número cinco

I can hear the retching. It’s coming. Not much time, the last one had a bit of a gurgle. As I frantically look around, I can’t help but think of cats’ uncanny preference to soft and warm materials–like my sweaters.  To my relief I find the wretched beast on the floor struggling to ingest a blade of cat grass, the culprit of this whole future mess. She sees me and spooks. Four graceful feline paces and she’s on top of my laptop bag. It looked like frothy milk with a tidy coil of grass. That is how the stain got there.

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