P-Urrr's Wars
P-Urrr's whiskers quivered disapprovingly as he sipped the bland taste of the vegetable milk. How was it possible that even up to this date, there was no technology which would be able to make the milk taste authentic. He glanced around, dug a small flask from his utility belt, and pour some of the greenish, pungent liquid into the milk. It wouldn't make it taste any better, but at least he would get a refreshing high from it. The cup was just about to land on to his puckered lips when the wailing sound of the intruder alarm erupted all around the canteen. The place was empty within seconds. P-Urrr threw a last resigned glimpse towards the drink and then sprinted for the flight hangar. Damned if he was going to be the last to leave. His X-wing awaited ready, the cockpit open and all set to engulf him. It was a trusty steed, one of the T-65 series, and they had seen many battles together. His flight technician stood beside the starfighter, tapping her toes restlessly into the ground. Her emerald eyes sent angry flashes of lightning towards P-Urrr, who didn't fail to notice the fine feline form the maintenance uniform only just managed to cover. He didn't have time to appreciate her fully as he hopped inside the cockpit, but had time to wonder how, somehow, he had never gotten to drive that jaguar. He made a mental note to put that on the top of his overly long to-do list once he returned from this assignment. He struggled to breathe as the hyperdrive kicked in and he was plastered against his seat. His family jewels had time to panic and as always they sought asylum from his anus. Then the pressure eased and the momentary euphoria of weightlessness kicked in. He marveled for a moment the fact that no matter how many g-forces his private parts were exposed to, the tiny divers still always seemed to find their target. Those tenacious buggers. He had 143 alimony claims pending, and zero credits in his bank account.
