Tag the kitten was rolling around in the pet shop window, tossing about bits of newspaper. A battered, dusty old felt mouse was in the corner, his favorite toy, which he regarded with interest when he flipped on his back, exposing his furry belly to the sunlight streaming through the window.
"My mouse!" he said. "Mine!"
Suddenly, the pet shop door opened. From an explosion. A tank was rolling through the streets, blasting everything in sight, except for the pet shop. People were running in the streets, in fear, away from the tank, which was followed in kind by several others.
Tag blinked. He was still on his back, paws in the air, claws out. He mewed.
"My tank!" he said. "Mine!"
He leapt out of his newspaper-covered area of the pet shop window display, ears folded back, and ran toward the war machine rumbling across the streets. Tag stood his ground in front of it, as it came nearer and nearer to him, and then abruptly stopped.
The other tanks stopped in turn as the people continued to run through the streets.
Tag mewed, looking up at the gun barrel of the tank.
The door of the tank popped open on the top, and out of it came a calico kitten.
"Report!" he said.
Tag looked up at the tank's occupant.
"Breakfast!" he said. "Chicken and game casserole!"
The tank kitten blinked, twitching his nose. "On the way, commander."
Tag pranced around in a circle for a moment, and then leapt up to the tank door. He curled up in a fluffy ball and closed his eyes in contentment.
"My army." he said. "Mine!"