Felicia Harding descended from from a skylight by a grappling hook designed like a cat’s tail with a smile like the cat who ate the canary, she was in her element. Below the Black cat was a podium nestled in the middle of a skewed grid of red lasers. On said podium rested a massive chunk of gold in the shape of a swaddled baby. There were bound to be cameras and weights sensors and thermo-whatsits but the handy sonic doodad she’d recently come into the “own” kept them from doing any good to stop her.
It was negligent really, leaving your precious gold trinkets in a showing room or a museum or art exhibit. Like they were inviting the Black Cats of the world to just swing by and pluck their treasures away. They could have at least locked them in safes, let her have a real challenge. Well, if you just left your baby just sitting there eventually someone’s gonna take it, the billionaires of the world just needed to learn that the hard way.
Not that Felicia would ever want anybody’s baby. No, they were too sticky, squirmy and generally icky in ways she didn’t want to to think about, and they didn’t consist of nearly enough precious stones or metals. But this, this was the perfect baby for her.
A quick precise raking of claws destroyed any sensors on the pedestal before she picked up her little gold prize. It’s gently sculpted sleeping face faced up at her, reflecting black cats face. It gave her an odd sensation for just a moment as she lifted it.
Copyright 2000 - 2024 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 1.31 seconds at 11:06am on Jun 26, 2024 via server web2.