My blood was boiling, which is not a good thing for a coldblood.
Dracula was dead. Rex was dying or dead.
Breakfast was dying.
And I was caring about it all. Meanwhile, that blasted Gunnar did nothing but sit and stare at his teevee all day.
He was the reason we were all here, the reason we were suffering and dying,
and he barely noticed us.
I hissed so hard it hurt.

Author: Patrick Jennings