Chairman Meow’s eyes begin to glow. The last thing the rebel leader sees is a tiny, invisible infrared dot, and the sound of a very deep, very satisfied purr.
I don’t type a code. I just point to the laser pointer dot on his chest.
I could input —the self-destruct. Or I could just let the cats do what cats do. laser cat codes
The Codes are the only thing keeping us alive.
Toast just yawned. That’s a . It means: “I am bored. I am going to knock that expensive thermal oscillator off the shelf.” Chairman Meow’s eyes begin to glow
The rebels are in the hallway now. Their leader kicks the door open, rifle raised.
The rebels are outside. They want to steal the master codex to turn our own defense grid against us. I hear them cutting through the outer hull. My hand hovers over the keyboard. I just point to the laser pointer dot on his chest
They told me to stop calling them "laser cats." The official designation is Feline Aperture Retinal Projectors (FARP) . But when you’ve got a tabby named Toast who can shoot a coherent beam of light from his pupils and burn a hole through a titanium blast door, you call it a laser cat.