I laughed, gave her a kiss good-  
bye, and then took off.                
     I made it twenty-four minutes     
earlier than yesterday.                
     The door to the Secret Room was   
open, and the Cat was typing away. She 
didn’t stop for a second, but just     
said, “Sit down. I'll be with you in a 
second.”                               
     She clicked on something, and then
continued her story, “Like I was saying
yesterday, something in the back of my 
mind was telling me not to talk to the 
day-crew, and I couldn’t figure out    
why, but I found out soon enough.”     
     “What was it?” I asked when she   
stopped.                               
     “Remember that bloody bag from    
last month?”                           
     “That was last week, but yes I    
* do,” I said, and then realized what it   
was and added, “Oh shit!”              
     “Exactly,” she said, “Frankenstein
and his two evil shitheads like to     
torture the mice before they put them  
to sleep.”                             
     When mice were scheduled for      
termination, by law, it had to be done 
in twenty-four hours or less. Something
to do with not wanting the mice to     
suffer anxiety while they waited, but I
don’t know how true that was.          
     Sometimes, when the number of mice
to be killed got too high, the indepen-
dent labs got certified to help out,   
and obviously, Frankie’s was also one  
of them.                               
     “My conscious mind wasn’t aware of
it,” the Cat continued, “but my subcon-
scious probably was and wanted to      
protect me from ending up the same way.



CHAPTER 10: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 29th
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