Once Upon A Dork & Rubbery Night - Chapter 8.

8.
The ground slithered and crunched like warm breakfast cereal beneath our feet, or in case of Dugong – solid flipper like thingsicle.

“What context is this element?” he expressed.

I stopped, bent knees, took a dark and grey handful, and then figured, “Kitty-litter it is.”

“Kitty?”

Just as Dugong’s wheel spoke I heard a rumble in the near distance, elephental stampedical emulating, but cutier. Dugong and I listened then looked won and other in the thigh, footily.

“Kitty?” said Dugong again.

“Me thinks,” as sure enough around the black bricked corridor, in a cloudy of grey sticky rock kitty litter dust, came a thousand black ferine felines, clambering over one another in screachs, and angrily scratching our lower torsos as they clambered by.

“What do we do,” axed Dugong.

“Make them not think you’re a fish,” I frigged.

But too late, they had got the briney tone of Dugong over the cat crap offaling and began ripping into him with enormous speed.

“Help me Napoleon!” he scrimmed.

I tried, battering the black catsicles off with a blue thong I found in my pocket, but it wasn’t enough.

“Good kitty, nice kitty, please?” screamed Dugong, before long even his throat trumpets gone, and he was deceased. Cat meat. Nothing I could do but scatter some dry food over his remains and continue down, the way the cats had came, assuming there must be an entry or water somehow…

(to brie continual.)