What started out as a light hearted comedy has been turned on it's head as both Eric and the author, Alesha, have spiralled into a dark tale of deception.

Or death.

“Meow.”

“Oh hey there little pussycat, what's happening little man?”

“Meow.”

Eric scratched his head, “Are you stuck?”

The random cat looked at him with wide frightened eyes, “.... Meow.”

“Alright, i'm coming up to save you little fella!” Eric clambered up the trunk, he'd never climbed a tree before and it's safe to say he wasn't the most athletic of boys.

“Almost gotchya....” Eric reached out his hand towards the kitten in distress.

“Ok he's up the tree, let's do this Diego.”

“Are you sure you want to do this boss? I mean, once we start, there's no looking back.” Diego questioned.

“Just park the fucking car beneath the fucking tree!” yelled an impatient Fat Steve.

“Ok....”

“Aaaah!” Eric slammed onto the bonnet of the car, “Ah my wrist! Oh shit, NO, please not....” he looked through the windshield.
It was Fat Steve's car, the mafia dude, he was officially screwed.

The cat then jumped down the tree at it's own accord and into the arms of the angered mafia boss; “Oh, good boy Whiskers.” he tickled the cat's chin, “and as for you, little boy....” he pointed at Eric, “you're in deep, deep trouble.”

Erica stared into the eye of Fat Steve's pistol, fearless.
Fat Steve also kept his eyes fixed tensely on Erica, “I need an answer....”

“No.” Erica said, assertively.

Fat Steve sighed.

“I can't join the very force i've been running from, I refuse to play any role in your corrupt plans.... so just shoot me, get it over with.” Erica didn't cry this time, she kept her cool and stayed sincere.

“Very well, I really didn't want it to end this wa-” Fat Steve's eyes bulged, like they where about to jump out of their sockets, Erica could see blood emerge out of his chest, staining his suit.

“Boss!? Are you ok?” cried a concerned Ian.

Fat Steve simply collapsed, head-first, into a pool of his own blood.

Diego and Ian threw their guns to the ground and ran to the side of the fallen man.
Their mistake was not looking behind them, where Fat Steve's killer stood, clutching a sword.

“Mr. Wright?” Diego looked at the hooded man, raising an eyebrow.

“Bingo.” Mr. Wright redrew his sword and sliced the latino's head right off. He smirked and faced towards Ian, “You next pretty boy.”

Erica could only sit and spectate the antics, it was all just a blur to her.

“No, have some mercy, I.... we're buddies, right?”

“Oh no we're not, Fat Steve sent me on a wild goose chase across the whole fucking country, and then over to fucking Rome to kill a little boy, and now.... he's making him the fucking heir to his fucking fortune? Oh no, no, no, no.”

“But c'mon man, I didn't do anything wrong!”

“You took my fucking promotion, do you think I want to work in the fucking Job Centre for the rest of my fucking life? I mean, the Job Centre's a joke. I'd been working so fucking hard for that promotion man. So, fucking, hard.” Mr. Wright started crying, it seemed the life of crime had sent him down a slippery slope, a descent into madness.

“I.... fine, just do it.” Ian bent down, on one knee, “But before I die...” he turned to Erica, “I just want you to know that i'm sorry, and.... I love you.”

Erica shook her head in disbelief.

“Hahaha! Fucking faggots...” he stuck his sword straight through Ian's heart and casually walked over to Erica like nothing had happened.

She could no longer hold back the tears, as she squirmed in a vain attempt to escape her fate.

“Any last words?” he held the sword to her throat.

Erica looked up to the heavens in the hopes of finding a miracle, until she saw someone very familiar lurking on one of the light fixtures....

“Well....” ushered Mr. Wright.

“What goes up,” she kept her eyes on the light, before looking Mr. Wright dead in the eye, “must come down.”

Mr. Wright laughed unsurely, before looking up, at his doom.

Down came the light fixture, flat onto Mr. Wright's skull, crushing him flat.

Erica let out a sigh of relief, before her hero landed on her lap.

Fat Steve mustered up all his strength to look up at Erica and her saviour, “Whiskers? You saved my.... my...... my daughter..” he produced a suffering smile before falling flat on the ground again. Dead. (100% dead, ok! He's never coming back, just making that clear to you!)

“Whiskers! You saved me!?” Erica giggled.

I think putting your trust in someone is a risk you have to take take.
Because if all goes wrong, you can always count on the consistent occurrence of a falling pussycat.

The.... fucking.... End.