Commander Dodger reports:
 
The Feline Defence Initiative has made great gains into FLO territory within
the last two months.  Local FDI forces have formed a solid corp of trained
troops, bonded by solid leadership and discipline.
 
The FDI have initialized the use of a code word, "hhsss-MEEEO-aaaAAAAAKK!!",
which quickly summons all available FDI forces.  FLO casualties, invariably,
are terrible; it is all our forces can do to straggle into the stereo
speaker base camp, nursing their pride.
 
FDI cadet Siddhartha, previously untrained in the art of paw-to-paw combat,
now strikes with fierceness of a bongo-playing Cassock on crystal meth.  Our
forces are quickly decimated, with dazed, slack-jawed agents littering the
battlefield, their minds blurred with a slur of raisins and KittyMalt and
other fantastic visions.
 
As FDI unit leader, Mad Dog has come to drape himself lascivously upon the
carpet before advancing FLO agents, and so lure them to their doom.  The
allure of his wide expanse of soft, biteable body parts calls like a siren
to unsuspecting operatives.  An agent need only sink his short stubby arms
into plush butt fur before he is kicked with the power of a jackrabbit, sat
upon, scruffed, and carried off by the catmonster with the sort of distain
accorded a wet sack of dung.
 
Agents are carried on humiliation-marches throughout the apartment, their
chitters of rage echoing through the corridors.  Their fate is terrible: the
evil feline drops them into the abyss behind the sofa, and watches
contentedly as they ooze and sag down the thin crack between sofa and wall.
Agents have also been cast into or behind laundry hampers, boxes and garbage
pails like small bundles of stinking refuse.  Retaliatory bites have become
impossible.
 
The situation has become unbearable.  Our forces called a
scruff-to-the-death match between the solid, agile FLO agent Curtis and
slinky FDI leader Mad Dog, to settle the war with honour.  The battlefields
soon heaved under the strain of the combatants, scruff-in-scruff.  Still,
the matter is unsettled: the match was discounted after the FLO operative
lost grip and struck below the belt, on Mad Dog's "Udder Thing", an
FDI-specific flap of loose skin.  Agent Curtis has since been dispatched a
number of times by FLO command to clean the ears of the offended FDI force
member, but his overtures have been only met with distain and disgust,
though further combat has been averted.
 
We now hold an uneasy ceasebite.  We are certain that we can turn the tide
of battle with reinforcements.  Sympathetic FLO forces are urged to take
command of Human telephone command systems and arrange for airdrop to the
nearest post office, for local backup.
 
-Dodger out.
[Posted in FML issue 1616]
[Posted in FML issue 1616]
[Posted in FML issue 1616]