The Big Bad Furrball
By Lutro
It was a dark, chilly evening, though for the end of October warmer than usual. The little pink canary Sweetie was waltzing her way from house to house, appropriately-sized candy bag in tow, chirping merrily as she collected more and more sweets on her trick or treating adventure. The bird still had on her usual blue bow tucked around some feathers atop her head, but her costume – a simple red cloak and hood, also provided adequate defenses from the occasional chilly breeze that blew through Halloween night.

Sweetie pecked into her candy bag and gulping down a chocolate or two. The neighborhood gave out so much candy that the trick-or-treaters were free to make multiple trips to stuff their candy bags to the brim. Or, in the sweet-beak’d bird’s case, one trip with free snacks along the way. The normally-skinny toon found herself sporting a nice plump little tummy as the night wore on, nabbing up candies from her bag haphazardly as much as she would go digging for worms. Despite her gluttony, Sweetie managed to keep her bag half-full at least as the night wore on, each house giving the tiny bag more than enough to maintain.

“Ah finally, Granny’s place!” she chirped, Sweetie skipping her way up the sidewalk to the front door. Granny always gave the best treats: Not only in quantity, but in quality too. Sweetie had been saving her place for last, knowing she’d find the other offerings plain in comparison. Sweetie fluttered her way up to the door bell and rang it with a peck, before gliding back down neatly with her costume billowing on her way down. She landed on two feet and held out her bag eagerly. “Trick or treat!” She stood posed for a moment before the door creaked open slowly and a figure stepped out.

Sweetie’s head was craned up, expecting someone much taller to exit the domicile. Instead, a much shorter version of Granny padded out. Granny still towered over her height-wise, a large pair of eyes staring down at the latest to visit her doorstep. “Granny!” Sweetie chirped, rustling her candy bag in anticipation. The canary saw her ears flick about over her mass of grey hair on her head. “What big ears you have!”

Furrball stayed calm. The troublesome bird was here before him, with her none the wiser to his simple scheme! Granny was out and about that evening, and the feline immediately set a plan into action: He’d tossed on a simple gown and threw on a wig, and happily passed out his own treats to others hoping for Granny’s special candies that night. It was all worth it though when Sweetie paid a visit. He was after more than candy, as nothing quite matched the taste of a squirming bird in his jaws. His more feline attributes started to betray themselves in his excitement though, and he had to taper them off lest Sweetie discover his identity. As such, he offered a silent shrug, not trusting his voice to be anything close to that of an old lady. He then blinked and ever-so-slowly began looming over Sweetie, staring down at her a bit hungrily despite his best efforts. “What big eyes you have!” Sweetie noticed, unwittingly taking part in an age-old fable that the pair were playing out.

Sweetie’s feathers rose on the back of her neck, instincts seeming to be poking at her in some way. But the bird was hungry for Granny candy and she saw no reason to be scared of the shorter lady, so she stood her ground, bag held out hopefully. Even as ‘Granny’ and her hands – those were hands right? – were reaching out. It was only when that mouth fell open and a familiar tongue spilled out, revealing very un-human like fangs, that the bird-brain started suspecting something was amiss. “G-Granny… what big teeth you… have… Yikes!” The canary took a step back but Furrball was too quick: The cats’ paws came clashing together in an instant, enveloping Sweetie in their grasp, the cat letting out a mewl of satisfaction as he yanked Sweetie off the ground and zipped inside, door slamming behind him. With the bird in tow he sat down there in the entryway, stripping off his disguise, three paws on the ground and one gripped tightly around his own treat for the night.

The bird struggled, Furrball feeling every feathery squirm against his clutched paw. The canary couldn’t budge, not even as the hungry feline plucked at her hood and peeled the cloak out from between paw and body, unwrapping Sweetie like any other piece of candy. The bird was now naked save her usual bow, Furrball taking advantage of this by extending his tongue and sliding it up the bird’s exposed front and face. Sweetie coughed and hacked to keep cat drool from slipping into her beak, the plumped-up bird  kicking her legs uselessly in the air. “Let me go you mangy stray!” Furrball silenced her with another lick, this time pushing with the digits of his paw extended, smushing the bird between his palm and his tongue. By the time he drew his head up and back, saliva dripping off Sweetie, he had a firm grasp to her again, slobber squelching between his digits and matting pink feathers down neatly. “I-I’m warning you...”

But Sweetie had nothing to threaten Furrball with. There were no humans around, nothing to chase him away this time. The cat grinned, baring sharp teeth as he did so, tail twitching back behind him eagerly. His tongue remained hanging out with his mouth agape, panting stale fish breath over Sweetie again and again. The canary couldn’t help but stare straight past those teeth into the glistening mouth… and the throat beyond to boot. The cat pinched Sweetie’s wings to her sides, holding her aloft with two digits and bringing her up to his face, to the point where she could make out individual whiskers and fur along his muzzle. “P-please Furrball… don’t eat me!” she begged, throwing caution and reputation to the wind as she was so close to that wet, slimy maw she could practically taste it. “Y-you’re not supposed to eat birdie! You’re supposed to let me get away!” Furrball, it seemed, was beyond reason at that point. He casually licked across her face again, this time lapping away a few loose feathers. Sweetie watched in fright when those feathers, stuck to the huge cat tongue, were drawn into the mouth, Furrball gulping them down easily. His tongue ran across already-wet furry lips, having clearly enjoyed the tiny appetizer.

