Predation part 5

Predation part 5

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Warning:  This story contains fluffies being eaten by animals and fluff on fluff crime.  Viewer discretion is advised.

Our protagonist cat travels to The Larder, what he calls a fluffy herd in their own home, hopefully learning more about these strange things and catching a meal or five.


Be a cat who has the world at his paws.
Warm house, some humans you've grown attached to and a new hunting ground recently discovered.
"The Larder"
Filled with those fluffy, human sounding yet small animals that taste SO very good.
You haven't picked off a bird in weeks, and turn your nose up at rats.
They don't taste like this.

Speaking of which, evening is creeping closer and that means just one thing.
Time to say hello to your fluffy friends.
The younger human lets you out, you rub a little scent into his leg, marking him as your property and stalk off.

"Remember to bring me back a souvenir, Ash."

He spoke your name, probably just to say goodbye.
You'll be back soon enough, maybe with a hoof for him.
He likes those for some weird reason, it's not like humans can eat them, whats the point?

It's just a fifteen minute jog to the big, empty brown buildings.
For the most part they have a metal fence running all the way around, but The Larder's back gate is bent and allows those fluff balls to get in and out of the yard area.
Inside the stone yard (a parking lot, not that you'd know that) there is a variety of rusty junk, in particular three old barrels that mostly obscure a hole in it's brick facade.
Behind those is where the fuzzy creatures come in and out of.
But there are better, higher up ways in, more suited to your gifts.
That's where you are headed, padding along the wrong side of the fence, sticking to tall grasses and weeds for cover.
It'd be so embarrassing if one of those inept things spotted you, like being out wrestled by a kitten.
True to form, you spy a smallish green one with wings leading two more.
A larger blue blob and a winged purple companion waddle towards the bent wire fence of their home's parking lot.

"Dis way!  Mint fin' new toy, fuhn wolly ting!"

"Big Hoof be angwy if we nu bak weal soon, get toy an' bwing bak fo' hewd, okies?"

"Nu!  Mint fin' speciawl toy, bewong to Mint!  Yu wan' pway wif toy?  Den fowwow an be gud fwuffy."

"Zippeh wan' pway!  Wun to twees, firsty is besty!" And off the energetic, walking lint trap shuffled.

"Okies den.  Bownce wan' pway wif wolling toy too! Hewd pway notha' time?"

"Ya, notha' time nao fowwow Mint."

They all slip under the mangled chain link gateway with just a little difficulty.
For them it's the only way out of the building's yard, the rest is surrounded impassable.
No challenge for you, but then again what is these days?
After clearing it they all waddle ahead and into the brush nearby.
Another easy meal?
You're almost disappointed.
Slipping closer to the usual entry point you slow, having trouble deciding on either taking them out now or checking on your favorite food supply.
But as you close, the sounds of frantic little hooves and barking grabs your attention.

It's not safe on the ground.
Higher, right now!

Your agility puts you on top of the chain link fence in an instant, from here you can see whats making the commotion.
Two dogs are chasing those hair balls that left just moments earlier and gaining fast; they haven't even reached the fence hole they've gotta squeeze under first.

"Nu wan!  Munsta go 'way!"

They'll never make it to the hidden opening behind those big, metal cylinders.
This is gonna be messy, dogs know nothing about proper hunting and killing techniques.
Unsurprisingly the larger mutt caught up and clamps down on the dark blue one, skidding to a stop.

"Owwie!  Munsta got taiw!  Hewp fwuffy!  He-yeeeeOWWWWIIEEEE!"

The purple one got itself caught on the fence and frantically thrashes about trying to get free.

"Munstas!  Meanie fence wet go Zippeh!  Pwease wet go, munstas get!"

They're green, winged companion keeps going, looking back but never slowing down.

"Fwuffy sowwy, nu wan huwties, fwuffy scawed!"

"NUUUUU! PWEASE HEWP! NU WUN!"

Now the smaller dog has joined in and grips it's friends catch hard by the shoulder and neck.
Stupid dogs, they kill without an ounce of grace or technique, relying on simple brute force to tear their prey apart.
Which they've already started, the blue one is as good as dead.

"HUWTIES!  Pwease nu huwties munst-AAAAHHHHHHRGGG."

It's just another barbaric display of a dogs lack of imagination.
They rip and yank back and forth, fighting over the still living creature wedged firmly in their jaws.

"NU DAI! PW- *RIIIIIP* ..."

Well good for them, they each got a piece.
And in doing so, made tonight's hunt more difficult.
You saw the other one make a beeline for the entrance, those dogs won't fit but it's no doubt riling up the rest.
If they heard their friend get ripped apart by the savages it'll be that much worse.

But purple... he's still yanking and struggling on the fence... that familiar warmth spreads over you.
Every sound more distinct, every image sharper.
Every moment more alive than the last.
In one leap, you descend right where the purple fluffy was a moment ago.
Damn, he got free!
But only three steps ahead, a meaningless lead.
You streak forward, one paw viciously slashing at the quickly shuffling hind legs.
There's no time to correct for balance as his wings flap comically, attempting to stabilize but lacking the strength to do anything.

"Wah!  Fawwin'!"

It's whole rear end knocked hard left, the hair ball finally trips completely and rolls forward, winding up on it's back.
The flapping of those tiny wings mean nothing now, it's throat is exposed and you're right there to capitalize.
You've no way to know they called this one Zippy, he loved running and flapping his wings, pretending to soar like the birds.
Right now he'd gladly give them up if only you weren't bearing down on his neck.
And... contact.
Forcing yourself to push in deep despite the fluff in your nose and mouth is always an irritant but necessary, there's no other way to kill these things without getting some on you.
When your fangs sink in hard it tries to scream for the herd, the smartie friend, mommy, anyone.
All you hear is a ragged wheeze and see it's tears start flowing.

It's a good, clean hit but things are far from over.
You dash forward while dragging the adult fluffy, furious grip still doing it's job.
It bucks and tries to push you away with it's front hooves, but that never works.
You bound off an old dumpster, once again coming to rest on the roof of the fluffies own home.
The single story office part of the building that is.
Here you'll be safe to finish, recover and feast.
It stares up at you in the most predictable fashion, tears streaming.
They all try to play on sympathies.
Maybe that works on humans, you've no idea what sympathy is.
If it's in your territory, delicious and you feel like it, it's prey, no exceptions.
Speaking of which, the legs are slowing, the eyes blanking...
And there goes the bowels.
How unusual, typically the little bastards crap three or four times before finishing.
It must have left a load behind in the trees, maybe when the dogs found them.
Good, less stench to deal with and it'll only be a moment more.
Every muscle relaxes at once.
The eyes glaze over.
It's gone.

You can finally let go and maybe lick the roofing tiles a few times to get the fluff off your tongue.
Ever since the hunt of fluffies began, you've been coughing up more and more hairballs.
All of them multi colored and even pretty in their own way.
And frequent.
You use the backyard garden to rid yourself of them, your humans never did like the old ones, let alone these rainbow colored mishmashes you've been hacking up lately.
And the size of the things!
Practically as big as of one of the fluff ball's babies.

This purple one with yellow tail and mane will make a fine feast, you don't waste another minute slicing his belly open and digging in.
While gorging you wonder how the rest reacted to the dog attack.
Separating flesh from fluff takes a fine claw but you've had practice.
Once finished, this carcass will look mostly whole.
An enterprising human could stuff it, sew it up and sell him as a toy.
Hm.
Nah, who'd want one of these stupid looking things?


End part 5