This is the opening scene of my novel How to Fix the World with Cats. It’s meant to function like a cold open establishing tone, humour, and the “something’s off” vibe before the main story begins. The story is a character driven, darkly satirical sci-fi. With absurd elements thrown in. Following a jaded climate scientist who uses hacked cat tracking implants to control their bowels and spread a feline borne parasite that causes infertility in men. And the burnt out community vet that discovers his plan. What more can I say? This is still an early draft so I'm looking for notes on the voice, tone balance and engagement etc. Let me know if you would like to read more. Thanks!

The city looked almost staged that afternoon. Set up specifically by Mother nature for the best Instagram shots. 

The sun was warm, a slow breeze barely moved the leaves. Tables were set out under striped umbrellas. The kind of weather cafés used for their website banners, except this wasn’t a photoshoot. It was just a day that made people feel like all the struggle and bullshit might actually be worth it. 

A pianist played in the corner of an alfresco area, quiet enough not to compete with conversation, but their presence also loud enough to declare that this was a very fine establishment. Someone’s hypo-allergenic dog slept in the shade with its tongue hanging out. Couples leaned close over wine glasses, touching thighs discreetly under tables, thinking they were the first in the world to do so.

 The ambience was only broken by a man walking past, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. His head down, rushing to catch the next tram to work; his utilitarian jacket and bag a stark contrast from the well curated looks within. His phone blared a cyclone warning from his home town, evacuation orders scrolling past his thumb. The sound of the phone eliciting sideways glances at the uncouth behaviour from bothered couples.

 It was the kind of day people would remember right up until the moment they stopped remembering anything at all.

Outside another Italian restaurant, a couple sat at a little wrought-iron table. She wore a sundress with lemons on it, perfectly matching the café’s bright tablecloths. Some choices felt spontaneous until you remembered the hours people spent scrolling blogs and feeds, planning the version of themselves they wanted to be seen. He had rolled up his linen sleeves in the way men do when they want to appear serious, but relaxed. 

Their bottle of wine dripped condensation onto the tablecloth.

A tabby sauntered out from under a parked car. It slowly made its way through the passing foot traffic, unbothered by the threat of being stepped on. The confidence of an animal that made dogs five times its size give right of way in their own home. It hopped through the bars separating the well dressed diners from the rest of the world, with more grace than a tiger jumping through a ring of fire. In between the legs of one table of diners, and straight towards the well pressed chinos of the serious but relaxed man. It rubbed against the man’s leg, tail up, and purred. 

The same man who’d stepped over a homeless guy that morning without even glancing down actually smiled when the cat brushed his leg, as if the little creature had somehow earned itself a tip.

“Oh my god, look at it babe!” the woman said, reaching down. “He likes you.”

The man bent to scratch the cat under the chin. The cat leaned into it, purring like it was auditioning for something.

It was sweet. Harmless. Something they’d weave into the story they'd tell friends later.

They burst out laughing as it hopped onto the table, startled but still charmed. The woman moved her glass out of reach, but the cat nudged it with its head, uninterested. It sniffed the bread, the olives, skipped the salt shaker. The man reached out, half amused, half unsure what the etiquette was for removing a cat from your lunch.

In a dimly lit room, not too far away, a figure watched a glowing monitor. The cursor moved to ‘execute’, his finger hesitated for a moment before clicking. One line of code appeared on the screen. Gastric event initiated.

That was when the cat’s body tightened.

A tiny twitch of its ears, an eye flicked sideways as if pulled by an invisible thread.

Its tail jerked once, sharp and wrong.

“Hey, little man, you alright?” the man asked.

The cat made a noise halfway between a cough and a scream, as its whole body started to tense.

A violent torrent of faeces erupted across the table, a hot, forceful spray that hit the plates, the olives, the man’s shirt, everything, even the salt shaker got attention this time. The smell bloomed instantly in the air, alerting the diners who managed to ignore the screams.

As she shrieked, her chair fell backward. The man lurched to his feet, sloshing wine across the table and his own shirt. People at nearby tables recoiled. A waiter dropped a basket of bread. Someone shouted something that sounded like a prayer or maybe a curse in Italian. 

Her lemon sundress was ruined. So was the fantasy of a perfect afternoon

The man slapped at his mouth, horrified. “Oh my fucking god,” he yelled. “It’s in my mouth. It went in my mouth!”

Several diners gagged. A woman clamped a hand over her child’s face. A man hurried to the gutter and retched, body folding over itself.

The cat jumped down and vanished between the hedges, leaving chaos in its wake like a tiny, indifferent god.

A few metres away, on the street, a teenager in an oversized hoodie had her phone out, laughing so hard the camera shook.

“This city is cooked today,” she said to her livestream. “Guys, wait till you see this.” She swung her camera toward the couple, zooming in as they tried to clean themselves with napkins that only made things worse.

Comments shot up the screen.

Wtf – why is this happening everywhere – I’ve seen three of these today  #poopocalypse –  nah this is cursed

Across the street, another cat bolted from beneath a chair and left a splatter across the pavement. A man jumped back, swearing. A barista swore even louder as she rushed to shut the café door before the animal could make it inside.

The teen zoomed in, delighted. “This is so feral. I feel bad but oh my god.”

Her chat exploded with new viewers.

And then, back in the dimly lit room, in front of the glowing monitor.  The figure leaned closer, the light from the screen hit part of his cheek, then faded away as one video flickered and cut to the next.

The room was quiet. The figure watched the feed cycle. 

Then, without thinking about it, he smiled. The smile felt wrong for a second, or maybe it felt right — which was worse.

HOW TO FIX THE WORLD WITH CATS