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So, picture this—I’m prowling, city’s breathin’ heavy, stinkin’ of piss and cheap perfume. Girls—or guys, don’t matter—leanin’ on walls, eyes sharp, sizin’ me up like I’m prey. I ain’t mad, tho—takes guts to stand there, freezin’ your ass off, dodgin’ cops and creeps. Respect, y’know? Growling, “You merely adopted the dark,” I spot this one chick—red heels, ripped fishnets, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. Reminds me of the movie’s lake—calm on top, chaos underneath. She’s got that vibe.

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Man, what a day! I swear, being a vet in Carnate is like riding a rollercoaster with no seatbelt. So, I roll into the clinic on Via Roma, coffee in hand, ready to tackle whatever the day throws at me. First thing, I get a call about a cat stuck in a tree. Classic, right? But this ain't just any cat. It's Mr. Whiskers, the neighborhood diva.

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