PNG'd

Sitting in an armored car staring at the sidewalk:

Colleage in the Front Seat: Look, black cat.

Colleage in the Back Seat : Black cat?

PNG: Black CAT! Black CAT! <giggles like a six year old>

Colleagues in the Seats: What? 'tard.

National Geographic Voice: Life is hard for the cats of the IZ. As in much of the civilized the world they’re considered vermin. They may keep the rats and mice down but frankly rats and mice eat roaches and we're perfectly comfortable putting down some glue paper for them. :End National Geographic Voice

C’mere mickey. You’ve had a nice evening of shitting in my cornflakes and leaving wetspots at the bottom of the fruit dish. Come rest your head on this inexplicably sticky piece of paper with a banana slice in the middle…

Besides the lack of safety inherent in any war-zone the cats in the IZ are particularly put upon. Stressed out security gaurds, silenced (sorry ‘suppressed’) weapons, and everyone’s carry a laser/IR sight. No wonder there are only two cats left in my neighborhood. One had kittens on the roof and so was given amnesty by the frighteningly maternal PSDs. The other one looks the same so no one shoots at it. Stressed, armed, accurate. Would you risk a shot at their pet?

C’mon though, “black cat, black cat” people should know that, right?