“It’s everywhere,” the grizzled old cat said. “It surrounds us.” And he heard the expected fear-filled gasps and murmuring among his audience.

“This everywhere demon, what is it called grandsire?” one gray-striped kitten asked, his eyes round as saucers, his expression bold and bright as the moonlight above.

“We don’t have a name for it, kit,” the old cat replied, “but the Hind-leggers call it Traffic.”

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