Not-Our-Cat slinks toward an unseen prey. Does he think that he is invisible? the Face of Everyman reminds this predator that there is to be no hunting in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa.
Stealth
Fallout?
the Face of Everyman knew he was in trouble when a super-shy Dove wanted to inform all of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa that they were nesting in a Nuclear Strike Zone.
Boring
Little occurred in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Apa. the Face of Everyman lost sleep over the lack of income generating activity.
Photoperiod
Randolf knew he must be ready for his action after the mid-terms. He chose his diet carefully. There were still greens to be had in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. the Face of Everyman put away his Moon chart and opened The Old Farmer’s Almanac.
ID?
Security Forces scrambled to ID this intruder. Was it Panther or some other feral being? Warm, dry nights brought out ever rover in the neighborhood. The Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa was an obvious destination. the Face of Everyman knew their nature but warned against hunting in a World Heritage Site.
Jung?
Ginger turned to see if she was being observed. She worried that these secret therapy sessions with the Face of Everyman could make her the laughingstock of the feline community here at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. Of course, everyone knew that cats didn’t care what you thought of them.
Bent
Everyone in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa wished Loopy better luck next year. the Face of Everyman recommended an antler specialist incase this condition was chronic.
Rain
the Face of Everyman awoke to the familiar smell of petrichor. He could never get used to that earthy odor. He knew that all’s well in the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa.
Rowdy
A little intimidation gets you next in line at the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. the Face of Everyman turned a blind eye to some of this behavior.
Slum?
Doggedly the Face of Everyman scrolled through the past week’s footage of the Foggy Bottoms Resort and Spa. He hoped to find an unfamiliar face. Alas and alack images were of the same old crowd. Where were the Cedar Waxwings, the Scrub Jay, or the Steller’s Jay? Had the Crows made the neighborhood too tough?
torkelsbirds 