Without any further delay, Furrball feasted on the candy-fattened canary. He bent his wrist back slightly and craned his jaws open wide, tongue bowed in the middle and unfurled out to catch her. Sweetie’s last protest was an incoherent babble of swears and pleas. Her eyes bulged from her head when the paw flicked forward, grip loosening and flinging her straight past the lips. She hastily attempted to spread her wings to flap away, but the journey was only a couple inches, leaving her no time to react. Furrball greedily clamped his jaws shut the instant he tasted the chubby bird against his tongue, a resounding clack ringing through Sweetie’s ears. The cat’s cheeks bulged in delight and his eyes fell half-lidded in pleasure, no trace of the pink bird visible any more. Furrball sat on all fours and began to not only enjoy his treat, but savor it. 

Sweetie squealed aloud as her world went dark and the environment took a turn for the viscous: Drool slopped over her as the tongue immediately began to prod and squeeze her from every angle, feathers disheveled, loosened, lost to the void that was the cat’s throat. Sweetie’s cries were stifled each time Furrball mashed her to one cheek or the other, that cheek bulging out much greater than the other as it was stuffed with bird. She was easily squished against the cheek wall, tongue pressing deep into her feathers and rubbing coarsely to eke out every drop of flavor the cat had long sought-after. Furrball slurped and tasted merrily, with his tail flicking away, lips parting with a soft smack occasionally with the tip of his tongue flecking out. Sweetie panicked during those moments, when she was given enough light to see how drenched her body was, how deep that throat looked, how massive the imposing tongue was that constantly coiled and swished her to and fro within the jaws. A mess of drool slipped free past that opening, the canary seeing loose feathers dribbling outward to the floor below, or terrifyingly vanish into the throat with a GLK each time the cat swallowed excess saliva buildup.

Furrball took his time, secure and alone to enjoy Sweetie in peace, though he was eager to polish her off. The bird had gotten out of worse scenarios with the feline, and he wasn’t going to let this tasty one escape ever again. His tongue came to a pause in its natural resting place, a panting, sopping-wet, defeated Sweetie laid out atop it. Her legs were splayed outward, wings flat on the tongue, beak resting on it as well. Her voice was hoarse from her cries and squeals, but she still had enough weak chirps to give when the tongue came to life again: Furrball purred contently when he cupped the tongue up against Sweetie, the tip sliding between her legs and encompassing her entire rear end, tilting up and back and ushering her to the awaiting gullet. His lips parted slightly as he rose his head, giving Sweetie ample time to see the throat contract its way open for her. She squealed in terror, wings weakly slapping the tongue but finding no purchase, pressure building up from below and behind with the tongue pressing. Furrball squeezed the bird up to the back roof of his mouth, the last moaning cries from the bird falling silent in a hoarse gasp as air squeezed from her lungs. At that moment Furrball ate Sweetie, clenching his eyes shut and swallowing her whole with a loud A-GLRK! The cat’s neck distended briefly as a rounded bulge slid downward, and vanished just as fast. His belly grumbled and jostled some when the bird was quickly squelched in, Sweetie landing with a splash in what appeared to be very active digestive juices. It looked like Furrball had been starving for some time and had been waiting for this!

“Urp,” the cat belched, feathers and saliva smattering out. Furrball casually licked his lips and stood on all fours, now-full belly swaying slightly to his gait as he made his way to the vacant living room. Within the sloshing stomach, Sweetie yelled out in terror and begged for her life. “Please Furrball! D-don’t let me digest! I’ll never be mean to you again, I promise!!” But Furrball, adept as the feline’s hearing was, couldn’t make out what his prey was saying, instead picking up only on the occasional muffled cry, or rumbling sound of digestion. He leapt up onto the sofa and rolled onto his back, legs splayed in all directions as he sighed contently, tongue flitting across his lips, tail dangling off the edge of the sofa. His stomach began churning away a bit more once he settled down, the furry mass bulging and distorting with the active bird in his belly.

Sweetie shouted until she lacked the necessary air to do so, floundering about uselessly in the cat’s stomach. More and more fluids were pouring in from seemingly-everywhere, the bird having to shuffle vainly from one side to the other to avoid submerging her head in. That didn’t stop her body from quickly becoming saturated in the fluid, only slightly tingling against her skin for now but a constant reminder of what was to come. The canary was short on breath, taking short, gasping for every gulp she could garner, banging weakly against the stomach walls with her feet. Furrball dozed off despite the active belly, not even noticing as the protrusions on his furry bulging midsection began to slow, before dying out entirely.

Sweetie was up to her beak in stomach acids now, head barely above surface. Feathers were the first to go, falling off in clumps and melting away, soon leaving the pink bird plucked clean. The bird’s eyes rolled before she finally couldn’t take any more, passing out among the gurgling, gloomy acids in the pitch-black stomach. Furrball snored quietly all through the bird’s demise, occasionally licking his lips in his sleep as his belly digested the bird away. At one point during his slumber, a snore came out as a soft belch, with a few feathers and a tattered blue bow fluttering to the floor. 

Granny returned later that evening, after all trick-or-treating had wrapped up. She paid no attention to Furrball – her own cat – who was dozing peacefully on the sofa, now curled up with tail idly flicking away. Instead, Granny headed straight up for bed, unaware of just what sorts of treats her pet had gotten into earlier that evening. When all was quiet among the home, one could just make out the faint grumblings of a satisfied feline’s stomach diligently churning away. Furrball’s tongue poked an inch out to tickle his lips as he slept.

Sunlight flowed in through the windows the next morning, shining down on the blue cat and the room at large. He squinted before opening his eyes, yawning up a storm and stretching languidly. His belly was quiet now, still sporting a small round lump around the lower half. Done stretching, he sat up and ran a free paw daintily over the bulge, a thin layer of pudge added to the cat’s form thanks to Sweetie. The troublesome canary was finally his, devoured whole and alive, and no more than a memory. Furrball suppressed a small burp and waddled his way out of the house, curious to see what he could scrounge up for breakfast.