Now well into their financial scam, San Francisco’s thieving cats, Feckless and Pre-Approved, began to set routines, establish habits to fool others.
One evening, Feckless entered the ally as the Western sun set. Pre-Approved was there. The cat was quietly mumbling numbers to himself, his face directed toward the worn ground. His paws fiddling in shadows.
“What are you doing, Pre-Approved?” Feckless asked, tilting his head. “Scratching beat-up cardboard?”
“No, Feckless. Counting ripped-off currencies. It’s relaxing,” purred Pre-Approved. “What do you do?”
“Oh, me? Claw up other people’s 5-star stocks over at Transamerica, then sell them over in Chinatown. Cash sure rolling in,” said Feckless, lazily stretching his front legs.
-- end --
