The reunion part five

Meanwhile, Chris and Stanley Chester Brown were at a corner table discussing literary topics. They looked up as the air rippled and lightning struck inside the building. The Anchorite had arrived. 

"Allow me to introduce my most cherished and talented writing buddy the Anchorite," Chris said, motioning to the veiled and cowled figure of the Anchorite. He was very concerned about privacy and took pains to maintain his anonymity.

Stanley nodded stiffly and did not extend his hand. The Anchorite had written a few Blondhilda stories, and Stanley felt he had suffered at his hands. "Well, I did enjoy the last scene you wrote," Stanley finally said. "The characterizations were spot on, it brought a bit of color to an otherwise rather slow-moving story, and I liked the introduction of the new characters."

"Thank you," the Anchorite said in an electronically disguised voice. 

"Well, I'm not comfortable with it," Chris said. "Twitch is very sick, and I don't like the idea of him consuming strange liquids and passing out. I also felt that the other cats got the best of him in that scene, and I don't like that. Also, I didn't like it when they referred to him as a pampered housecat. Twitch lived on the street before I got him, and I have seen him face danger and illness. He has paid his dues."

The Anchorite coughed politely. "Perhaps you will allow me to express a male perspective," he said. "Twitch is a big cat, with lots of life experiences. I put him in that scene knowing that he would be able to hold his own. I know you are concerned about his health, but I don't think it would be good for you to shelter him too much."

"Yes, but that brown liquid —"Stanley and the Anchorite looked up smiling as Twitch came up behind Chris and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Brown liquid, ha." Twitch ruffled her hair and kissed her. "Chris, I can't believe that you of all people would forget the power of my barf!" 

Chris laughed and patted his hand. Chris had written stories were cat barf had brought lovers together, saved weddings, and even saved the world. How could she not trust his remarkable barf power to do its customary and prosaic task of emptying his stomach? "I'm sorry, little guy. I shouldn't be such a worry wart."

Then she noticed a series of burly men being carried away on stretchers. They were the thugs who had been bothering Twitch. 

"Huh. I forgot. The prednisone you're taking as part of your cancer treatment makes you a little aggressive."

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