl shivered again, silently cursing the magic that brought this creature back. One of the black figures strode forward, gingerly picking up the box and opening it slowly.

Kiara wasn't one for theatrics, as she preferred to get things done quickly and efficiently. A single flash of light as she ascended into the human body was all that illustrated the transaction. Seconds passed as the blurred world came into view, her body suddenly plagued by the human senses. With particular care to her new body, she stood upright, taking a deep breath of the muggy air about her.

She reached up and plucked a spider from its web, idly squishing it between her thumb and her middle finger, “Finally. This should be fun.�

<End drabble.>
Didn't really make any plans, just some beginning thoughts of a possible story. Doubt I'll ever expand on it.

Ah, Valentines day. Forget the lovey dovey scene. This day is all about the chocolate. Or rather, the day after. Just imagining the mass sales of sweet milk chocolate makes my mouth water in anticipation. Yes, my delectable treats, you have but to wait patiently in your wrappers. The peals of laughter that glimmers against your shapely forms, the singing of the crinkling wrapper as you bloom. Delicious nectar that's hidden within these thin lines, your precious taste will not go unnoticed.

I praise thee, delicate chocolate, for you have captured the hearts of many. We are but simple slaves devoted to your coming. Your daily resurrection reassures us and warms our little souls, and we feast upon the mere scent you exude. This chuckling that comes from me now is the joy that I feel in just thinking about how I might taste your lips, how I might-

"Stop laughing to yourself and just buy the dang thing."

Yes, my chocolate, I did give this intruder a proper glare. They might not understand or appreciate your elegance and grace, but fear not. Such outsiders are but bugs in your presence.

"It'll be on sale tomorrow. I'll wait 'til then." Yes, I can wait as long as I must. I shall sweep all of you to my bosom, and carry you gingerly home that I might consume your very essence.

My darling chocolate, just wait for me a little longer. This Valentines day shall soon pass, and you and I shall have our own special date.

<End drabble.>
Scary crazy, anyone? : D Obsession for chocolate not encourage. Also not based on personal experience. No.. really. I mean it..

The worst part about traveling to new worlds is the process it takes to get there. Sure, you may land in a world full of creatures who want to eat you or a place with no land, but that's to be expected of unknown worlds. Traveling to them, however, is the same, painful dreaded feeling every time. It begins as you stare into the eyes of a cat, whose connection to the other side opens with just the right trigger and you can feel yourself being shredded. It's rather like being torn apart, piece by piece, with their lethal sharp claws, only to be crammed into something that's not really there and moving by things that you can't really tell what are until you land in an ungraceful heap of aches and pains on the other side. A cat looking exactly like the one you might have just traveled through would be sitting there with mild disdain, wondering when you were going to deliver its food. I carry a pouch of fish bits across my belt for such instances.

The tale that cats have nine lives isn't exactly true. As a matter of fact, all cats have at least one life on another world, a duplicate, but not all cats have more than that. It varies per cat, perhaps randomly, or perhaps in a design we can never conceive of. My father before me was well known for traveling the worlds, and the most he recorded in one cat was nine. Others before him have never found past nine, and those who travel now like me have never found past nine. The sheer number of cats that exist in all the different worlds makes it quite impossible to determine just how many worlds there are, likely as countless as the stars that glimmer in the alien skies.

Over time, you get a certain knack for telling which world a cat holds. It's difficult to explain, but its a feeling of familiarity. Sometimes you might have a vague taste of salt in your mouth, perhaps something nearby will sound like a seagull, and you might think, “Ah, this cat is a water world.� Of course, its up to your own intuition as to which water world it may be. There is, of course, a collection of knowledge on all these other worlds in small bases of schools across different planes, but I've never been one for much study. Yeah, my peers sneer in disdain at my lack of formal knowledge, but you can't get what I know from travel school alone.

