affame_le_geant_l'esprit fyn gula on the way out the door, potentilla's adrenaline, still running as strong as santo dominigan espresso, propelled her to leap off the cart and slip under the miniscule space beneath the jam. she wanted to bring the exciting news of her dubious achievement back to the mousehole in the pantry, where she would no doubt be a hero of mythical proportions, for no mouse beyond the god-like poopycorn had ever gained such gallantry and royal recogntion in all of kemulya. saumboo, just as he was about to exit, suddenly remembered his next responsibility. another task, if he were to forget, that would get him immediate dungeon time. he, of necessity, must take breakfast orders, for king mal's first meal of the day was an intricate, detailed affair with meticulous attention given to even the selection of the fucking coffee bean. "today kenya AA," king mal said, when asked. "pour the milk in first, then the steaming brew, and finally a slightly rounded tablespoon of unprocessed sugar." he removed his scooby do pjs revealing a distended belly sticking out over his calvin and hobbes boxer shorts. "what and when do you desire to eat, your highness?" saumboo asked, still feeling devastated about the tragic news he would have to relay to meeterskeeter. this flare of temper was normal for king mal but never had it been addressed to saumboo's immediate circle. meeterskeeter was a long time friend of his. actually, he remembered when the cat was a kitten and he watched the mother's water break, heard her scream, and witnessed the birth. while saumboo was receiving the particulars of king mal's ridiculous demands, (the egg must be caught as it's coming out of the chicken) potentilla made her way to the pantry, whistling the tune that gave her instant celebrity status. suddenly and without hint of warning, she saw a flash of color, a shadow with substance, and felt a stunning blow to the back of her head, instantly followed by an intense, shocking pain to her neck. a swirling lightheadedness threatened to pull her into complete darkness, but fighting it and coming to her senses, she inhaled an overwhelming redolence of feline testosterone. blinking her frightened eyes with pupils fully dilated, she realized she was in the mouth of meeterskeeter, who had been obviously laying in wait for her. his incisors had not only broken the skin, but had entered a good half inch. smelling the stench of her own blood and feces, she felt the heavy burden of pernicious pressure decrease. it was replaced by a firm hold on her backside by meeterskeeter's paws, sharp claws bared. "enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame?" he asked, his gutteral roar sending shockwaves of horror through potentilla's quivering soul. "because that's all you're going to get." "it was your idea," potentilla squeaked, her voice wavering with trepidation. she should have remained silent. maybe meeterskeeter would have let her go. instead those four words seemed to be great gusts of wind blowing on an angry fire already out of control. "maybe you are a wonder, more than i know," meeterskeeter said, his teeth dripping saliva. "i hate to steal your thunder but you ain't nothing special, you're no more celestial than anyone else. as far as i can tell. call it mythology. we see what we want to see. and everyone wants their distant dreams." with that he clamped down like a vise on potentilla's neck, breaking it instantly. she no longer felt pain or fear as her spirit rose from her body, a balloon released by a french child. ou l'esprit disparait? il est assort u Dieu. 011124 ... Seed Francais et les beau linge. (Translation) I do not speak french well. 011125 what's it to you? who go blather from