“Meow” Yelped the patch-furred cat as my younger sister Abigail picked it up.
“Put that cat back Abby, we are not taking that flea bag home.” I tell my sister firmly.
“Aww, but Primrose, can we please take her home? She’s beautiful!”
Beautiful? I think to myself, is that girl blind as well as stupid.
“Gah!” I yelp finally giving in to my younger sister’s charm. “Fine, but I’m not taking care of that…..that thing!”
Once we got to our small home in Kentucky City, my younger sister was actually talking to the cat!
When our mother saw it, she immediately gave it a hot flea bath, all that afternoon I heard that little monster screeching in pain and I could not resist laughing to myself coldly.
Yet, five years later, the cat still bites me, still hisses at me, and still hates me. Moreover, I sure have to the cuts to prove it.