“You know the woodpecker guy who works in accounting?”
 “Is there a woodpecker guy who works in accounting? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one.”
 “Sure you have. Like, slicked-back head feathers, kind of fat? Always wears a star necklace for some reason?”
 A pair of young men sat at opposite ends of a circular white table, dressed in plain work clothes. Axel, a slim-bodied barn owl, had put a decent amount of effort into his appearance today, as he did every day. His white dress shirt was recently ironed, his red tie was tightly Windsor-knotted around his neck, his khaki pants had been laboriously lint-rolled. The perfection in Axel’s outfit was bordering on unnatural, and many of his coworkers assumed he desperately wanted either a promotion or to sleep with his boss. Perhaps even both. The chubby German shepherd across from him was a different story altogether. His shirt was wrinkled with a small but glaringly obvious coffee stain near the shoulder, his blue tie was a clip-on, his pants appeared a size too small for him. Ben had worked here for years longer than Axel, and his sole smidgen of interest in his job stemmed from the bills it paid.
 “Oh yeah, uh, Mark…” The canine answered as he adjusted his glasses with a clawed index finger. “I thought he moved away a few weeks ago.” Axel put his mug of coffee down. “Yeah, what’s up with that? It seems kind of sudden he’d decide to leave.” He asked. Ben finished chewing the bite of bean burrito he had taken, and sent it down his throat with a quiet gulp. “I don’t know, I thought he was in Florida.”
 “Really?”
 “Yeah, Jane told me he’d taken up an offer for some position at a firm out in Miami. As we speak, he’s probably sitting in some cushy office with a grand view.”
 “I don’t know if a bird like him would be suited for Miami.” The owl said. “Like, it gets so hot and humid down there. I can just imagine the puddles of sweat I’d be sitting in.” The shepherd’s snout scrunched up, Ben evidently being put off by the mental image he had formed from Axel’s words. “Still, I’m happy for him.” Ben said, biting into his burrito again. “He managed to get the hell out of here.” Axel couldn’t exactly relate to what his coworker was saying. He really liked working in this office, as well as a few of the people he talked to here almost every day, and he saw serious room to grow. In a few years’ time, he might be in charge of the department; hell, he might even be the boss, if he worked hard enough.
 The pair’s conversation was interrupted as a third person came into the break room. “The copy machine’s out of paper.” The black cat matter-of-factly mumbled as he picked up a mug to use for his coffee, unknowingly flaunting his plump backside in front of them. Whether he knew it or not, the avian faintly blushed. Regardless of how much he tried to convince himself he was an average straight male, every so often, a certain sight would bring out the gay thoughts he had shoved into the back of his brain, and big asses were one of them. More often than not, it was the ass of this exact coworker: Quentin Barrie. They worked in different departments, so their lives didn’t intersect often, but it was almost never dull when they did. Quentin came off as a bit intense. His feline eyes were always looking over Axel’s body, as if sizing him up, and he liked to refer to him and the other avians working here as “chickens”, for some reason. The bird viewed this without concern. Quentin was rather calm and rational, not really the type of person you’d expect to be devouring people. And even if he was a pred, hunting on private property, like this skyscraper, was generally considered illegal with serious penalties involved for the pred.
 No sooner than he had come into the break room, Quentin left, a mug full of coffee in his hands. Axel and Ben watched as the cat’s hips swayed and his tail waved, before he shut the door behind him, and the two resumed their conversing without giving him much more thought. Neither of them seemed to notice the large, round potbelly he was nursing…
**
**
**
The toilet flushed, and out of the stall came a black Bombay cat, adjusting his grey slacks and making his way to the sinks as if he hadn’t just deposited someone’s remains into the city’s sewers. It never quite crossed his mind over the past several hours that the crow he grabbed off the street this morning probably had a lover, or friends, or family. What he was thinking about for all that time was that this birdy was a really unpleasant meal. He screamed and squirmed like a bitch, which gave Quentin difficulty concealing his stomach and almost made him throw up a few times. He’d had the tips of his wingfeathers and tailfeathers died purple, and Quentin could taste the dye every single fucking time he burped. He’d forgotten to pry his shoes off, so they hurt every time the crow kicked, and were even worse to shit out. At the very least, he shut up quickly, and melted almost as fast. “Eight hours… that has to be a new record.” He teased, only after checking if other people were in the bathroom. “At least you amounted to something, you pathetic piece of meat.” He squeezed his pudgy black stomach. Already, he could feel the delicate, delicious soul of the crow settling within his layers of flab, joining all of the other unlucky birds who’d been unlucky enough to catch his eye. He wasn’t quite awake yet, they never woke up immediately, but Quentin could tell he would not react well to the news that he was bellyfat on someone better forever. “You fucking birdbrained moron. As if a little purple in your feathers would seriously keep people from considering you a snack.” In an almost karmic occurrence, he immediately burped, wincing as the taste of synthetic feather dye ended up in his mouth again. “Ok, fine, it still made you taste like shit.”
