So then there was in this world, him and her and the scurrying mice in the fields.
And the cat who was so disinterested in mice. This urbane cat roamed the rooftops instead. Taking in the fresh air, enjoying the view of the city spread out till the horizon, reveling in the smog clad sky and the darkness of the starless night. And the more-ness of food it implied.
Flat roofs, gabled roofs, domed roof, steeple roofs and then aah.…finally, a chimney. Chimney after chimney padded the cat with the broken tail. Some smelled of smelted iron, of burning sulfur, of incinerated secrets and finally, the orange broth that the old guard cooked each night.
The cat slithered down the chimney and fell on the old man’s lap. How he avoided falling into the curry was a secret he would never tale he would never tell.
That left him with eight and a half lives; he counted the one time he had gone to say hello to the Pekingese next doors. She had looked so much like his once upon a time lady cat.
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