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|This a very short short story, returning to one of my recurring themes - stone.||
My cat is grey and has big ears. My cat eats moths she catches at night. My cat isn’t called Blackey or Fluffy like Grandma’s cats. I tried calling her Stoney but I forgot. My cat is just my Cat. My cat sits on the sill above my window. If I lean out, I can stroke her. My Mum says I mustent lean out. My Cat feels rough to stroke. She isnent furry. Mum wouldent let me have a furry cat. She said I am allergic to a furry cat. My Mum said my cat is not real. Shows how much my Mum knows. One night a bad man came. Everyone was asleep. I wasn’t asleep. I was talking to my cat. I heard the bad man climbing up the wall. My Cat heard the bad man too. She jumped on his head, and he fell off the wall. Dad wouldn’t let me see the splatt. A policeman came. He asked my Dad why the bad man was all scratched. “Do you have a cat?” he asked but Dad wouldn’t let me say. My Mum said it was my bedtime even though it was only nearly seven. I told my Cat she is a good Cat. My Cat purred like when you tread on gravel. There were 2 cats once but only the other cats feet are left. I like my Cat better.
|3 a.m.||Crow Girls part 3|