Two black cats, Tenebrae and Anxiety, slipped out of the farmhouse and into the cornfield. The snow had kept them housebound. But winter was gone and spring had arrived with full tubs and oceans full of rain.
The snow was gone, thawed and washed away. The rain had stopped of its own accord. The puddles dried from lack of new rain.
And the two cats were ready for fresh air and fiendish fun.
They ran in sleek panther lines. Their shoulder blades rose and fell in identical rhythms. They gloried in their freedom. They rejoiced in the night air.
Yet, they ran in silence. Their feet did not betray them. Their voices were silent for now. Later would be the time for screams and yowls.
But not yet.
They had mischief to accomplish.
Mischief that required the deepest and most perfect of silence. A betraying purr or meow would ruin…
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