Every damn Friday. How the hell does a cat know which day it is? Every other day he walked under the tree to a barrage of purring, a loud 'here I am' purring from the large tom with it's bent forearms resting on a branch, it's white belly all fluffed up and the biggest smirk possible for a feline. His friends added chorus. But Friday was a different story.
Fridays were when the cat pounced. Luke would be passing under the tree and a heavy furry lump would fall onto him, followed by scrambling legs and an obnoxious purr
( ... )
That Friday when the cat unerringly dropped from the tree Luke decided to speak to it, there was no-one around to lock him up. 'One - I thought cats were meant to be graceful, you drop down like a lead balloon, a molting lead balloon. Two - If you're really some extra special precious little flower how about you zap to human and let me see huh? Wouldn't that be easier
( ... )
How the hell does a cat know which day it is?
Every other day he walked under the tree to a barrage of purring, a loud 'here I am' purring from the large tom with it's bent forearms resting on a branch, it's white belly all fluffed up and the biggest smirk possible for a feline. His friends added chorus.
But Friday was a different story.
...
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So ... great a use of these prompts.
Thank You.
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Wonderfully done! Thank you for writing and sharing this. :D <3
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