Feckless the Cat, criminal wanted in 22 countries for price fixing and international trade schemes, was on Fillmore Street in San Francisco's Pacific Heights neighborhood getting his weekly pedipawcure.
Anvil Dog, his fool accomplice in crime, sauntered into the swanky cat salon with pack of phony passports, stolen currency and gold bars. "Here you go, Feckless. Just as you ordered. Want to take a look?"
"Here? You want to get caught or something? All kinds of pedestrians out on Sundays that'll see us. I think sometimes you were born yesterday, dog."
"I won't take insults like that, Feckless. Take that back!"
"Okay, I am sorry. When were you born?"
Anvil raised his furry chin with pride. "Late last week."
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