A Morning Like Any Other

Canvas Cat City woke up loud and alive every morning — taxis honking, market vendors calling out, neon signs flashing pink and gold above the painted rooftops.

Ms. Paintbrush Cat loved it most from her bedroom window.

She stretched her calico arms wide, her orange and black patches catching the early sun, and gazed out at the skyline. Every building in the city was painted a different shade — teal towers, amber archways, a school with doors the color of ripe mango. The whole place looked like someone had knocked over every paint can in the world and called it home.

"Beautiful," she said to no one in particular.

Downstairs, her giant paintbrush leaned against the kitchen wall, humming faintly the way it always did. She poured herself a mug of something warm and scrolled through the morning news on her tablet.

Nothing unusual. Just another bright, colorful day in Canvas Cat City.

Grey Before Breakfast

Ms. Paintbrush Cat was halfway through her second sip of morning tea when the mug changed color.

One second it was deep red ceramic. Then it was grey.

She set it down slowly and looked at the window. The amber archways across the street — grey. The teal tower on the corner — grey. Even the mango-colored school doors had gone the shade of sidewalk dust.

She pressed her nose to the glass. The whole city looked like someone had pulled a giant plug and drained every drop of color straight out of it.

"What—"

Her giant paintbrush flew off the kitchen wall on its own and hovered in front of her, bristles trembling. It had never done that before.

Then her tablet buzzed. A news drone — a small, boxy flying robot the city used for emergency broadcasts — projected a blinking message into the air above her counter.

CITY-WIDE COLOR FAILURE. CAUSE UNKNOWN. ALL DISTRICTS AFFECTED.

Below the message, a live feed showed Canvas Cat City streets packed with confused cats staring at their own grey hands.