A story about... An Animal c. 1999/2000 Dan Biemer, Damon Diehl, Rachel Rosenberg, Jack Welch	DAN	DAMON	RACHEL & JACK
				JACK & RACHEL
			RACHEL	DAMON & JACK
				JACK & DAMON
			JACK	DAMON & RACHEL
				RACHEL & DAMON

And even the nap was unsatisfying... or as unsatisfying as a nap before the radiant warmth of the heating pipes could be. Yes, something was most certainly amiss. 

Pouncer gave out a yowl. 

Yes, that was better. She did it again. A deep, angst-filled yowl with an undertone of unfulfilled desires. It felt wonderful. She was only a year old, things were constantly new to her. And this... this sound was new. 

She jumped to the window to share it with the world. She repeated it four times and felt that it sounded better when she had her haunches lifted, head lowered. 

She jumped from her perch and made the trek to the front door, finding it necessary to lean hard against every surface, pressing against it as though she might burst through the wall into some magical world where her needs could be satisfied. 

She yowled again. 

And just outside the door, something yowled back. 

One moment King Reginald had been pawing tentatively through the most recent trash can, the next he was lured off course by the lilting melody of one who promised to fulfill his desires. He scratched the door and purred again. No response. Confused and somewhat offended, he tried again. This time with more appeal, but also trying to add a savage quality, to imply that although he slept on a pink comforter, he was still a qualified hunter and could support tens of hungry kittens. 

Still, no response. He licked his paws and combed back his ears. Desperate, fearing rejection, he purred again. He meant it to be romantic, but it sounded to him like mouse squeaking in agony. He slapped himself in the head with his paw, awed at his own stupidity. Ow. Even more stupid, he forgot to withdraw his pointy claws. His eyebrow was now a series of red puncture wounds. Why could he never manage to say what he meant to women? 

Mesmerized by his own internal dialogue, King Reginald was caught off guard. "Oh my God," he thought, "what if she sees me like this?". The apartment door flew open and he reflexively jumped between it and the wall. 

Some child ran down the hall and was out the door before Reginald wheezed weakly through the bloody froth at his lips. 

The door still open, Pouncer heard him scratching despondently from behind the door. She looked around, and saw him lying there. His front teeth cracked, his limbs mangled, his fur matted with fresh blood and deep gouges above his eyes: here was the true hunter. Under him, a mat of dust bunnies -- no doubt his gift to her. Her eyes glinted iridescently as she dragged him back into the apartment and nuzzled him against the radiator.