Blood and Pernod
Upon my return to Indianapolis, I immediately stopped by Picasso's Urban Bistro for a chat with Theodore. I found him behind the bar, polishing wine glasses. "Well look who it is!" he sneered. "The leftist cat-radical himself! I thought you'd be 'tied up' in Canada about now! May I treat you to an espresso, Rocky? I know how much you enjoy your coffee!"
"Theobore, judging from your ill-kempt equipment set-up, it would be not an espresso but rather a distresso. I will pass," I replied as I leapt onto a barstool. "Your kidnapping scheme failed, you slimeball. I should have known you were somehow involved with the Ashcroft Youth."
"You complain about spies and snitches everywhere, cat-radical, but there I was, right underneath your nose - or, I should say, between the sheets with your ex-girlfriend, Evangelina!" he laughed.
"At least she loves you, Theodrone," I said.
"Ah, but I don't love her, cat-radical. I have been sleeping with her just to gain information about you," he said.
I jumped up on the bar. "How dare you defile Evangelina, you two-bit fascist punk!" I screamed. I gave him a powerful open-paw right across the face that staggered him. I followed with a left. He fell to the floor. Blood from the wounds made by my claws trickled down his face.
"You may have noticed, Theodrone, how a cat toys with a mouse before annihilating it. From this moment on, you are my personal mouse. When you're walking down a dark side street, I'll be lurking in the shadows. When you hear a strange noise in the night, it'll be me picking the lock to your door. And when you finally feel the hot breath of death on your neck, it'll be me. Adieu, punk!" I said, and grabbed an open bottle of Pernod from behind the bar and poured it slowly upon his face.