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Description
Canvas

[Chapter One - The Road]

The rocky pavement drenched in liquid, as if the strange flamboyant twists possessed the delight of a heavenly roasted paste. In which in another's eyes, it was to be.

Specifically called out to the predators of the sky.

They pecked and prodded at the anonymous corpse, suckling and drilling holes of stench between all layers of its anatomy. It appeared to have the shape and structure
of a possum; alas too mutilated and stretched of its fluids to identify as a whole mammal. The surrounding fowls flocked like a crowd observing brutality, scraping and
picking their choices of an on-going bet that dove into the rim of its ripped esophagus.

A feline observed idly throughout the comfort of his home. He spectated the moist, succulent loose skin that hung against the creature's torso, almost gagging at the next
second as the shriveled piece was snipped off by a black-red beak. The male watched the crow's throat slither with the travel of their prey's parts, forever destined to
disintegrate in its stomach. Forever to never introduce or shout a name again.

Forever deceased.

The cat silently curled his own dark-grey talons upon the mahogany table it rested on, making way of the underutilized cans and the scribbled letters. Of course, they had no value anyway. There was no negativity to distort the position of said objects. A loss of necessity, but not for his own well-being to be general.

His tail flickered blissfully while watching the noisy beings, slicking the gingerly jet tipped banner upon an item every few moments. The only melody that distinguished itself through the household was the own possession of his collar, engraved with a professional machine into the silver, his name, 'Hake'.

He occasionally became irritated with the intolerable blinging, alas even more frustrated to the fact he could not cease his own squirming in the seat. A gleam shimmered and
flustered through his illuminated irises. Road-kill was frequent, but it had not been any less fascinating to Hake. Irony always did its deed to certain predators upon the food chain.

It was terrifying, nonetheless entertaining to attempt to perceive.

Hake quaked on the furniture, his grey streaks swiveled around his flank, and prickled in confusion. The felidae was greeted by a unpleasant fraternal brother, and the dipping of sticky liquid beyond his pads. The opposing maneuvered his appendage stiffly around the spilt beverage, disgusted by the warm temperature filling in between his toes.

He goggled at the other, his sprinkling, marsh optics dilated angrily.

"What are you doin'?" The familiar tabby queried, capturing the same expression of puzzlement delivered towards the other. Hake lashed his slender banner at him, pulling himself away from the unpleasantly large mess as far as he was capable of.

"I'm not doing anything, Gossamer. It's a pretty nice day, you know. I'm just watching the yard." Hake said, hesitant on pulling his eyes back to the corpse and his admiration of the birds.

"Nah, Hake. You aren't always just lookin' out the window."

"Maybe if you were more deceptive, you'd look out the window too." He replied with the coldness of tundra, delving Gossamer into an impressed sneer out of spite.

Gossamer was someone you could be absolutely drawn into a conversation with, alas he could ruin it for the worst.

He achieved the luscious-ness of his flamboyant, papaya whip pelt, and strut it as if a robe to royalty. Only upon the neat dainty toes
was the intriguing color tainted by a grazing white hue. Even then they had the beauty of brisk, delectable freeze.

He admired and acknowledged the incredible social skills he had, but denied his ability to become decently humble. Gossamer never allowed himself to bestow
a formal etiquette, and it was his greatest flaw. Picking at his condiments, throwing slang; all but the exception to treat his own life to be pampered as plausible.

The tabby quite literally appealed to the inanimate, and repelled to the breathing.

As more even applying the moral to Hake's presence. It didn't bother him to be implied that way, though. Hake ignored being placed lower than a bowl of rubbery food. It was an
difficult thing to drill into the mind of his partner.

The recognition of Hake's action beamed Gossamer to the window, partly shoving the opposing feline aside to squint and browse for interest. Being informed that the yard was being watched, he instinctively drew his vision across and around the shady patches of yellow vegetation, and the lone tree perched deep through the soggy soil. Searching through the pricks and knocks of the greenery he furrowed his own eyes. All the meanwhile, Hake kept his fear and agitation hidden in the ears plucked backward.

Gossamer began to loose his concentration, only to be delivered of the cyclopean horde of birds etching the road. Almost immediately, the goggling oculus transfigured into dilated ones, and he pulled himself back to stare at Hake with them, licking his own peachy jowls with his moist rough tongue.

"I thought it to be less disgusting like last time, honestly. I should've expected no less all-in-all on your standards." Gossamer chewed relentlessly on his tough lip, pushing back all the unwanted saliva down his pipe, and swallowing.

Hake watched the flexing of the agitated cat's esophagus, and gulped himself out of his own expense. He disliked being reduced to such a level that wallowed down to an authority such as Gossamer's, but had it been false he would've argued about the statement. The tabby refused to deduct something that had been true, no matter how disfigured it caused his stomach to feel. Whatever, it was to be over with in a few moments. That's always how these things played out with them both. Five minutes exactly was the maximum duration of the declaration of their opinions, and it usually ended with Hake deepening into a blotchy, irritating silence.