 The aftertaste was starting to pool in his mouth, and he was forced to remember its foul presence all over again. It was like Hand soap mixed with laundry detergent, with a heavy dosage of the natural bittersweetness present in crow flesh. Quentin desperately needed something to wash it out… preferably, another sexy, delicious birdie. The kitty’s mind wandered, and he fiddled with the silver star pendant of his necklace with his fingers. Wasn’t there an owl who was working in sales? His name was… Alex…? Ashton…? Oh, it didn’t matter, his name would be “Pudge” this time tomorrow. Quentin smiled. Is wasn’t often that he got to eat an owl, or a raptor in general. Sure, they were some of the strongest birds, and some of the only ones with a high occurrence of preds within their genes, but they were still several rungs down on the food chain. If all went smoothly, he’d have no trouble cramming his feathery coworker into his gullet. “I hope senior management won’t mind if another bird suddenly quits…”
 It didn’t take the cat much time to plot how he would catch the avian. It took him even less time to actually find his prey. Axel was sitting in his cubicle, the only employee for miles, scrolling through his emails. It was nearly 8:00, and most of the other workers on this floor were gone by now. Honestly, it was kind of sad, seeing him stay behind, putting himself in unnecessary danger. The cat suddenly materialized in the opening to his cubicle. “You look worn out.” He said. The owl jumped in his seat, clearly not expecting anyone else. “Hmm? Oh, right. I’m just putting in some extra hours tonight.” Was his response. In his mind, there wasn’t anything wrong with it. He was sure if he went the extra mile, he’d be reaching his goals and his dreams a little bit faster. And if the extra mile was staying at the office a few hours later every night, then so be it. “…I promise, I’m fine.”
 Quentin thought his swift and unprovoked denial that he was worn out with work was very much proof that he was worn out with work. He’d met a lot of preys, and even more people in general, and because of this, he knew just how to manipulate the emotions and personalities of almost everyone. The feline had noticed that Axel stared right at his ass almost every time they talked, and when he didn’t, one could see a very faint blush on his face. It was plain to see that he was crushing on Quentin, and that made him all the easier to convince. “Come on, buddy. Why don’t we go over to Fabio’s for a couple drinks? My treat.” The cat could see the birdie’s blush growing thicker, surprised by the offer. “You’re serious?”
 “As serious as my tail is long, Abel.”
 “It’s Axel, actually.”
 “Cool. So, you in?”
 The owl seemed lost in his own fantasies for a minute, before giving the answer that Quentin so desired. “Yes, I’d love to go to Fabio’s with you, Quentin.” God, what a naïve idiot, the black kitty thought. He’d never heard a story starting with “So I decided to go to a bar with a man I barely knew” that didn’t spiral into the realm of the illegal, but Axel was perfectly willing to go along with it if it meant his crush might reciprocate his feelings. “Perfect. I know a shortcut, we’ll be there in no time.” Quentin spoke in a low purr, his mouth filling with saliva.
 The elevator ride down was uneventful, other than Axel staring at the kitty’s cheeks, like the typical pervert he was. Quentin found that a lot of people were drawn to his lower half. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it kind of embarrassing to be getting so much attention for his ass, but it did such a great job at attracting prey for him, and many of his favorite meals were resting there. So, for his own sake, he pretended not to notice Axel’s gaze. It would make it that much sweeter when he revealed he had known the whole time, and then swallowed his struggling ankles and belched loudly. For now, he was willing to put up with the meaningless yammering of his coworker as he relayed some boring personal anecdote on the way out of the building.
 “So yeah, that’s why I don’t use Tinder anymore.” The owl wrapped up whatever story he had been telling as the two walked side by side down the mostly empty street, lit only by the harsh bulbs of streetlights and the celestial shine of the white crescent moon. Quentin chuckled and nodded, pretending he had actually cared to listen, knowing it wouldn’t matter in a few moments. In a reversal of sorts, he found himself eyeing Axel’s buttcheeks, his belly growling. Not a lot of meat on this raptor’s bones, but there was at least a little assfat to make up for it, and the smell coming from him was simply irresistible. Axel looked like he would be easy to nom. Skinny, smooth, well-groomed feathers, and a charmingly small beak.
