The pack circled him, cracking their knuckles and snickering. "We are Wolf, little thief," said their muscular leader. "Whose are you? You stink of Tiger."
"Cat," said the thief. "House-cat."
The Wolves roared with laughter. "Little puss-puss!" one cried. "Shall we fetch some milk?"
The leader plucked at the thief's hand. "Such soft, velvet pads!" he chuckled.
The thief smiled. There was a blur of motion, and the pack leader staggered back, clutching at his spilling innards.
"The first lesson Cat teaches," said the thief, leaping atop the fence with one bloodied hand, "is this: the claws are always there."
Tapson on Tales and Totalitarianism
10 hours ago