I'm not really afraid of cats, because they're not really like this. Also we have seven cats and I feel more or less safe with them. But who knows what they could become...
Bryce heard them before he saw them, dark as it was. From the alley ahead came a murmuring of activity and the tearing of flesh, but mostly he heard the purrs. The cats, once more-or-less domesticated, had taken to forming feral packs and roaming the deserted streets. Sometimes as many as 30 or more claimed an alleyway, lot, or cul-de-sac. There not enough people left to stop them. Bryce never went out without a water bottle and air blaster – the minimum people said you needed if you were going out after dark – but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He stopped for a second, considering his options, and watching the entrance to the alley. Two golden eyes stared back at him, gleaming in the moonlight. Bryce began to back up, but the cat followed. Two more cats appeared, slinking along close to the store front. Bryce grabbed his air blaster and water bottle, ready to fire. As he passed another doorway, something grabbed the cuff of his pants and he screamed. The cats darted closer, six of them now, and he opened fire, but they didn't seem to feel a thing. With another yell, he took off running. One of the cats leapt onto the back of his calf and searing claws dug into his flesh. He tried to shake it off and keep running, but another latched onto the back of his thigh and climbed, tearing into his back. He could feel their warm bodies purring as they dug into his skin.
Week Eleven: Creative - Write Every Day