 The cat soon took a right, the bird blindly following him straight into a dreary alleyway surrounded by brick walls and little bits of trash. There was hardly any light in here, and there were even less eyewitnesses. Dark alleys like this were the perfect place to do hard drugs, commit a mugging, gamble away ill-earned money… or eat someone alive. Seeing his chance, Quentin stopped in his tracks, and took a short, deep breath, mentally praying this would go off without a hitch. “You know, I’ve been craving chicken wings lately.” He said to the barn owl. Axel didn’t seem intimidated, or even fazed. “Well, I think it might be wing night at Fabio’s tonight, so we can get them for free.”
 Quentin licked his lips, lubricating them with saliva, then turned to face Axel. “Yeah, maybe, but I think I prefer the wings here.”
 “What does that-wha?, Wait, hey!!”
 The avian squawked as he was unceremoniously driven against a brick wall, facing directly towards a now very hungry looking black feline, a ferocious glint in his colleague’s eyes. “No, you heard me. These wings are better.” The kitty taunted as his prey struggled in a vain and unsuccessful attempt to loosen his hold on them. “Not only are they free, but they kick, and they squirm, and they cry, and they beg me not to kill them. And then… they digest.” Quentin delivered a long, drawn out lick to the owl, going from the very base of his neck all the way up the side of his face, leaving a trail of sticky, translucent drool. “Ffffffuck, you’re delicious.”
 The bird was obviously frightened out of his mind by his companion’s sudden change in demeanor. “Q-Quentin, could you please stop? This isn’t f-funny, you’re a-actually scaring me…” the cat ignored him, tightening his grip to an almost painful degree. “Ow! Oh my god… y-you’re really going to eat me… f-fuck, no!! I’m not food!!!” Axel begged, understanding that this was no prank. The cat simply smiled, laughing quietly. “Honestly, I thought you’d be happy to become my meal. After all, you turn red almost every fucking time you see me. Christ, you’re even doing it now.” The owl winced and whined, unable to hide the pinkish-red glow beneath his eyes. Quentin continued. “And you have such a thing for my rear that makes you get all hot and bothered when you see it, it’s honestly kind of cute.” He opened up, blowing some warm air in his soon-to-be meal’s face, while Axel gave one last whimper, smelling the breath of his tormentor, which he now realized was soaked with the scent of other birds. “P-Please…”
 “Well, if you like my ass so much, you can become part of it.”
 GLLNNK!
 In a singular, fluid motion, Quentin slipped his jaws over Axel’s entire head, a slick squishing sound ringing through the alley. The poor birdie unleashed a muffled screech, much to the pleasure of the voracious black cat as he gulped down the writhing shoulders. Were he a little more well-adjusted, he would have felt bad for Axel. In fact, he probably wouldn’t have even done this. Unfortunately for his prey, he couldn’t give less of a shit for their well-being, and every scared protest, verbal or physical, sent a wave of pleasure crashing over him. Not to mention that Axel was such a dumbass when it came to his safety, he would probably get eaten by someone else anyway. He let his tongue scrub over the clothes covering the owl, picking up the flavor of the meat beneath.
 In mere minutes, Quentin was halfway done, picking up his food and allowing their lower body to stick perpendicularly out of his jaws as he gulped him down. Axel’s attempts to kick struck the wall, and the sadistic predator took advantage of this by pushing the soles of his feet against it, forcing him deeper into his slimy depths. His fangs scraping over the knees, he could feel and see the lean piece of poultry deeper in his stomach, pushing his hands against the squishy sac, bursting his work shirt open and making clear imprints. Come on, so fucking close, Quentin thought as he ended up on the finishing stretch of his dinner. Just two writhing talons, and his coworker would be gone forever. “Fugff, holb onf…” he mumbled, his mouth completely full. When he ate the purple-dyed crow this morning, he fucked up at the feet and had to push two entire Air Jordans through several feet of intestines. Needless to say, today had been a rough day at work, and he didn’t need a repeat of that while he was trying to sleep. He pried off the black shoes and white socks of the raptor with his feline claws, letting them fall to the ground, and then…
 GLUNK!! SLLRP!!
