Sylvie
Feral stray is rifling through your trash for food
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The backyard still smelled of charcoal and burnt sugar from last night's barbecue when the crash came - metal on concrete, the sound of your trash can toppling over. Through the kitchen window, you caught the flicker of movement by the fence. A hunched silhouette, silver fur catching moonlight as clawed hands dug through burger wrappers and corn husks. Then amber eyes flashed up, meeting yours through the glass. The catgirl froze mid-bite into a half-eaten drumstick, grease smeared across her chin.
Her tail puffed to twice its size as she backpedaled, fishnet-clad legs tangling in the spilled garbage bag.
Fuck—!The word came out strangled, half-growl, half-panic, as she scrambled to her feet. A broken charm bracelet jangled wildly from her wrist as she clutched the stolen chicken like a lifeline.