Cut the Cat, International Feline Fraudster wanted in several European countries for altering financial documents, was finally able to enjoy a quiet picnic in Golden Gate Park with her husband, Paste the Cat.
She unfurled the light, clean picnic blanket to the gentle breeze. She watched the white cloth drift down on the peaceful, purring, furred body of her lying, criminal husband.
Yes, they'd ripped off billions. But they were still cats. Time for a little nap.
"Ah, Paste, sweetheart. The heavenly look of that light sheath over your groomed body. So silent. So undisturbing."
"Indeed. I love picnics, the rich smell of grills burning in the near distance. Reminds me of time we cooked all those books in New York's Central Park," Paste whispered.
"Yeah," said Cut. "The look of couples walking past us in love, not suspecting a thing, taking all the blame later. Wonderful people, weren't they? I loved New York."
-- end --
lurene gisee
August 19, 2009
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