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"Holly stepped out of the car; she took the cat with her. Cradling him, she scratched his head and asked, 'What do you think? This ought to be the right kind of place for a tough guy like you. Garbage cans, rats galore. Plenty of cat-bums to gang around with. So scram,' she said, dropping him; and when he did not move away, instead raised his thug-face and questioned her with yellowish pirate-eyes, she stamped her foot: 'I said beat it!' He rubbed against her leg. 'I said fuck off!' she shouted, then jumped back in the car, slammed the door, and: 'Go,' she told the driver. 'Go. Go.'"
from Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote
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