Meandering the city streets during their prime nocturnal heartbeats is a dangerous thing. Linkward knew this quite well, but his most solemn conscientious moments occurred only during these ruthless hours.
The hint of danger and human waste irked his senses throughout every block. To escape the sense-provoking swill, he would glance at the moon – the only celestial entity capable of being observed from the street floor. The city’s streetlights and blinking, neon temptation messengers were obliterated any chance of undisturbed, natural night sky.
The cats could see it though. They could see the sky better than any human ever hoped they could. The other things cats could sense, smell, see, and taste were the downtrodden souls in Linkward’s unkempt community.
During the previous week at the apartment complex, Linkward’s downstairs neighbor – Mr. Edgerow, the man with urine stains trickling down his front shirt that he attempted to pass off as careless coffee splashes had lost his job at the insurance agency, probably for frequently extending his lunch periods in order to get the elderly Yemen prostitute on Montrose avenue to piss on his chest while he chewed on his necktie and strangled his dick with dental floss.
Those nutritious facts made their way to the forefront of his social notoriety after he was found dead. Rather, when what was left of him was found, confirming his death. His former boss feigned concern for his mental well-being, but really hoped to ensure that Mr. Edgerow wasn’t planning any form of legal or illegal and violent retribution towards his office or remaining employees and potential clients.
When the police rigorously entered his home, dozens of cats fled from the apartment leaving behind only scraps of soggy flesh consumed up to the upper torso. His head was completely intact, aside from traces of cat fur draped across his thoughtless face.
The police found a suicide note in the kitchen, but he had planned to sexually asphyxiate himself to death. The cats sensed his despair – they got to him first.
Like everyone else, Linkward didn’t believe any of the stories about the man-eating cats, but after the scene witnessed by dozens of onlookers at the fate of Mr. Edgerow, now and again during his nightly perambulations through his industrial lover, Linkward would now look to the moon and then into the alleys, and occasionally he would find cats lingering within; sometimes feeding on something behind the cluttered mass of malodorous darkness, and Linkward knew that nothing in life was worth losing faith in yourself over because he had no interest in being consumed by soul-sniffing, moon-gazing cats.
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