My father was one of the best, having turned down offers to be a teacher himself in favor of continuing his own travels. He never wanted to be the one to talk of it while he could be the one doing it, and he passed his love down to me. I admit he wanted his first born son to have the ability to travel, but when that inner key seemed to skip my brother and pass on to me, my father accepted it. I could tell that having his only daughter be the one to encounter dangers did not lay lightly on his mind, but I always thought that was being overly traditional and an outdated manner of thinking. Through my father, I learned all the tricks of the trade, carefully taking notes and learning of each world. There wasn't any one particular base of information, as different worlds discovered of travel and formed their own versions of schools at perhaps the same time before knowing one another existed. For me, I reported to the school of my home world. Nostalgia, perhaps, but I didn't care to try to get to know the politics of others nor was I interested.

Today, however, I wouldn't have to worry about the pain of traveling to another world. The anniversary of the death of my father always compels me to visit the zoo in which as a young child I accidentally discovered how to travel to new worlds in the eyes of a tiger. Hearing the stories of how it happened was always amusing, as of course my father and mother panicked. Caged tiger in one world certainly didn't mean it would be caged in another. They explained that the tiger never attacked me, just thought me as a lost cub and protected me, however I had the feeling that the story was false and that they didn't care to elaborate on whatever the truth was. Considering that both parents were dead now, there was a good chance that I'd never know.

The ticket was paid for, my hand dutifully stamped, and I began the familiar walk into the zoo. Those who travel worlds have an uncanny memory. I suppose its a trait that comes with the job, though I can't really say why. Genetics, like the inner key, I guess. I had most of the zoo memorized by now, having visited it once every year for nearly six years now. A rock had changed here, the animal different there, little things that people could blissfully ignore while I couldn't help but notice. I rounded the bend past the monkey area and down through the double doors and into the cooler area of penguins and polar bears. I watched as fish got fed to the hungry creatures.

Just as they killed out of necessity, I was reminded of the stories whereupon a cat was killed out of necessity. There have been times when a dangerous creature, the worst being human of course, would be chasing after you, but only truly dangerous if they knew how to travel worlds. It was actually fairly common for even the barbaric of humans to at some instinctual level know how to travel. Those were the times that people would hop to another world to escape, and to kill the cat that lead them there and snuff out the door like a light puff against a candle. I myself have never done it, and gave a silent vow to myself long ago that I never would. I carry a pack tranquilizer darts on me if such instances come up, figuring that I would be long gone by the time the cat wakes up to let the portal become active. Not all travelers had access to such a luxury, however, and some might have been unprepared or perhaps lost their materials in a skirmish or quick escape. Nevertheless, killing a cat disgusted me to the core of my soul.

Further past the polar bears and into the regular bears. They were sleeping. Moving along and
purposely avoiding the tiger cage, I admired the peacocks that roamed the street freely. I bought the one dollar cup of juice and entered the cage of birds, holding up the juice to let the colorful feathers descend upon me in a flurry of beautiful greed. I've seen more creatures than perhaps all of my peers my age. It would be arrogant of me to claim to have seen the most ever, but I certainly have put in a lot of travel time. It's common among young or early travelers to love doing it until they have a near death encounter, whereupon the first world that seems like heaven is the world they settle down in for the rest of their lives. They were good people, I'd met many before, and they often provided me with shelter once they realized who, or rather what, I was and they remembered what it used to be like. My father, however, almost never held back information and experiences, giving me the both the wondrous and delightful experiences along with the grisly illustrations so as to give no illusions of grandeur. He wanted me prepared, as much as he loathed himself for bringing his daughter into the same dangerous life as he, and he prepared me well. As a father, he was aware that traveling to new worlds held a tantalizing fantasy in the minds of young children, and to deny me such a natural right would only lead me to rebellion. Instead of chancing my running off to explore on my own, he let me in on everything from the very beginning. I worshiped him for being so kind, honorable and knowledgeable. My mother was always concerned for our wellbeing, carefully packing supplies every time he prepared for an outing. I loved my mother just as much as my father, her kind and gentle ways a fond memory. I felt terribly sorry for the children who were born under men broken by traveling too long, their memories too vivid, their anger misdirected. My parents were good to me, and I appreciated it to the fullest.

