It's been several months now since the meat shortage struck the nation, affecting the poor and the affluent alike. The repercussions of which I anticipate will be felt for years to come. It was fortunate for all that rations were now more readily available due to the deal with the European Union to secure fish and whale imports, as tensions at the time were beginning to reach explosive proportions. I myself have been fortunate enough to be high up enough in the echelons of the wealthy to enjoy the small supply of homegrown red meats still supplied by independent farms unaffected by the terrorist attack.

Despite the government supplied rations many in less affluent positions were still left hungry, and as a result many strict new policies had been put in place to prevent theft and other acts of desperation. Grocery stores had more locks and security around their meat counters than a firearms store, and herbivore species were not permitted to purchase these products at all, even on behalf of their partners or those in their care. This had of course sparked outrage and protests with several minority groups, namely the Trans-Trophic Alliance representing those who's partners were of different dietary needs.

Amidst the unrest other organization had also caught on quite quickly to methods of feeding oneself, that I myself and others had utilized at during the lowest point of the crisis. Local animal shelters had enforced strict adoption policies to discourage the consuming of domestic pets, which had been termed (quite humorously I might add) by the media as 'fast food'. Though it was illegal to deny service to a morph based on their trophic level, many of these new policies clearly singled out such individuals.

It was because of these restrictions the flier on the noticeboard in the mail-room of my building caught my eye. One of my neighbors some floors below kept dogs, I had often heard their barks in the evening when I would sit on the balcony with Angelique. She had so missed the company of our cat Serendipity, and the move had left us both socially isolated outside of work associates, she would sigh sometimes and I could tell she was lonely. The flier featured a black and white photo of a German Shepard with a litter of four puppies, each up for adoption. I noted the floor and apartment number and planned to stop by that evening. Perhaps I could surprise my darling with a new companion.

After a few moments perfecting my appearance, trying to ignore the irritating itch of the wig, I headed down in the elevator and fidgeted with the skirt I borrowed from Angelique. The man that greeted me at the door was an older gentleman jaguar, with greying whiskers and a thinning coat. Excited yapping sounded at his back in the other room and he invited me inside. Though he was reserved and non committal when I stated my interest in adoption of the animals at first, the brief discussion of my salary and occupation that seemed to ease his anxiety. He confided that he had been afraid that 'poor folks' as he called them, would come knocking on his door asking for his purebred pups to eat them. I made an expression of shock and distaste, and petted his arm comfortingly. He led me to the dining room where the dogs were playing.

The four puppies were healthy and boisterous, rattling the room divider that kept them constrained to the dining room. Their little tails wagged excitedly and they nipped and licked at my hands when I petted them. Though the saliva on my skin was quite a revolting feeling, the owner seemed quite touched by the interaction so I persevered. One of them rolled on his back begging for a belly rub, and squeaked happily as I obliged. It took some time to convince the old cat to part with the animals, and it was only after providing my proof of income, Angelique's photo ID and a secondary address that I had told him I would house them (which I had borrowed from Emily, as she lived out of the city in a more rural area).

After a several more hours of casual conversation, and some wine I was finally able to take ownership of the animals. He bid them a tearful goodbye and I paid him in cash for the adoption fee. They tugged at the leash excitedly as they entered my home, and nearly caused me to drop their veterinary folders as they stormed through the home wreaking havoc. I went to round them up into the crate I had ordered for them, and found one of them on the bed sniffing carefully at Angelique, who was sound asleep despite the intrusion. As I went to pick him up he tilted his head quizzically as puppies do, and his tail thumped against my chest as I carried him out.

The next day Angelique was delighted with the new arrivals, with more energy than I had seen in her in some time. I advised her three of them were for a friend who had a larger property, but her eyes lit up at the prospect of keeping one for herself. The puppies enjoyed the attention, and despite managing to urinate on everything except the pads I purchased, I cleaned up without complaint, as seeing Angie happy was enough for me. The puppies, three boys and a girl, were named Samson, Rocky, Archie and Rosie, they each had a heart shaped tag on their collar with their names inscribed. Only Samson seemed to come when called, and the others would trip over their big paws enthusiastically following his lead. On Sunday evening Angelique rested on the sofa with Samson in her lap, his little chest rose and fell and toes twitched as he dreamed and it made her smile. The others were in a pile on the rug nipping at one another and wrestling. Samson slept on the bed with us, we kept the others in the crate in the living room that night.

It had been close to a month since securing the parasitic life-form designated 'Z-2' from the womb of a cow in the Kimere-Agra breeding facility. Its bright purple bulbous eyes were such stark contrast to its pale body I had taken to calling it Violet. Gaelen had been interested at first, but after our initial attempts to feed the creature proved fruitless, he realized that it was likely going to become more of a liability than the main project already was. He advised me I would need to feed and care for it on my own time out of my own pocket, though the lab containment was mine to use. I had positioned my office in the room beside the containment room, my desk facing the large one way window that allowed me to look in on it. I liked the way that it pulsed and undulated, even when it was seemingly sitting still.

I knew from previous experience that the creature preferred meat and had tried several times to feed it. At first I thought it was shying away from the cattle prod we used to keep its seven foot tall frame at a distance, but as we recently discovered it seemed to actually be afraid of dead flesh, let alone interested in consuming it. It was clear that feeding it expired animals from the lab was not viable, and I was not permitted to cannibalize our living research supply to feed it either. To work around this I had begun working on a deal last week with one of our affiliates for living deformed calves or livestock to be secured and sent to me instead of euthanized. But it was a waiting game, and I feared for the health of my specimen in the meantime. It was for this additional reason that flier caught my eye as it did.

Leah helped me with the puppies crates in silence on Monday morning, pausing after placing them down on the floor of my office and staring silently through the one way glass at Violet. It was testing the gap of the air duct again, which we had carefully sealed nearly closed to prevent any breach of containment. Leah looked almost about to say something before stomping out, her hooves ringing on the tiles down the hallway. The puppies whined and I knelt down to pet them, pulling the crate door ajar and clipping their leashes to their collars as they yapped and wagged their tails excitedly.

'Who's ready for walkies?'