“Cats are considered, by a lot of 
people, to be the serial killers of the
animal world. All the cats together    
kill billions of animals a year,       
including baby birds and mice.”        
     I immediately regretted saying    
that last part, because a really       
worried look came over her face.       
     All she said was, “I don't want to
talk about that anymore” and I felt    
like I’d won something, but it was     
something lousy, like a year of        
wallowing naked through shit, on tippy 
toes, and also being more than happy to
eat it, like chocolate cake.           
     Maybe that’s what they mean by    
being happy as shit?                   
     Anyway, I decided to change the   
subject.                               
     “How...” I started to ask about   
* the lock on her cage, but as I looked    
closer, I noticed that it had a digital
display and already knew the answer.   
     Instead, I asked, “How old are    
you? Do you know?”                     
     “According to the computer        
records, my birthday was almost seven  
months ago. April first, to be exact.” 
     April Fool’s Day, that seemed     
appropriate somehow, but seven months  
to learn how to talk? How was that     
even possible? What am I talking about?
How’s that more impossible than a      
talking Cat?                           
     It made sense anyway, because she 
did look just like a little kitten     
would look.                            
     “Are you going to be able to get  
in tomorrow night?” she asked with that
worried look still on her face, like   
maybe she’d gone a little too far with 
her sick history lesson.               



CHAPTER 11: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30th
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