Giraffes arched their long, slender necks curiously across the air, like a solid tree waving lazily in the breeze. My parents were never really rich, though they certainly could have been. I suppose they didn't want to raise spoiled children. Selling souvenirs from other worlds was always a good profit maker, however they kept a lot of them for themselves, fond reminders of what was out there. Most of the income they allowed themselves went towards supplies and materials, but we children were left with a modest inheritance. My brother was never left out of our world, so to speak. Father always made sure to teach him what was out there, as much as he taught me. Being the older of us two, my brother always seemed to wish he could be out there helping to protect me, however he seemed resigned that he never could. Instead, he invested his time and energy into the school that acted as the information base for our world. We never saw one another very often, but I would visit him once in a while and we always got along. I always brought him the best of information, and he always made sure it was used in the best of ways to help others who would come after.

I had made a complete circle of the zoo by now, slowly making my way back to the tiger cage. I could see a tall silhouette standing in front of the tiger cage, and knew instantly by the slight slouch to the shoulders and the skinny form that it was my brother. I grinned and waved when he peered over his shoulder at me, returning the grin just as warmly. We embraced when I got there, exchanging our hellos and how do you dos as ritual. Silence fell over us as we watched the tiger lazily lounging in the sun, I careful to avoid its eyes. My brother was the first to speak, “There's been word from one of the other schools that some zealots from another world banned together. Been world hopping and attacking anyone they think is a traveler.�

I rolled my eyes, “What's this? People trying to kill us? Whatever could you mean.� Nothing new there, of course.

“You know I worry.� His voice was rebuking, “They're more organized, and while their mindset is medieval, they're not like the barbaric kind who shake their sticks and call for a sacrifice. They think traveling is a sin and they're out to stop it.�

I arched a brow, “Isn't that kind of hypocritical of them? If traveling is such a great sin then why are they doing it?�

“From what we can figure, there's a good chance that once they've done the deed, they'll return home and be killed themselves.�

“Great. Do their world a favor and get bumped for it.� Sighing, I rested my elbows on the high wall over the tiger, “Any idea how many worlds they've gone through or how many there are?�

“Not sure. Considering how many people we have spread out over however many worlds they are, encounters aren't very common. They've knocked out enough to make us want to give out cautionary notices, however.� He handed me the official cautionary notice.

“I'll keep my eyes out then.� My pale hand reached out and took it, only glancing once at the picture and details before stashing it away in my bulky coat. I should probably be bothered for standing in the sun with a large coat on, but I wasn't. Smirking, I patted down my brother's dark brown hair. It was always messy, even when it was neat. He stuck out his tongue, and I returned the gesture before making sure my own strawberry blond hair wasn't as bad off as his.

“I suppose I should get back to work, then.� He said wistfully, his hands jammed into his jeans as a great sigh hefted his chest.

“The joys of paperwork, I'm sure.� I gave my sympathies.

“I'd actually prefer the paper over the jumping.� Chuckling, he shook his head, “Just be careful, okay?�

“I always am.� Grinning, I turned to the tiger before me. My brother was already walking away, and I waited patiently for the tiger to finally peer up long enough for me to lock eyes. My own golden eyes flashed towards his own, and I could feel that subtle slip of a key as something veiled clicked instinctively in place. The familiar tingles of pain began to shiver through my body. I felt that if I looked at my arms, the the would start to peel off, the blood spraying unnaturally about, though I knew that it wouldn't actually look that way. It looked just as normal as it always did. It just hurt like the world of fire and brimstone. Rather like being vacuumed, I could feel myself falling towards the tiger. The creature getting larger and larger, myself feeling like I was but the size of a hair. I knew that I disappeared where I stood by the wall, my body going with a pop, but here I was, falling towards the tiger. I never heard the pop that observers would describe, only the pain and the feeling of being pressured into a tiny tube.

