5 photos - deadpool dog - chicken fried rice cat - pizza cat - chow mein cat - i believe the other is egg roll cat :P
- The great escape
It was a typical Friday evening at the bustling restaurant, with the sounds of sizzling meat and lively chatter filling the air. The aroma of freshly cooked burgers and fries wafted through the dining area, making everyone's stomach growl with anticipation. But amidst the chaos, a furry fugitive was about to make its great escape.
Whiskers, a sleek black cat with piercing green eyes, had been living in the restaurant's walls for months. No one knew how she got there, but the staff had grown accustomed to her occasional appearances, darting between the tables and sniffing around for scraps. The patrons, however, were not as fond of Whiskers' visits, often shrieking and jumping out of their seats as she made her way through the crowded room.
Tonight was different, though. Tonight, Whiskers had had enough of the cramped and noisy environment. She had been watching the staff scurrying around, preparing for the dinner rush, and she saw her chance. As the busboy, a harried-looking teenager with a messy mop of hair, opened the back door to take out the trash, Whiskers saw her opportunity and made a break for it.
She darted out from beneath the counter, weaving between the tables as the patrons shrieked and scrambled to get out of her way. The staff, caught off guard, tried to shoo her back into the kitchen, but Whiskers was determined to escape. She leapt over a startled diner's lap, using the table as a springboard to launch herself towards the door.
The busboy, still holding the trash bag, stared in amazement as Whiskers shot past him, her tail streaming behind her like a banner. "Hey, wait! Come back here, kitty!" he shouted, but Whiskers was long gone, disappearing into the night like a ghost.
The restaurant erupted into chaos. Patrons scrambled to get away from the table where Whiskers had made her escape, knocking over chairs and spilling drinks in the process. The staff rushed to calm everyone down, but it was too late. The evening had been ruined, and the atmosphere had turned from lively to panicked.
"What was that thing?" a woman shrieked, clinging to her husband's arm. "It was like a little black demon!"
"It's just the restaurant cat," the manager tried to reassure her, but the woman was having none of it.
"I don't care if it's the Queen of England's cat, I don't want it anywhere near me!" she exclaimed, dragging her husband out of the restaurant.
As the evening wore on, the staff struggled to regain control of the situation. The kitchen was in disarray, with orders backing up and the chefs frantically trying to keep up with the demand. The dining area was a mess, with tables overturned and debris scattered everywhere.
But amidst the chaos, one person was secretly thrilled. Emily, a shy and introverted waitress, had always had a soft spot for Whiskers. She had often sneaked the cat scraps of food and played with her when no one was looking. As she watched Whiskers make her escape, Emily couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for the plucky feline.
"Good for you, Whiskers," she whispered to herself, smiling as she cleared a table. "You deserve to be free."
As the night drew to a close, the staff breathed a collective sigh of relief. The restaurant was finally empty, and they could start the long process of cleaning up the mess. But as they swept and mopped the floors, they couldn't help but wonder what had become of Whiskers.
Had she found a new home, or was she still roaming the streets, searching for her next meal? Only time would tell, but one thing was certain: Whiskers, the mischievous restaurant cat, had left her mark on the establishment, and would never be forgotten.
As the staff locked up the restaurant and headed home, they couldn't help but glance over their shoulders, half-expecting to see Whiskers' sleek black form darting across the parking lot. But she was gone, vanished into the night like a ghost.
Or so they thought.
As Emily walked home, she noticed a small, furry shape watching her from the shadows. It was Whiskers, perched on a trash can, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
"Hey, kitty," Emily whispered, crouching down beside the trash can. "I'm glad you made it out okay."
Whiskers purred, rubbing against Emily's leg as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of leftover chicken. The cat devoured it in one bite, then looked up at Emily with an expression that seemed to say, "Thanks, human. I owe you one."
