Member-only story
Tibbles Consumes the World
Feline fleeces the globe
If Tibbles had her way, the world would end tonight.
It began with the waterslide and a bucket full of toads launched into the air. The flying amphibians became wedged in the jammed croissants. Sticky afterburner-red jam leaked onto the carpet. Toads drunk on sugar followed suit. The crowded tea party of gentlemen dining with rats now fought the Bufo influx. Saucers rattled from the leaping green virus. Milk spilled into a pond consuming the Devonshire scones. The cucumber sandwiches neatly folded to match the Queen’s proclamation, lay scattered on the wasteland of the tablecloth. Each upturned triangle was sodden with toad waste.
Tibbles moved on.
The Persian, lineage unknown, casually strolled to the control booth — a boxed room with no air lined with a panel of buttons. The cat glared at the desk, one foot poised, as she prepared her descent.
Outside, the panicked Gentlemen scrambled to catch the invasive toads. The All-Men’s club clashed and crashed and buffooned into one another like ricocheting pinballs onto bumpers. Lancaster Gilroy the Third insouciantly plucked a toad from his shoulder. He was after the cat and had lost sight of the feline devil. He wasn’t interested in the crash-wallop of mankind fighting amphibians. There would be no winners in that contest. Instead, Gilroy carefully made his way to the control room, sure of the cat’s destination.
He had seen the kitty before, and he was certain of that.
Seventeen days ago, the cat was the Harbinger of death. Ninety-two people perished in an obscure town hall on the edge of Woking. The locals had gathered to discuss the eradication of their out-of-control feral cat population. It had gotten so bad, that a pied-piper was employed to drive the beasts out of town. The piper’s body was discovered a day later, floating face-down in Hoe Stream, a small tributary of the River Wey. Before the night ended, 78 members of the Parish lay dead on the floor, swamped by a chorus of croaking toads. The remaining number would die within a day from their wounds.
Not this time, Kitty, thought Lancaster.
As he approached the booth, a mangy toad with murderous intent, leaped at Lancaster’s face…
