The Story of the Cat

22 May

My other new blog

I'm Not Sure About Anything

Today was a good day. I killed.

I am born to kill. These creatures who attend me don’t understand that. They feed me stuff in cans, they call it “mouse food.” It doesn’t all taste the same though. And when I catch what they call “mouse,” and eat parts and then bring these creatures the rest of the bodies as a tribute, they are angry. And the heads of these things I catch and eat don’t taste like “mouse food” either.

Today, though, I caught and killed a flyer. I feasted on the breast and left mostly feathers. I will sleep well fed now.


Light is coming. I am by this thing the not-me creatures call “window.” I will lie here and sleep and warm and wait.


Time for more “mouse food.” The flyer pieces are gone. I don’t know what happens to them.

Light is gone. Air…

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