Chapter 36.

The Cat crouched on the edge of a plant table. He was thirsty again. He dropped slowly off the table, letting out a mew at the jolt to his wounded shoulder. He checked the turned-over watering can. It was empty, and the spilled water was only a damp spot on the floor.

The Cat crossed the cellar, jumped up on the sink with an effort, and coaxed a few rusty drops from the faucet. He sniffed the drain, but no cricket this time.

Back at the table, the Cat had to try twice before he could jump up. Crawling into his shelter among the plants, he sank into a feverish half-doze. Now and then he opened his eyes, just a slit, and saw his white front paws. In the glare of the overhead lights, they looked grimy. Shouldn’t he be grooming them?

 

 

 

 

You don’t really own a dog, you rent them, and you have to be thankful that you had such a long lease.

Joe Garagiola