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The Cat had a new game tonight.

It bought home dinner.  

Fresh.

Once dropped, a very large and fat mouse steak ran around the motel room floor maniacally for several minutes while the Cat sat on the bedside table and made an art of spectating.   The former finally ensconced itself under between bathroom door and wall, while the latter looked at me expectantly.  

“Hell, no,” I said. “Rodents don’t agree with me.   Eat it your fucking self.”

The Cat paddled about with a paw at the door crack for far longer than was necessary.   Playing with it like a… well.  

Like a Cat with a mouse.

Until the mouse bit it.   And then the Cat bit back.   Harder.

 

I turned off the TV and picked up the brick that was the phone book cautiously.

 

The mouse twitched.

Died.

Twitched.

And opened its eyes.

Scrambled to its tiny feet – smelt a new world of heat and blood and joyous horror.   Remembered its limbs and scuttled about tentatively – discovered surprising power and energy in little legs and a fervor of new carnivore thought in its little brain.  

It squeaked and crowed at new-found invincibility, having both cheated death and become it.

 

Then the Cat ripped the Mouse’s head off.

 

Maybe not such a new game after all…

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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3 Comments

  1. I fucking love the Cat.

  2. Bookmarked. Love it, Jonathon (considered asking you if I may call you Jon… bad idea).

    • Some people have tried it. A few have lived to tell the tale. You feelin’ lucky…?


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