Most would go for the throat first, rip it open and let their prey bleed out, but that would be too fast for these fierce felines. He hadn’t fed them in days. They had to watch while he stuffed his own fat face with meats and cheese and threw away the scraps. There would be no mercy, not from the green glints of taunted eyes, sharpened claws, and bared teeth. They knew he was having a heart attack and couldn’t move. Going for the throat would prevent so much exquisite suffering as it would be over too soon: eyeballs and cheeks would be best to start. After that who knew? They sure were hungry…

© kym darkly

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