Flim Noir

The morning began unlike most other Saturday mornings. Abigail woke late and leisurely stretched herself out, admiring the leggy blonde sleeping beside her.
 

"Musta put on the extra charm last night," she mused.
 

The Cat walked in, tail tip twitching.
"They're gone," she meowed. Her green eyes took in the bed and its occupants. "Sorry," she said, and slipped quietly out the door for a rendezvous with the tom next door.
 

The "they" the Cat had mentioned were the homeowners. 

"Gotta nice place, that Daniel and Brittney," Abigail said. She slid out of the bed and out the door to the shower in one smooth and liquid motion. Emerging a half-hour later she found the blonde in the kitchen, wearing a slim white shirt and a beard you'd like to frolic in. 

"I made breakfast," he said. 

It looked good, like something you'd want to eat on toast. Abigail sat down and ate her omelet. She drank her coffee--chai latte, the way she liked it--and watched warily as the blonde cleaned and loaded his hefty semi-automatic, playing periodically with the safety. 

The Cat walked in, unaware, wearing a face that bespoke a pleasant encounter. 

The blonde swiveled around in his chair, aimed, and fired. 

The Cat sank to the floor, one paw weakly stretched out towards the orange-tipped blue dart, and lay there, prone.
 

Abigail sipped her coffee, and reached for the salt.