L'aura del Campo

Softball

Softball

She looked at me cross-eyed. No mean feat for a Persian. She didn't speak Siamese, barely mewed, except when, two stories up, she saw a sparrow across the alley. Her jaw moved in anticipation. The windows were kept shut.

She wasn't #1 cat, but she knew I was her servant, shedding long black strands for me to gather, making sure I deodorized the litter box... or else. She had been born in Canada, smuggled across the border, became a part of a crazy cat family. I named her Softball; she knew she was boss.

© Kåre Enga [175.266] (16.oktober.2018) from a writing group prompt: Day of the Boss.

94 words as of 10/16

93.742