The Cat is Playing Hopscotch

“OK, so why exactly are you avoiding snow? More importantly, why am I wasting my time talking to a cat?”

“We’ve been over this before,” he purred patiently, though he through me a disgusted, please-stop-barfing-on-my-shirt kind of look. “I’m not a cat, I’m a Brollex. And you most certainly are not wasting your time; it’s up to you to save the human race.”

“Never comprehending the race had long gone by,” I replied instantaneously. I was obsessed with all things 80’s. He gave me another look, this one more of a and-why-are-you-making-out-with-that-street-gutter type of look.

“Anyway,” I said, looking pointedly at him.

He cleared his throat. I had no idea cats could do that. Or Brollexes, for that matter.

“And this isn’t snow.”

I raised my eyebrows.
“Well, of course it’s snow,” he corrected himself impatiently. “But it’s highly toxic to all Brollexes, and actually sent by our enemy, the Snowads, to try and wipe us out.”

"Tell me about it," I said with false empathy.

He merely rolled his eyes.

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