A plate of meat that might have been chicken, if chickens looked more like cats, and a haphazard scattering of vegetable matter arrived with a pint of grey ale. Wichtig swilled the ale and scowled at the flavour. How the hells does something taste grey? Shoving the vegetables to the side of the plate—plant matter was what food ate—he wolfed down the chicken, spitting out the whiskers and claws.
