The Mighty Adventures of Red Bull Man

            The cat cried from the tree, three branch-stories high, meowing down to the little girl.  “Kitty,” the little girl said, waving her arms.  “Kitty,” she persisted, now at the top of her little lungs, high-pitched and all.

            Suddenly the wind changed direction, blowing leaves toward the west and threatening to decapitate them from their branch stems.  Just then, a dot in the sky eclipsed the sun, grabbing the girl’s attention.  And the sun, re-exposed, beaming directly down on her again.  “Kitty,” she roared.

            With a whoosh and a bang, a man, layered in cape and costume, landed right beside her.  She looked over at the man, then pointed toward the poor kitten.

            “Do you know who I am little girl?” the man said in a voice deep enough to mirror Barry White.

            She stared at his chest, with the emblem of two bulls charging at each other, then shrugged her shoulders and said, “Ionno.”

            “I’m Red Bull Man.  Don’t be afraid.  I’ll get your kitty down.”  Then he sat down, legs crossed and pulled a drink from his cargo pants.  He gulped down the miniature can, stood and climbed the tree just as suddenly.  Reaching from a heavy branch, he snatched the cat and whisked her down toward the girl as quick as a softball pitch.  Screaming the girl ran and ran, kitty climbing across the grass-yard right behind her.

            “Wait,” Red Bull Man yelled, finally flying after the girl.  He landed again with a stomp and a wild whoosh.  “Don’t leave me hanging,” he said, right hand up, waiting for a high-five.

            The girl stuck out an index finger, pressed it against the palm of his outstretch hand, scooped up her kitty and said, “Oh yeah.  Thanks.”  Then turned and walked away.

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