My Lost Stuffed Cat
May 10th 2010 21:00
When I was a kid, my mum bought me a black stuffed cat. I called him Frankie. He was my prized possession, along with Thomas the stuffed dog.
I carried Frankie everywhere I went, even though my mum told me not to as she was scared I would lose him. How right she was!
One afternoon, I was playing with some kids in the foyer of a large block of apartments. I was bending over the railing, looking down when suddenly I dropped Frankie. I could only look in horror as I watched him tumble down eleven stories.
Next thing I knew, I was hitting the call button for the lift. The other kids bolted off, nowhere to be seen. A few minutes later they re-appeared, panting and looking angry. One of them had Frankie tucked under her arm.
“You’re so stupid, catching the lift!” she yelled at me. “I had to run down the stairs to get your cat back. By the time the lift arrived, it would have been too late!”
“What happened?” I asked.
“I ran down the stairs. Outside there was a group of people wondering whose cat it was. Lucky for you, an old man caught it and was trying to find out who it belonged to!”
The yelling put a damper on the day and we all stopped playing. I still carried Frankie with me everywhere but I made sure I wouldn’t lose him again. It’s been almost thirty years and I still have him tucked away safely at home.
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