Then the world that I was born in disappeared, plagued by an inky black that could only be compared to as something akin to space. Terrible, misshaped colors began to flicker past, gradually forming into wales and cries of blurred color. Sometimes I wondered if what I was traveling through was another world. If I tried to put down my feet, I be in another plane. But I never did. Never knew how to, as a matter of fact. No one knew how to, nor could anyone actually explain what it was. All we could do was trust the link of the cat. My ears popped and I realized that the green world was spinning about me. I waited for the world to stop wrecking havoc on my senses before slowly, painfully standing upright. You'd think that after so many times you'd become used to the pain, become tolerant. It really wasn't something you could become tolerant of, though. It just hurt every time, simple as that.

I'd been to this world countless times before. The tiger glared at me, indignant that I had used its passage. It tolerated me vaguely now, having learned the first several times of attacking me meant instant sleep. I wondered if tigers would become tolerant of me on my own home world, or if they would simply attack me every time. The creature grudgingly allowed me to stay in his world, trudging off in whatever direction he felt like going. I wasn't the first to explore this land, especially as seeing the link was in such a public place as the zoo. There wasn't anything special here, it was like a giant overgrown jungle that consisted of the entire planet. No one could truly, fully explore one world, but if there was nothing blatantly obvious, then people moved on. We couldn't spend quality time in one world when there were thousands of others to explore. I made a habit of coming here, however, at the least for my father's death anniversary. My brother knew I came here and he was always there to send me off.

I stuffed my hands into my coat pocket, blinking and pulled one hand out, a foreign object clutched between my fingers. I gave a short laugh as I realized my brother had slipped in a bar of chocolate for me, and I of course gratefully opened the wrapper to start munching as I walked along. I don't care how many worlds bring new and exciting foods, nothing will ever beat chocolate.

Not planning on staying too long, I kept the tiger in my line of sight so I wouldn't have to chase it back down. That was one of the hard parts of world hopping. If the cat wasn't lazy or domesticated, you had to give one heck of a chase to catch the darn thing. Half the time I suspected that it wasn't me finally catching them, but rather them finally deciding to let me catch them. I remembered back to before the tiger tolerated my presence. It was easy getting here as I would simply shoot the tiger with a dart, but getting back was a lot of trouble. The creature had to be awake for that part, and so long as I was there gazing lovingly into its eyes, he was gazing back hungrily into mine. As I said, it eventually got to a point where he tolerated me, albeit grudgingly.

My golden eyes swung about the wild greenery, unkempt and natural, the fresh scent of rain and dirt meeting my nostrils as I walked. I popped up wherever the tiger was, so often times it would be in a new area. This was one of those such times, an area I hadn't seen before. Nothing new aside from different trees and flowers, mind you, but new nonetheless. I finished off the chocolate and crinkled the wrapper back into my deep coat pocket, pulling out a pair of binoculars. The cheesy, cheap kind that folds up real small, but it worked. A quick glance at the enlarged scenery confirmed the existence of, surprise, more greenery. I eyed the tiger making decent progress up a small hill, so I pulled my hand down and shuffled after him. I knew I couldn't walk as quiet as an animal in its natural habitat, but considering all the places I've been, I figured I walked quieter than most other people. My booted feet stepped gingerly over the ground, instinctively finding little footings where there was somehow no twig to snap or mud to squelch.

The top of the hill rolled into view, my eyes following the tiger as he prowled downwards to the other side. Peering about, I realized there was something different from the usual forestry pattern. Trees seems slightly more lined, a little closer, almost unnaturally so. I walked between the uniform trees, my eyes flashing with suspicion as I realized what was so different. It was hard to miss, really. Tall stones, smoothed and placed carefully one atop the other. It wasn't that finding old ruins was anything grand, but finding them here, after hearing nothing about a previous civilization, was quite surprising. Now feeling rather like Alice following the white rabbit, I made my way down after the tiger, my eyes sponging up the scene.

