Fur matted to his scrawny body from the rain, the ragged little cat made his way up the hill. Vultures watched in the trees above waiting for their morning meal. The cats head hung low, his legs dragging. Reaching the top he collapsed, rolled over on his back and breathed his last. The vultures swooped down and gathered around their breakfast.

Baldy, the largest and ugliest of the group nudged the pathetic little creature with his large beak. “Looks dead to me.”

“I hope so. I hate it when my meat moves,” said the youngest of the three.

“I wish he had maggots in him,” said the other. “I love the way they wiggle in my mouth.”

“Enough talk.” Baldy opened his large beak, placed it around the soaking wet little cat and prepared to rip him open.

“BOOOOOO!!!” yelled a triumphant voice from below. One vulture fainted. One flew off crying, and the other was so scared he threw up on the cat.

“YOU PUKED ON ME!”

“And now I’m going to rip you apart!” growled Baldy.

The chase was on.