Hot Smokin’ Rubber

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Crumble’s life is very simple. She sleeps, she eats, she scratches anyone idiotic enough to stroke her in That Certain Way (this has never accurately been gauged), she sleeps again. Most of the above is done in a manner best described as baleful.

Now picture Crumble, her malevolence towards humankind miraculously suspended. This evening she has found a rubber band, and hell of a different kind has broken loose.

KILL. KILL the rubber band. MASSACRE the rubber band. The rubber band is MY ENEMY and I shall MURDER—crikey, my bum stinks. I must stop a while and give it a seeing-to. My tongue is somewhat prickly tonight. Now. Where was I. AHA! That EVIL RUBBER BAND has returned to TAUNT me. Resist! Resist! Whoo, that was one hot funky salsa move, back legs going like Ola Jordan on a good day, the rubber band is DYING, it cannot possibly survive the onslaught! I have conquered! *evil cat laugh*

I shall now stare timelessly into space. The rubber band will assume that I have forgotten it. How wrong it is. How very– Any food in this place? What kind of a hotel is this anyway? What are you staring at? My life is littered with the carcasses of fools.

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