<End drabble.>
Spur of the moment writing. Since today is sunny, my dad was thinking about us going out to the zoo, and since I love cats, I felt inspired to write. Dunno if I'd continue it as I never really planned anything out (spur of the moment, as I said)

The large spot of ink slowly spun its threads out from where it had fallen, the paper giving way to hidden passages that stretched out as if the masterpiece of a spider's web delicately ingrained. A sigh at the blunder, followed without pause by the quick dabbing with a paper napkin. The ink blot was blatant, but nothing Valiara couldn't work with.

Pale fingers carefully adjusted around the handle, the tip of the pen nib dipped once more into the bottle that read of India Black Ink, the off-brand kind for poor students like Valiara herself was. The pen nib lifted, its tip giving the lightest of kisses to the paper beneath it. A gentle arch flowed into a firmer hold, the line becoming more bold before abruptly lifting with a flick to let the thickness detract into something more petite. The nib was dipped in water and quickly scrubbed down before being pulled apart from its other half. A separate nib, though by no means newer, replaced it. The thinner point was introduced not for the first time with the ink, and it too gave its caress to the paper.

Valiara couldn't ever be sure how long it took her to draw in her lines. Whenever she tried timing herself, she always forgot the point at which she began. Time was nothing when she fell away from reality, for only her mind and the ink she lay would exist. Now that she had finished, however, she pondered once more about how long it had taken her. A few hours, she guessed loosely. The paper was left to dry as she pulled out her water colors, trusting the off-brand ink's advertisement of "waterproof" held true. Her station was swiftly set up with a cup of water, a few choices of brushes, a bit of salt, the ever diminishing roll of paper towels, and of course the simple palette of colors.

A slender finger gently tapped a line with a napkin, then once more with confidence as she confirmed the lines to be dry. The bristles of the brush gently swayed in the water as Valiara loosened them, the tip then rolling into the blue, pulling the ink to life once more. She lavished the background with the dark blue, letting the water drip downwards with the occasional sprinkle of purples and the lightening dabs of the towel. The salt was swiftly added, her thumb, index finger and middle finger each rubbing against one another to distribute the crystalline figures evenly.

Time had again alluded her, though she was aware of it once more as she waited for the paint to dry. Sharp blue eyes peered out the window. The sun was in full blossom, its petals reaching far and wide across the afternoon sky. Her pale skin would attest to the fact that Valiara didn't get out much, though she did enjoy a nice day such as this. Perhaps she would journey to the park amidst the safety of the trees' shadows.

The background had dried and she pulled out the reds and yellows, taking care to keep the cooler colors at ready. The woman in the picture gradually smiled back, a small, wistful smile that spoke of many stories yet unheard. Golden hair glowed against the darkness of the night that surrounded her, and the flowing of her dress was draped across the stars. Pauses between each segment went by slowly as the paint was given leeway to dry once more, though Valiara resumed the moment she deemed it ready.

Art is never finished, only abandoned. She couldn't remember where she had heard such a phrase before, but it struck true in her mind. There was only so much more she could do to this piece before calling it done in her own mind, knowing that someone else may think it needed more. Fingers glided over the rough surface of the paper, the salt earlier embedded coming loose against the tips of her fingers to reveal sprinkles of white and a texture of particular dots. A final sprinkle from a white acrylic paint was added, and Valiara called it done.

She set the paper aside, turning towards the window. Yes, today would be a nice day to go to the park.

<End drabble.>
Just the quiet process of a woman painting. A seperation from the world into her own, though focused only at the task at hand. Boring, perhaps, but just an exploration.

Mr. Whiskers gave an impatient twitch of his tail. He had completed his mandatory eight hour afternoon nap, and now it was time for his meal. Unfortunately, his human was late, and Mr. Whiskers didn't tolerate lateness. Resting his noble chin atop his paws, his golden eyes glowered in silence at the door, forcefully willing his human to come. Did she not appreciate him letting her live in the same apartment as he? As punishment, he decided, he would not sleep in the crook of her arm tonight.

