Boom!
With a deafening crash, the champ fell flat onto the mat. Bruised and battered — and her undefeated record on the line — she floated in and out of consciousness with the sound of rabid, human commentary echoing in her head.
“Down goes Maddy! Down goes Maddy!”
This was not how it was supposed to end. Her vision blurred and her surroundings a haze, the champ struggled to focus. Her opponent, “Lightning Lynx” Leia, taunted her from above.
“That all you got, Poodle?” she goaded with a toxic ferocity. “They told me you fight like a pit bull, but all I see is a frightened little pound puppy. Get up!”
Maddy was persuaded more by the challenge and less by the rhetoric. Such speciest slurs, unacceptable in civilized feline society, were just a matter of course inside the ring. With one eye swollen and legs seemingly made of Silly Putty, she summoned the strength to forge one last stand. Defiance requires courage, but often lacks wisdom.
Maddy and her upstart adversary stared each other down for what felt like an eternity. The champ and the challenger, each breathlessly awaiting the other’s attempt at a powerful wallop, tightened their defensive stances. Who would strike first? Who would land the decisive blow? The savage bipeds sitting ringside were growing anxious. Anything short of a bloodbath, they growled, would be unacceptable
Then, without warning, the fighting ceased.
With cartoonish disinterest, Maddy meticulously groomed her tattered paws before peacocking her way to the dinner bowl. Leia did the same, opting to visit the litter box before checking out catering. As it turns out, this is how all feline brawls end. No knockouts. No TKOs. No controversial rulings. Just callous and immediate indifference.
It’s also why those bloodthirsty humans — who will seemingly wager on anything — rarely bet on cat fights.
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