Turtle Tail Warrior Cats

The final installment to our favorite family from Flatonia, Texas... Daisy Daisy’s wedding is finally about to happen after a failed attempt in years past, mostly from her leaving Rand at the altar. Convinced, finally that Rand really wants a future with her, despite their past, she is ready and willing to tie the knot with her leatherman from down under. But when she finds some long legged, blonde Aussie hugging and kissing on Rand, this betrayal has thrown her off. When push comes to shove, will there be a funeral instead of a wedding at the Triple K?

[Damn it! She's obviously a scheming wretch. She's trying to seduce the male lead while the female lead is away. She's so eager to be the mistress, and she even called him Sir? Just go to hell already.] [Did you forget? There's no way the male lead would fall for such low-level tricks. He only cares about his precious niece. The male lead and the female lead's fathers were best friends. They're not blood-related. Those two are destined to marry each other!] [Hey, don't forget that the male lead also loves cats. Haha! He's an ailurophile.]

What will you do if one day, you suddenly wake up with ears above your head and tails behind your back? What if you suddenly came back to how you were, 20 years ago, just with different eyes and hair color? Coming home from a late-night party, Tiffany George passed out as soon as she felt the softness and warmth of her comfy bed. She stinks of alcohol, explaining her carefree behavior, resulting into a deep sleep with her corporate attire on. On the next day, a phone call had woken her up. She massaged her aching temples and reached for her phone on the bedside table. She answered it without even bothering to look at the caller ID, her voice hoarse as she said hello. “Ms. George, what time do you think is it?” a cold voice floated over the phone, waking Tiffany out of her daze. She immediately hung-up the call and rose from the bed. But the moment she tried to reach the floor with her feet… she realized something amiss. She touched her face and felt her chest… A long silence ensued before her loud scream filled the entire room.

Made by the blind god Hoder in Asgard, at the instigation and cunning of Loki, the god of playfulness and deceit who once again wanted to joke with a drama that happened in Asgard, Ragnar is cast out of the gods. He is then sent to Midgard and begins a man's life. Having received a physical trait that does not adhere to the image of the great viking, he is quickly rejected by the men around him. However, Hoder, his creator, never ceases to watch over him. Ragnar fortuitously meets The Seer, The Völva and he is pushed into a particular world of The Yggdrazil from where his quest begins. He made even more fortuitous encounters and falls into countless "Vikingest" adventures strewn with pitfalls and trials that will test him and prepare him for his "true" destiny.

When the zombie apocalypse hit, pets leveled up into guardians. Three per person. That was the cap. My buddy dropped serious cash on three Caucasian Shepherds. My landlord dumped his fish and started raising crocodiles. My girlfriend bolted to the zoo and came back with a lion. Me? I had three strays. Bubba—blind. Missy—lame. Snowy—barely a month old. The second the system locked pet slots, I knew I was screwed. I barricaded myself inside with my three "broken" cats and kept my head down. Day one—fear. Day two—helpless. Day three—the cats strolled back in, tails up, dragging something I didn't recognize. Bubba looked at me. "Dad, I bit off every zombie head on the block. I'm solid, right?" I just stared.

The zombie apocalypse had arrived, and pets could transform into guardians to protect their owners—each person was allowed no more than three. My best friend had spent a fortune on three Tibetan mastiffs. The landlord cleared out a fish tank to raise a crocodile. My boyfriend? He had stormed the zoo and dragged a lion home. And me? I only had three stray cats. The eldest was blind, the second one limped, and the youngest had just turned one month old. The moment the apocalypse system announced that pet slots were locked, I knew I was doomed. I tried to hide with my three disabled cats, hoping to survive quietly. Day one of the apocalypse: terrified… Day two: helpless… Day three: my cats sauntered over, tails swishing, carrying some unidentifiable object. "Mama, I bit off all the zombie heads on this street. How's that? Solid enough?" I was rendered speechless.