Rat

          The rat scurried along the wall. Grape jelly, it had gotten into earlier, clumped patches of it's fur into rough, sticky spikes. It's soft, pink tongue darted out to some crumbs it had stopped near. It picked up one of the larger chunks in it's fingers and sat on it's haunches to wholly enjoy it. The rat's whiskers twitched as it took in the scent of danger. Slowly and carefully it turned it's head to the sight of a crouched cat, it's tail swaying from side to side. The rodent launched itself into a run, bounding this way and that trying, for it's very life, to stay out of the feline's outstretched claws.

          The rat must not have been fast enough, for when it's presence was announced sometime later by the screams from the lady of the house, the right side of it's face was missing as well as it's belly. The crimson pool was already practically dried to the floor and the once gray pelt was virtually mummified with clotted blood.