Title: FERAL DRABBLES
Author: ulyferal
E-Mail: ulyferal818@yahoo.com
Rating: K
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: “SWAT Kats: The Radical Squadron,” its characters and concepts are copyright to Hanna-Barbera Cartoons, Inc and are used without permission.

On other fan websites drabbles are very popular. I whipped these out in a couple of minutes. What do you think of them?

Author’s Note: I’ve never tried this before but always enjoyed the one hundred and less word drabble. (the title doesn't count). It’s very difficult to write something so short and not lose the meaning of the story. These are just quick blinks of Commander Feral’s life, loves, work, off-duty, silly and whatever.

Drabble #1: Flight

“Need help?” he asked, eyeing her precarious position on the padded chair.

“Drat! Almost had it.” She gasped. Something flew off the blind. “Catch it!” she shrieked at him.

Startled, he reached out and caught a handful of something.

“Don’t crush it!” she begged as she quickly got off the chair.

“Put it here,” she said, holding a cage.

He placed his paw in and opened it. Out flew a frazzled canary.

“Didn’t know you were in the bird business, Ms. Briggs.” Feral smiled.

“Oh, shut up!” she snapped.

Who knew bird sitting could be such a hassle.

Drabble #2: Shot

“What did I do to deserve this?” Feral moaned.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” stuttered the bane of his existence as the twit tried to remove the dart.

“Don’t touch me!”

A medic arrived, took one look and said, “Need the hospital for this, sir.”

“Wonderful,” he growled.

He was quickly laid on a gurney and rushed to the hospital where the dart was removed from his rear.

“Here you are, sir. Nasty little thing!” The doctor handed it to him.

Taking the gun that fired the dart from Steele, Feral snarled, “Run!”

Yelping in fear, Steele ran for his life.

Drabble #3: Down on the Farm

“I think you need to stack that a little better, grandson!” she warned.

“They are stacked firmly!” he huffed, tired, hot, and itchy from the straw.

“I’m warning you; it’s not stable,” his grandmother insisted.

Suddenly, a jet flew by very close. The stack of hay toppled forward, just missing his head.

“Stick with jets, Ulysses. You are definitely no farmer,” his grandmother snorted, shaking her head.

‘That’s the last time I volunteer to help when I’m on vacation,’ Feral muttered as he walked off to take a shower.

Drabble #4: Trapped

“What’s the matter, no gadget for this situation?” Feral snorted sarcastically, packed too close to Razor to move.

“Anything I try will only make things worse,” Razor growled. “It’s your fault we're in here.”

“No way I knew there’d be a sink hole,” he snarled.

“I had Hard Drive in my sights before you came up behind me,” Razor snapped.

“None of that matters now except how to get out of here!” Feral grunted.

“T-Bone has my signal. He’ll get us out.” Razor sighed, his nose buried in Feral’s chest.

Moments later, they were hauled out by the Turbokat’s winch.