Sven Hassel - Reign of Hell


"We were gathered outside the Krasinski Theatre, lost in contemplation of a photograph of two naked girls, when Tiny came lumbering excitedly up the road towards us.
-Hey! Look what I've got! he shouted.
We dragged our eyes reluctantly away from the photograph. Tiny was carrying a couple of squalling, spitting cats by the scuff of their necks.
-Food! said Porta, his face lighting up.
-Food be buggered, retorted Tiny. -These cats ain't food. These is racing cats.
-Knickers, said Gregor, making a grab at one of them. -Why don't we skin 'em and flog 'em to the SS as rabbit? Make a fortune.
-Piss off out of it! snarled Tiny.
The cat reached out a claw and slashed viciously at Gregor's face. We all took a couple of hasty steps backwards.
-So what you got 'em for? Demanded Porta, aggressively.
-What you got 'em for if we ain´t going to eat 'em and we ain't going to flog 'em?
-I told you, said Tiny, tucking an animal under each arm.
-They're racing cats, ain't they? Been specially trained for the job…"