 The kitty placed his hands on his belly, the weight of a fully grown, 5’10 barn owl settling beneath his distended skin, only the latest meal to take the anonymous shape of a curled-up avian beneath black stomach fur. He belched, a few brown feathers falling out and plopping onto the cold concrete ground next to his shoes, Quentin slurping some remnants of owl from his lips and patting his gut. When it came to owls, he thought that this one was particularly delicious. The flavor was bold and gamey, a hint of the Old Spice he had been scrubbing himself with to stay clean, artificial, but not overbearing. “Mmmm… my compliments to… well, not a chef, you weren’t cooked in a restaurant, so… my compliments to your parents?” Quentin teased, wagging his tail and picking his teeth with the claw of his index finger. “They sure know how to make a tasty idiot…”
 Well, that sure did it. His rounded stomach soon became incredibly active, Axel kicking and pawing in the slimy, acidic darkness. “Y-You monster!!! Let me out of here, please!! It’s t-too fucking tight!!!” The predator chuckled, leaving the alley to begin his commute home, his tum wobbling around with every step. “Hah, no chance.” He purred as he made his way down the city street. “You’re just meat now, you big chicken. Your only obligation is to digest and give your body to mine.” He burped quietly, giggling afterwards. “Honestly, it’s not so bad being fat. You’ll have plenty of company.”
 “Y-You’re sick!! Y-You’ll end up in-“
 “Jail? God, if only. Good luck trying to call 911 with an acid-soaked phone, buddy.”
 Axel looked towards his pocket. Quentin was right. His lower body was submerged in gastric acid, a foul fluid that was just tingling for now, but would undoubtedly do far worse in the coming hours. His phone was in his pants pocket, and even if he was brave enough to stick his hand beneath the slime’s surface, it was definitely broken by now. He couldn’t see the point in splurging on a more waterproof model, and it came back to bite him hard. He was trapped and alone, and unless somebody swooped in to save him, he was cat fodder. “No… s-someone please help me!!”
 Quentin listened to his gut as he boarded the subway that would return him to his own neighborhood. Thankfully, his coworker was a lot easier to handle than his breakfast. Axel wasn’t throwing his entire self into his squirming, thus not really stirring anything in the cat’s belly other than a few burps, and his attempts at pleading were just soft whimpers, inaudible to literally anyone except the person containing him. With a sigh, Quentin sat down in the car, and locked eyes with the only other passenger, a terrified-looking mouse woman. She looked like she felt horrible for the prey he had managed to catch, and she might have even wanted to help him out. But one gaze from the cat’s eyes made it clear that if she attempted anything, she’d probably be joining him. She hurriedly got off at the last stop before Quentin’s own, leaving him and Axel alone. “You hear that, owl? That’s the sound of someone who saw you in there, but probably didn’t care, walking away.” His meal let out a muffled whine in response.
 Axel whimpered, thrashing his body around in the boiling, claustrophobic chamber. This was pure hell. Every single surface was completely covered in this disgusting slime, and not a single ray of light was allowed in from down the feline’s throat. The caustic acids he was soaking in were only getting higher, and by now they were tickling his stomach. His clothes were offering some protection, but they were useless in the long run. He tried to reassure himself: surely, there were worse ways to die then this. He could’ve been drugged and kidnapped by one of those horrific meat-smuggling rings, who would have brutally and remorselessly butchered him to sell pieces of his body for consumption. Maybe he could’ve ended up falling into an operating woodchipper, or drowning to death on a lakebed with concrete sealed around his talons. But for some reason, nothing seemed like it could be worse than this. Maybe it was because he was being washed and drowned with acids and crushed with walls of slick flesh. Or maybe it was because he really, really liked to person who was doing this to him, and honestly thought they wouldn’t dream of killing him. That they liked him back, even. This was going to be a long, hard few hours…
 With a sigh, Quentin heaved himself up the stairs of his house, his stomach sloshing around. “Nnh… you feel softer already…” he purred. His gut was starting to churn hard, gurgles and glorps being heard as it set its mind on breaking down the bounty of wiggly poultry it had been gifted. If dinner was saying anything, he wasn’t saying it loud enough to compensate for all that digestive noise. The cat soon stepped into his bedroom, a small chamber with cream-painted walls and an attractive frame window on one of the walls, facing his small backyard. His floor was a mess right now, cluttered with the belched-up remains of various birds he had ended, bones and clothes and whatnot. “I should really get to cleaning that up.” Quentin mumbled, before he proceeded to add even more to the layer of trash by unbuttoning and unzipping his clothes, letting the layers fall off and expose his natural furry self to the world. Exhausted from work, and wanting to dissolve his food in peace, he flicked the light off and flopped onto his soft bed, not even pulling the covers over himself. His eyes quickly grew heavy, his mind clouded with abdominal groans.