"Isn't it interesting," The russet male began, flickering the rambunctious banner behind his rump in attitude, "that the big lug ran into the road for nothing? You'd think they'd see all those things crawling all up and down the sides, right?"

"Desperate? I don't know, man. Some don't know the backside of their house."

"Then how do we know not to go in the street?"

Gossamer lowered his large ears against the frizzling backside of his forehead, snapping at Hake for asking such a simple question. "I don't know. Quit askin' all these dumb questions; you've lived here long enough to think of you're own damn theory."

A lone question hung off his tongue warily, but before he could allow it to slip out of his wrinkling muzzle again, Gossamer hopped down gingerly from the table to the beige scraggly carpet. It caused a bit more fuss between the cans and items placed there, but he had prepared himself more. Hake simply assumed he had either been to nauseous of the rotting corpse, or too hunger-driven to focus on the shredded muscle.

Nonetheless, in that amount of time he had been given idle near the window, he maneuvered back to his entertainment, and thought. The thoughts rummaged aimlessly onto differed things: what the anonymous creature being feasted upon was, who had become the bringer of its fate, and the possible theory behind why the animals never thought twice about the patches of skin-marks.

Desperate wouldn't be relevant, would it? The gigantic, smog-ridden murderers weren't exactly slow, but the creatures didn't exactly make a ruckus to slip aside. It couldn't have been the idea they weren't paying heed to their own location; it was too simple for a squirrel (or cat in that matter) to die.

Hake flexed his muscles, stretching longingly near the portal to his show, and jumped off the mahogany surface.

A drink honestly didn't sound bad after all.

His paws made little shuffles on the rug, before quickly switching to tapping as he transferred to the kitchen. Hake looked around, browsing and searching for Gossamer. It wasn't abnormal for him to be out of the place, so it was a simple stop-and-go to the food bowls.

Alas, as he approached the tan cups more and more, he found that both had been freshly emptied; the brown leftovers still clinging to the sides, and the liquid still combining with each other to make a small dew at the depth of the bowl.

Hake exhaled all the heavy breath escalating and building previously in his chest, pricking his ears suddenly to a large boom in the other room. This had been distinguished as normal, seeing as their care-holder was an unproductive lad to do something out of the ordinary. In his late 40's, they belonged to a timid guy.

His head turned to meet Gossamer sprawling and yowling to escape, with their towering friend trailing behind him. The tabby's feet were like wet flippers slipping and slopping around indifferently.

The observing pupils shrunk down to a sliver of black when he realized what the man had in his pale hand.

Description
Canvas

[Chapter One - The Road]

The rocky pavement drenched in liquid, as if the strange flamboyant twists possessed the delight of a heavenly roasted paste. In which in another's eyes, it was to be.

Specifically called out to the predators of the sky.

They pecked and prodded at the anonymous corpse, suckling and drilling holes of stench between all layers of its anatomy. It appeared to have the shape and structure
of a possum; alas too mutilated and stretched of its fluids to identify as a whole mammal. The surrounding fowls flocked like a crowd observing brutality, scraping and
picking their choices of an on-going bet that dove into the rim of its ripped esophagus.

A feline observed idly throughout the comfort of his home. He spectated the moist, succulent loose skin that hung against the creature's torso, almost gagging at the next
second as the shriveled piece was snipped off by a black-red beak. The male watched the crow's throat slither with the travel of their prey's parts, forever destined to
disintegrate in its stomach. Forever to never introduce or shout a name again.

Forever deceased.

The cat silently curled his own dark-grey talons upon the mahogany table it rested on, making way of the underutilized cans and the scribbled letters. Of course, they had no value anyway. There was no negativity to distort the position of said objects. A loss of necessity, but not for his own well-being to be general.

His tail flickered blissfully while watching the noisy beings, slicking the gingerly jet tipped banner upon an item every few moments. The only melody that distinguished itself through the household was the own possession of his collar, engraved with a professional machine into the silver, his name, 'Hake'.

He occasionally became irritated with the intolerable blinging, alas even more frustrated to the fact he could not cease his own squirming in the seat. A gleam shimmered and
flustered through his illuminated irises. Road-kill was frequent, but it had not been any less fascinating to Hake. Irony always did its deed to certain predators upon the food chain.

It was terrifying, nonetheless entertaining to attempt to perceive.

Hake quaked on the furniture, his grey streaks swiveled around his flank, and prickled in confusion. The felidae was greeted by a unpleasant fraternal brother, and the dipping of sticky liquid beyond his pads. The opposing maneuvered his appendage stiffly around the spilt beverage, disgusted by the warm temperature filling in between his toes.

He goggled at the other, his sprinkling, marsh optics dilated angrily.

"What are you doin'?" The familiar tabby queried, capturing the same expression of puzzlement delivered towards the other. Hake lashed his slender banner at him, pulling himself away from the unpleasantly large mess as far as he was capable of.

"I'm not doing anything, Gossamer. It's a pretty nice day, you know. I'm just watching the yard." Hake said, hesitant on pulling his eyes back to the corpse and his admiration of the birds.