Sharp ears twitched as the sound of metal clicking on metal could be heard just outside the door. One click, two.. three? Mr. Whiskers frowned. His human didn't carry that many keys. Who was this intruder? The door creaked open, a man in what looked like a giant blue scratching post stepped in. Mr. Whiskers sniffed daintily at the air, holding an instinctive dislike for this intruder. He didn't quite feel like going to deal with the human just yet, as the sun was still warming his own golden fur. The human's fur was a darker color, not uncommon, however it was unnaturally shiny, as if he didn't go through the ritual of standing under mechanized rain like his own guardian did daily. Mr. Whiskers wasn't against shiny, of course, but humans with shiny hair like that generally had a unique stench about them that was almost pleasant to investigate. Almost.

Watching the human shuffle about the kitchen, Mr. Whiskers decided that he should at least give the human a test to see how servant worthy he was. The lithe creature stretched with care, gingerly extending his claws with a subconscious kneading motion. Golden fur gleaming warmly in the sun, Mr. Whiskers glided off the edge of the window, landing with the natural feline grace of a superior race. He walked over to the giant of a human, investigating wearily at the edge before making his presence known with a haughty, “Meow.�

The human looked down at him, baring his teeth. Having been around humans long enough, Mr. Whiskers had come to ignore this strange human trait. The baring of teeth amongst humans was apparently not meant to be threatening. Of course, with teeth as flat as theirs, its no wonder that no threat could be read in their actions. This human was intelligent enough to know to stretch out his hand, letting Mr. Whiskers sniff the tips of his fingers before the commencement of fur petting began. Purring lazily, Mr. Whiskers gave another meow, commanding his food to be brought forth. The man turned back to rummaging through the cupboard. Thinking perhaps this human hadn't heard him properly, Mr. Whiskers repeated his command.

When the human didn't respond, the cat gave him a proper dagger glare. With a huff of his golden chest, Mr. Whiskers decided that enough was enough. He hunched his back legs, wiggling them like coils being tightened before letting loose all at once. In an instant he was atop the man's shoulders, who looked at him in surprise. Mr. Whiskers repeated his command yet again, only to be given a dumb stare in return. The babbling human annoyed him, and at once he decided it was time for this intruder to bring his regular human back. Sleek claws extended, swiftly embedding them into the warm cheek of the man. With the reflexes that all ninjas would gain their inspiration from, Mr. Whiskers leapt onto the counter (a habit he did just to spite his human), jumping over the sink and attacking from the other side. The man flailed, helpless against Mr. Whisker's wrath.

With a cry of alarm the man stumbled out the front door backwards, leaving a triumphant kitty to walk across the floor and back to his perch on the window. Just a few minutes later he noted his regular human enter. She picked something shiny and silver from the kitchen floor, walking towards Mr. Whiskers with her hands on her hips. Her tone of voice indicated anger, though the birds just outside the window were of much greater interest at the moment. Such lively creatures, Mr. Whiskers observed. They probably tasted like chicken and wiggled on the way down.

With a shiver of pleasure, Mr. Whiskers turned his golden eyes back to the kitchen where his human returned. The giant blue man had returned, speaking with her and some funny white device over each of his cheeks as his red face puffed in anger. His human shoved the item she had picked up back into his hands, the shining silver attracting Mr. Whiskers's attention. Perhaps he should have explored the shiny before it left his premises. Leaping back towards them, he noted with smug satisfaction that the male human kept a watchful eye on him. Purring, he wound himself around his human's ankles, letting her know that she was in his presence. She scooped him up, though he didn't bother listening to what she was saying. A human's words were never important enough to.

It seemed that man-intruder and guardian were coming to some sort of neutral grounds, and finally the man left. Pleased as the day's work, Mr. Whiskers licked his lady's face, repeating his command that the male had failed to complete, “Meow.�

She huffed a sigh, setting him down and getting a bag to pour food into his bowl. Yes, this human would have to be his favorite out of all of them. With a happy purr Mr. Whiskers began his meal, ignoring his human who did whatever humans do in the backgroun.

<End drabble.>
All about the superior race known as cats, may they live forever.

what up chickie? love your stuff- update soon ^_^