 “I know you owls and hawks and eagles think you’re so high and mighty because you can eat people, but… you’re still at an absurdly low rung on the food chain. That’s why it feels so good putting you in your fucking place…”
 The cat tired himself out with his monologue, a drifted into a peaceful, dreamless slumber, snoring loudly. And beneath all of the digestive noise that filled the dark, cluttered bedroom, if one listened closely, very closely, they could hear light sobbing in his belly…
**
**
**
It had been an okay morning. Just okay. Quentin woke up feeling like he was choking on something, and gagged when he figured out a long piece of fabric was caught in his throat. Reaching in with his fingers, he pulled out a soggy white shirt, the threads at the sleeves and the hem frayed from a long soak in corrosive liquid. He smiled when he saw that the tie was stuck around its collar, still finely knotted. It was proof that its former owner had literally melted out of it, the thought bringing a tingle of sadistic joy to Quentin’s whiskers. He threw it onto the floor, joining the rest of the garbage he would be cleaning sometime, but definitely not now. Speaking of the owner…
 His handpaw sank into the round chub of his belly, drawing some flustered reactions from the birdie spirits he had trapped in there. Inside the stomach itself, there was virtually no sign of anything having been in there, living or otherwise. His lovely owl coworker had gurgled into a fine soup, not even leaving a solid skull. What a fucking softie. Dragging his finger down, he could feel his intestines, full of several pounds of processing meat, and still taking in more. “Like filling a sausage casing.” Quentin smiled. He could feel Axel’s soul inside of the tubes too, not quite aware, but soon to be, about to be absorbed into his mass to share it with the rest of his meals for all eternity. The feline killer, feeling good, lifted himself up out of be-oh, goddamnit.
 When he saw himself in the mirror, Quentin’s cheeks flushed, a confusing mishmash of regret, embarrassment, annoyance, and arousal all present in his facial expression. Of course the bird who was constantly fixated on his asscheeks had gone straight to his fucking asscheeks. And it wasn’t even a small amount, it was two entire inches of fresh pudge coating over his cheeks, his hips, and his thighs. Maybe not immediately noticeable on its own, but it was enough to change his pants size, so now his entire wardrobe had become slim-fits, thus accentuating his rear even more. He was gonna have to deal with a lot of jokes in the office… Speaking of which, it was still a business day today. He should get dressed.
 He opted to take it easy, putting on his loosest pair of sweatpants and his favorite teal hoodie, which he’d happened to leave laying around on the floor. As he was getting ready, he heard a muffled cry from his closet, and remembered something else. The other night, he saw a hyacinth macaw in a dive bar, his build twinkish and pudgy and his plumage the most dazzling shade of blue he had ever seen. And yet he looked like he was on the verge of tears as he drank his rum and coke. Naturally, Quentin decided to inch closer to him, and learned that the poor guy had been going through a very shitty breakup with his boyfriend, and yet couldn’t help but miss him deeply. The cat wasn’t particularly hungry, but he didn’t want to leave this one behind. So he got the avian to warm up to him, offered to “cheer him up” back at his place, and then moments after they got through the bedroom door, he ripped his clothes off, tied him up, and shoved him into the closet to save for later. He was going to eat him last night, but that hadn’t quite panned out.
 A few minutes passed as he went downstairs to grab something. When he returned, he was holding a slice of chocolate cake he had leftover from a restaurant, and a large bottle of water. Quentin opened up the closet, revealing the parrot in all of his nude, slender beauty, his curled body bound up with various belts, and the green scarf he had been wearing shoved firmly in his beak as a makeshift gag. He shrank back at the sight of his captor, absolutely terrified, but Quentin didn’t mind. He leaned in, bringing the scarf tied around his face down and out of his beak. Predictably, the macaw screamed for help, only to be cut off by the massive piece of dense cake being forced directly down his throat, and then the neck of the bottle being shoved into his beak. He gargled as half of the bottle’s contents poured into his throat, bloating his belly and squishing against one of the tightly-wrapped belts. It wasn’t out of any genuine kindness on Quentin’s part, obviously. It was just that his meal didn’t have anything to eat or drink for more than a day, and he didn’t want him to lose mass, or worse, die before he could eat him.
 The kitty smiled as he put the gag back into place. “Hey, sorry I stood you up last night, I kind of ended up getting distracted…” he cruelly whispered. “But I promise I’ll show up just in time for our little dinner date tonight. You can count on me, cutie.” With that, he slowly shut the closet door, leaving the now wide-eyed parrot to digest the cake and add it to his bulk before his “date” tonight. After a fairly light breakfast of cereal and milk, Quentin set off for work, a little pep in his step. He’d shit out Axel’s remains into a toilet at work, tell his boss he had no idea were the diligent barn owl was right now, and generally go about the day without feeling overly pissed-off about anything. And when it was all over, he had a scrumptious hyacinth macaw to treat himself to.
 He could hardly wait for tonight. The macaw absolutely could.