As Emily watched, Whiskers leapt down from the trash can and padded away into the night, disappearing into the darkness like a phantom. Emily smiled
- my cat smells
Mittens was just a regular house cat, with shimmering grey fur and bright green eyes. He spent his days lounging in the sunbeams that streamed through the windows, chasing the occasional fly, and purring contentedly as his owner, Sarah, petted him. But Mittens had a secret obsession - pizza. He couldn't get enough of the gooey cheese, savory sauce, and crispy crust.
At first, it was just a fascination. Mittens would watch with rapt attention as Sarah ordered pizza on Friday nights, his ears perked up and his tail twitching with excitement. But as time went on, his love for pizza grew stronger. He would sneak into the kitchen, trying to get a sniff of the pizza box, and even attempted to nibble on the crust when no one was looking.
Sarah laughed at Mittens' antics, but she didn't realize the extent of his pizza obsession. As the months passed, Mittens began to undergo a strange transformation. His fur started to take on a slightly cheesy aroma, and his eyes seemed to gleam with a pizza-like intensity. People would visit Sarah's house and comment on the delicious smell of pizza, even when there was no pizza present.
At first, it was just a joke. "Mittens must have been eating pizza again!" Sarah would laugh. But as the phenomenon continued, people began to take notice. News spread about the "pizza cat" who seemed to radiate the scent of fresh pizza wherever he went. Strangers would knock on Sarah's door, asking to meet Mittens and catch a whiff of his pizza aroma.
Sarah was overwhelmed by the attention, and Mittens was starting to feel like a celebrity. He would strut around the house, his tail held high, as people oohed and ahhed over his pizza-like scent. But as the crowds grew larger and more insistent, Mittens began to feel trapped. He didn't want to be a pizza cat anymore - he just wanted to be a regular cat, with regular cat smells and regular cat habits.
So Mittens made a break for it. He slipped out of the house one day, while Sarah was distracted by a group of pizza enthusiasts, and took off into the unknown. He ran and ran, his paws pounding the pavement, as he tried to escape the pizza-crazed crowds.
Days turned into weeks, and Mittens grew tired and hungry. He had never been on his own before, and the world was a scary and overwhelming place. Just when he thought he couldn't go any further, he caught sight of a small, cozy house with a warm light shining in the window.
Mittens padded up to the door, his ears perked up and his tail twitching, and meowed loudly. The door opened, and a kind-faced old lady peered out. She looked at Mittens with a critical eye, then smiled and beckoned him inside.
"Come on in, kitty," she said. "I'm Mrs. Jenkins. And you, my dear, are a very special cat indeed."
Mittens followed Mrs. Jenkins into the house, where he was greeted by the most wonderful smell - not of pizza, but of fresh laundry and baking cookies. Mrs. Jenkins was a cat lover, but she had one peculiarity - she hated pizza with a passion.
"I just can't stand the smell of it," she said, wrinkling her nose. "But I adore cats. And you, my dear Mittens, are the most charming cat I've ever met."
Mittens purred contentedly as Mrs. Jenkins fed him and petted him. He realized that he had found a safe haven, a place where he could be himself without being mobbed by pizza enthusiasts.
Years passed, and Mittens grew old and content in Mrs. Jenkins' care. He still had a faint pizza-like aroma, but it was no longer overpowering. Mrs. Jenkins would smile and say, "Ah, Mittens is just being his usual self," and Mittens would purr and snuggle up beside her.
But fate had one final twist in store for Mittens and Mrs. Jenkins. One night, a fire broke out in the house, and the two were trapped inside. Mittens, now an old and frail cat, tried to lead Mrs. Jenkins to safety, but it was too late. The flames engulfed the house, and Mittens and Mrs. Jenkins perished together, surrounded by the warm and comforting smells of their cozy home.
As the news of their passing spread, people remembered the pizza cat who had once captured their hearts. They would tell stories of Mittens' pizza-like aroma, and how he had brought joy and laughter to all who met him. But Mittens knew that he had found something far more valuable than pizza - he had found a home, and a love that would last a lifetime.