Soft Tonks
April 6th 2011 21:00
I hadn’t seen Brett for three weeks so when I caught up with him in an inner city bar, I eagerly awaited news of my boys.
“Their coats are softer now that they’re inside all the time,” said Brett. That made me think of the GTC, Pepe and other street cats I have befriended. Their coats feel rough from them lying in the dirt.
“So have you found a place yet?” I asked, eager to see my boys again.
“No. I’m still looking. Actually, I have to go home soon,” he said, sounding like a little boy.
“Why?” I asked.
“I have to cat sit for my parents. I have to make sure the cat – this Burmese that’s about a million years old – is fed.”
How dedicated is that? And Brett is exaggerating when he says the cat is a million; I know for a fact its only sixteen. That said, sixteen is geriatric in cat terms. May my boys live to such a long age.
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