Diary From The Carrot Union

Chapter 27: #LandOfTheFree

It's a new dawn, a new day, a new life! Got my doo-whoops and my jinkies and my butthole on a twist when I escorted Violet as if we're a bunch of newlywed couples.

Noticing our appearance that looks nothing less like a couple of homeless and starving refugees from a totalitarian animalist state, the FSA guys gave us an assortment of nice clothes and let us bunk down. Waking up, we were greeted with a buffet of eggs, these strange fatty things called veggie bacon, some potato-based fried things called hash browns, these very sweet bread-like loaves that have been toasted, and well...The list goes on - most of them fried in grease, while others were sweet enough to grant you a trip for an insulin shot.

Right after breakfast, we were led to this strange atrium filled to the brim with restaurants and damn. I must say these soldier guys know how to dress slick! And here I'm talking about slick stuff, and I mean straight up spy thriller shit with this Federal States of Animalia shmuck, for they got these cool wolves in sunglasses and business suits instead of olive green peaked caps, as well as earpieces instead of ushankas! Like damn! Are you a soldier or a businessman? Anyways, If those guys back at the Carrot Union were yay-high grade-schoolers with walkie talkies and rotting katanishkovs, then these guys are the superstar virtuosos in shock and awe.

I mean, I guess that's what capitalism and democracy do to you, huh? Make you grow tall and muscular? Get you all that fancy weapons and sunglasses? That or I'm so scared of these dudes is gonna send me back to that Animalist hellhole I call home.

They escorted us to this dank, yet brightly lit waiting room with plastered walls and flaking faux-leather couches while Woofer, now dressed in a fitting black military vest, and the blue beret and sunglasses mix, came inside to talk with those higher up, giving all of us a nice assortment of-you guessed it, more of their diabetes inducing round pastry-thing they call donuts and the best coffee I ever had.

And well, I never saw Star and Big Mew eat so ravenously, for I think she ate a half dozen of those doughnuts by herself while Big Mew ate the other half.

"You see why they taste so good, Mr Leon? These guys use coffee extract! Now I don't know the science behind these, but wow! Am I right?"

"Yeah, it's okay." I said, "The doughnuts are great, I suppose."

"Yeah, no kidding Mr Leon!" Star exclaimed, "These things are so delicious!"

"Mr Leon?" A voice called me. I turned around and saw one of those sunglasses-wearing cats prompting me to come in.

So I got off the sofa without a second thought, passed the suffocating plastic plants and into a grey, carpeted chamber smelling of expensive liquor and, most importantly, Nempolitan cigar. Violet followed afterwards before one of the guards closed the door.

Strays out warm tropical sunlight traced through the window shutters and propped up just ahead of me in his fancy cocobolo desk and hard Animalian whiskey was a fat, tabby cat that looks more like a gangster rather than a government official with his film-noir esque, brown-striped cotton suit and his big fat cigar sticking up like a middle finger to us all.

"Ah, privyet comrades! Heh, I mean, welcome to the land of the free! I hope our hospitality suits your taste. Name's Tyler Markinson, and you must be none other than Leon Roborovsky."

The tabby cat stood up and offered me his handshake, to which I reluctantly accepted like a limp fish against his tough and confident morning wood. He then provided his equally powerful greeting to Violet, who recuperated his confidence with a polite smile.

"Now!" Tyler cusped his hand, "I suppose we're all wondering what's happening. You know, tell me all you know about what's going on! Any of you!"

I exchanged glances to Violet, who seemed equally as withdrawn as the next convict that escaped an Animalist gulag, but before I could say something stupid, Violet quickly spoke.