"Nah, Hake. You aren't always just lookin' out the window."

"Maybe if you were more deceptive, you'd look out the window too." He replied with the coldness of tundra, delving Gossamer into an impressed sneer out of spite.

Gossamer was someone you could be absolutely drawn into a conversation with, alas he could ruin it for the worst.

He achieved the luscious-ness of his flamboyant, papaya whip pelt, and strut it as if a robe to royalty. Only upon the neat dainty toes
was the intriguing color tainted by a grazing white hue. Even then they had the beauty of brisk, delectable freeze.

He admired and acknowledged the incredible social skills he had, but denied his ability to become decently humble. Gossamer never allowed himself to bestow
a formal etiquette, and it was his greatest flaw. Picking at his condiments, throwing slang; all but the exception to treat his own life to be pampered as plausible.

The tabby quite literally appealed to the inanimate, and repelled to the breathing.

As more even applying the moral to Hake's presence. It didn't bother him to be implied that way, though. Hake ignored being placed lower than a bowl of rubbery food. It was an
difficult thing to drill into the mind of his partner.

The recognition of Hake's action beamed Gossamer to the window, partly shoving the opposing feline aside to squint and browse for interest. Being informed that the yard was being watched, he instinctively drew his vision across and around the shady patches of yellow vegetation, and the lone tree perched deep through the soggy soil. Searching through the pricks and knocks of the greenery he furrowed his own eyes. All the meanwhile, Hake kept his fear and agitation hidden in the ears plucked backward.

Gossamer began to loose his concentration, only to be delivered of the cyclopean horde of birds etching the road. Almost immediately, the goggling oculus transfigured into dilated ones, and he pulled himself back to stare at Hake with them, licking his own peachy jowls with his moist rough tongue.

"I thought it to be less disgusting like last time, honestly. I should've expected no less all-in-all on your standards." Gossamer chewed relentlessly on his tough lip, pushing back all the unwanted saliva down his pipe, and swallowing.

Hake watched the flexing of the agitated cat's esophagus, and gulped himself out of his own expense. He disliked being reduced to such a level that wallowed down to an authority such as Gossamer's, but had it been false he would've argued about the statement. The tabby refused to deduct something that had been true, no matter how disfigured it caused his stomach to feel. Whatever, it was to be over with in a few moments. That's always how these things played out with them both. Five minutes exactly was the maximum duration of the declaration of their opinions, and it usually ended with Hake deepening into a blotchy, irritating silence.

"Isn't it interesting," The russet male began, flickering the rambunctious banner behind his rump in attitude, "that the big lug ran into the road for nothing? You'd think they'd see all those things crawling all up and down the sides, right?"

"Desperate? I don't know, man. Some don't know the backside of their house."

"Then how do we know not to go in the street?"

Gossamer lowered his large ears against the frizzling backside of his forehead, snapping at Hake for asking such a simple question. "I don't know. Quit askin' all these dumb questions; you've lived here long enough to think of you're own damn theory."

A lone question hung off his tongue warily, but before he could allow it to slip out of his wrinkling muzzle again, Gossamer hopped down gingerly from the table to the beige scraggly carpet. It caused a bit more fuss between the cans and items placed there, but he had prepared himself more. Hake simply assumed he had either been to nauseous of the rotting corpse, or too hunger-driven to focus on the shredded muscle.

Nonetheless, in that amount of time he had been given idle near the window, he maneuvered back to his entertainment, and thought. The thoughts rummaged aimlessly onto differed things: what the anonymous creature being feasted upon was, who had become the bringer of its fate, and the possible theory behind why the animals never thought twice about the patches of skin-marks.

Desperate wouldn't be relevant, would it? The gigantic, smog-ridden murderers weren't exactly slow, but the creatures didn't exactly make a ruckus to slip aside. It couldn't have been the idea they weren't paying heed to their own location; it was too simple for a squirrel (or cat in that matter) to die.

Hake flexed his muscles, stretching longingly near the portal to his show, and jumped off the mahogany surface.

A drink honestly didn't sound bad after all.

His paws made little shuffles on the rug, before quickly switching to tapping as he transferred to the kitchen. Hake looked around, browsing and searching for Gossamer. It wasn't abnormal for him to be out of the place, so it was a simple stop-and-go to the food bowls.

Alas, as he approached the tan cups more and more, he found that both had been freshly emptied; the brown leftovers still clinging to the sides, and the liquid still combining with each other to make a small dew at the depth of the bowl.

Hake exhaled all the heavy breath escalating and building previously in his chest, pricking his ears suddenly to a large boom in the other room. This had been distinguished as normal, seeing as their care-holder was an unproductive lad to do something out of the ordinary. In his late 40's, they belonged to a timid guy.

His head turned to meet Gossamer sprawling and yowling to escape, with their towering friend trailing behind him. The tabby's feet were like wet flippers slipping and slopping around indifferently.

The observing pupils shrunk down to a sliver of black when he realized what the man had in his pale hand.