Sunday June 26th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the stray.

It was a hot one today. Did manage to finally rototill the paths in our veggie garden before the heat got excessive. We didn't plant much but I'm still doing a fine job of neglecting it. Hoping to get on top of things this week.

Not even going to talk about how far behind on replying to comments I am...

Mine:

"She's back again."

"That's nice." Dale didn't need to ask who his wife was talking about. He knew. "She better not be pregnant again."

"Doesn't look it."

"That's what you said last time." Dale turned to the next page in the local newspaper and began reading an opinion piece about the town council. The author, unsurprisingly, was not a supporter.

"Oh, come on Dale. We both know you thought those kittens were danged cute."

"I never said no such thing." Despite his best efforts, a small smile appeared on his face. He tried to erase it with a sip of coffee and was only partially successful.

"She's making herself comfy by the woodpile. Do you think she'll be all right there?"

"She ain't our danged cat, Violet. What's it matter to us if she's all right or not?"

"Well, somebody ought to be looking out for her. And if she keeps coming back to us then it's safe to say nobody else is."

"She's a cat, Violet. She can take care of herself. Probably has an owner somewhere doing their level best to keep her happy and she's too high and mighty to approve of their work. Cats are like that."

"Oh, what do you know about cats anyway? Your family only ever had dogs when you were growing up. You're just being racist against cats, that's all."

"I don't think racist is the word you're looking for," Dale muttered but Violet was already out the kitchen door, heading for the woodpile with a saucer of milk. "Ah hell, here we go again..."