when nature calls

"I say- I say- I say- I say whaaat?" Leroy looked down at his phone in surprised disbelief, breaking his cigarette in the process.

"You heard me, Leroy" responded a raspy voice. "I'm going to be coming for you, in the future." 

(The voice was from the future, apparently. The voice also apparently smoked a copious amount of cigarettes between now and then.)

"You for real right now?" Leroy narrowed his eyes and continued to look into the phone's mouthpiece, puzzled. He lowered his voice. "This some real talk?"

"This is what I like to call 'futuristic real talk', Leroy." The voice was two-parts cold, one-part foreboding.

Leroy was beginning to feel threatened. He summoned up all of the cool courage in his voice that he could. "H-how about you tell me your name so I can make sure that I watch out for you down the road, in the future, that is." 

"My name's Sandy." The voice on the phone at the very least sounded honest. "And any efforts to avoid me will prove to be futile. I'm one cougar that you don't want to mess with."

The year was 1967. The term "cougar" wouldn't be associated with nicely-aged women for another 45 years.

Needless to say, Leroy was puzzled at the use of the word "cougar". Would cats in the future be able to talk? If this one was able to hold a phone, would cats in the future also have opposable thumbs? Leroy suddenly felt less scared about the future, and much, much more curious.

"Whatever, cat lady. Peace."

Leroy hung the phone up and reached into his pocket for another cigarette. He lit a match. 

A gentle breeze blew it out.