The townspeople were baffled. Old Mrs. Gable, who lived in a house overflowing with tabby cats, marched in on Tuesday morning. She didn't want to sell her "babies," but she had to know what kind of monster was trading in feline lives.
In a town where every storefront whispered of "Cash for Gold" or "We Buy Used Cars," a new sign appeared overnight in a dusty window on Main Street: we buy cats
No explanation. No phone number. Just three words in bold, black Helvetica. The townspeople were baffled
Within a week, the sign was gone. The shop was empty, save for a single, stray ginger hair on the mahogany counter. The townspeople stayed quiet, but they all started talking to their cats a little more softly—just in case someone was still listening. She didn't want to sell her "babies," but
Behind a high mahogany counter sat a man who looked like he was made of lint—grey suit, grey hair, and a soft, static-filled voice.