The next plague will be spread by the urban squirrels, fat and bloated, and holding court on dumpsters lining the alley ways. Their grey fur stretches over thick bellies despite the winter weather and naked tree limbs.
The resources here never run low.
I can hear them chattering and plotting while they thoughtfully gnaw at a chili Cheetos morsel, paws sticky and stained red from the powder.
They sit and wait. It is only a matter of time before the first one leaps from its throne of trash to scurry up our leg and infect us with a poisonous bite.