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Kitty Time Travel
Kitty Time Travel
Kitty Time Travel
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Kitty Time Travel

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A time travelling kitty finds itself at the heart of the darkest power plots, devious intrigues and sinister global conspiracies spanning across time and civilisations. Can a clueless adorable fur ball be a match against countless enemies and prevent the impending human extinctions and the inevitable planetary disaster? Can a helpless kitty be a match for all that?

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHoria Hulea
Release dateAug 30, 2015
ISBN9781310755675
Kitty Time Travel

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    Book preview

    Kitty Time Travel - Horia Hulea

    Kitty time travel

    By Horia Hulea

    Copyright 2015 Horia Hulea

    All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes

    Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of

    the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial

    purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own

    copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

    Contents

    Chapter 1

    Chapter 2

    Chapter 3

    Chapter 4

    Chapter 5

    Chapter 6

    Chapter 7

    Chapter 8

    Chapter 9

    Chapter 10

    Chapter 11

    Chapter 12

    Chapter 13

    Chapter 14

    Chapter 15

    Chapter 16

    Chapter 17

    Epilogue

    Other books by the same author

    Chapter 1

    A stick is the best tool you will ever get!

    The speaker prepares to land ahead a big dramatic pause, so make sure you watch your heads. After the thoughtful break passes, you can raise your heads back up and look at the conclusion shock wave.

    It is … The Best Tool Ever!

    Amazed at the accurate description that sprang from his imagination about the ultimate tool, the speaker feels the need to quickly follow up.

    You can hit heads with a stick. Boing! You can reach stuff with a stick. Boing again! You can shoo noisy furries with a stick. Shoo, noisy furries! Shoo, shoo! Like that! You see? Dramatic swings of the speaker's arms accompany the shoo to prove the point.

    You can hit big uglies and small uglies and … and big, toothy uglies with a stick. Bang, ugly furry! Bang, bang! See? He turns around to see if everyone has a good angle on the bang action.

    You can lean on a stick! Like this, you see? This side up, that side down, and then you put your elbow over here!

    A genuine Whoaaa! raises from the enraptured audience.

    You can scratch where you can't reach with a stick! Not only that, but if you hit two sticks together, you can make noises!

    The big dramatic pause settles again before the speaker concludes:

    The stick is the best tool ever!

    Didn't he say that already?

    The stick … and a rock!

    These heavy words of wisdom came from the mouth of Mog, son of Mog, who walks around in a show-and-tell meeting holding a stick in one hand and a rock in the other. However, don't let yourself be fooled into thinking that this elaborate presentation was as intelligible and eloquent as I put it on paper.

    Because it wasn't.

    The words are ingeniously simplified to growls and grunts that make the actual comprehensive vocabulary of a usual caveman. Because Mog is indeed a caveman as genuine as a caveman can be.

    Mog, in case you are wondering, was named after his predecessor, and since the dirty humans hadn't yet invented counting or roman numerals, he wasn't Mog XV, or Mog the second. Instead, he was Mog, son of Mog, who in turn was son of another Mog, making our Mog the grandson of Mog—who, in turn, was a grandson of a previous Mog, and so on and so forth.

    However, Mog never encountered his grandpa, because his skull got crashed by Trogg, son of Trogg, from the tribe across the river (it seems the noble peaceful savages are present only in modern anthropological studies, and not in actual historical times).

    The rain outside the cave seems to be in a never-ending pour while Mog, son of Mog, explained the miracle of the stick. Good thing, this rain: it makes you take a break from hunting and sends you into a cave to keep your hair dry. And it makes you think of stuff. Makes you share wisdom with the other great minds. It gives you a sense of community and purpose. Pondering the life of a caveman in relation to rain sometimes makes me wonder: was it rain or fire that started the human path to thought, literature, and civilization?

    Inside the cave, captivated by the tremendous knowhow of their leader, the entire tribe of Mog is sitting in a circle, nodding deeply to his words—that, and also gnawing at some bones which little Mog (son of our Mog) peed all over and made them salty and tasty. You can't watch a presentation on stick use without a little snacking.

    As the tribe is enjoying their leisure time together, from one side of the cave entrance (we can't tell which side since the cavemen haven't yet discovered notions like left and right), some cat simply happens to walk by.

    Just like that.

    With no meows, no ta-dum, or other sound cue introduction, this fine exhibit of the feline family simply strolls inside and then sits at the cave entrance looking absentmindedly somewhere undefined, like all normal cats do when they are not doing anything interesting. However, what would strike anyone about this stupid cat is the fact that it wants to look like a normal one. Undoubtedly, it looks like a fat cat with an idiot look stuck on its big head. But, to the trained eye, that head is way too big for the size to be blamed on fluffiness alone.

    Now, now! the cat lovers will wag their finger at me. Just because the cat is fat and has an idiot look, that doesn't mean it is stupid.

    And they will be right.

    At this point in time, the cat is smarter than Mog, his son, or any other member of his tribe. In fact, the cat is smarter than Mog and his tribe put together. But, for reasons to be revealed later in the story, the cat is definitely stupid.

    As the fur ball is caught up in contemplating what passes as primitive art on the cave walls, ten heads that never had a haircut or experienced one drop of shampoo since birth start turning and tilting, one caveman at a time. One by one, they drop their happy scratching and flea picking and feel their explorer instincts popping at the sight

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