Anna went into the shed. Acorn wasn’t [fucking around.] He was staring at a fluffy black cat with white paws [taking a dump on his favorite saddle.] The cat was staring back at Acorn[, shitting like tomorrow wasn’t a thing.] “Hey, kitty,” said Anna. “What are you doing here?” [she asked, the act of defecation oddly foreign to the girl.] Pawnee came into the shed behind Anna. “Whose cat is that?” [the rural township enquired.] “I don’t know,” answered Anna. [“It’s not a pony, so who seriously gives a fuck?”] Suddenly, a mouse ran from behind the feed bin. [This contrived incident caused some extra shit to happen. Acorn was like, oh hell no. Not the fuck in my paddock, bitch.] Acorn nickered as if to say, “[(vile slurs omitted)]” The cat leaped back up on the straw and curled himself into a ball. Acorn took a few steps toward the cat and [crushed it to death with his magnificent hooves. ]Acorn nickered [triumphantly]. “That’s so cute!” [murmured the fictional midwestern borough.] Pam Crandal rode [another god damned pony] up to the shed. She said hi to her Pony Pals and [the whole crew beamed complacently about their bullshit horse club.] Anna pointed at the cat. “Acorn has a new [kind of meat he appears to tolerate!” she exploded.] #DetectivePony