The Heist

Living beings on this planet are so loud, it's almost ridiculous. Plodding, chewing, yowling, howling; existence is a noisy business, it seems.

But not for him.

Stealth is his birthright. He barely has to try.

He is head to toe in black, but it's unnecessary. He moves like a cloud in the night, unseen and unheard. The black is as unnecessary as the crime itself. He needs for nothing, and yet...

He sees it. He wants it. He'll take it.

'If they didn't want it stolen, they wouldn't be so obvious,' perhaps he thinks. Perhaps he feels justified, or perhaps he's merely bored.

His unsuspecting victims chat and laugh in a nearby room, so noisy! He could probably stroll right past them without raising suspicion.

His prize is in sight, and he maneuvers with balletic precision into the strike zone. Any deterrents are arbitrary, they mean nothing to him.

With nary an instant's pause, he has it! The prize is in his mouth. It's unconventional, sure, but it works.

But now stealth is a hindrance. He must turn to speed. He runs!

The alarm has been raised, but it's too late. The branzino filet is long gone.

Bad kitty.