“My father got dressed, brushed off his tarbush with the sleeve of his jacket, and placed it at an appropriate tilt on his head. Then he twisted the ends of his white mustache all the way up to his nostrils. We left the apartment, locking the door behind us, and went down to the street. I noticed we were heading toward the tram stop.”
“His mouth discharged a second snort. I worried he might attack me, or tear me apart, but he settled his body back into the chair and sighed. “
Those are two separate themes; we are not requesting contributions about criminal or crime-fighting cats; although, naturally, we’re open to anything that’s evocative, soul-cracking, un-put-downable, fun.