My cat, my cat, my dear tiny cat—she has escaped! I keep her in this red box so I’ll always know where she is. Now she is gone! But…to be truthful…I don’t think she was happy. Often at night I would wake to the sound of her claws scraping the underside of the box lid. At first it frightened me! But I grew used to it and found it lulled me back to sleep. Now how will I ever sleep again? Oh, she’s such a stupid cat…she can’t have gotten far missing one leg (or possibly two).
I’m a cat, I’m a cat, I’m a CAT…and—I’m free! Free of my abysmal life inside the red box owned by that horrid lady with the weird giant collar she was always threatening to strangle me with. Well, I’ll show her, the old bag. She always said I’d be nothing without her, how only having two, maybe three legs at best put me at a disadvantage in the world and I’d never make it out there on my own. But the joke’s on her because I know how to get a leg (or two) up…
Hmm…apparently getting a leg up doesn’t mean what I thought it did, although I still could use one. But wait…what does it say at the end there…one’s last legs…means ‘at the end of…’ The end of what? Am I on my last legs?! Oh gosh, why did I ever leave, it’s so confusing out here…I wish I were back in the safety of that tin box, sharpening my claws on the lid so as to slit the old crone’s throat right through her enormous collar! Miao! Hsss!
This is the first installment of our new collaborative series called “Trinkets” in which very small things have very small adventures. See how we’ve been making ourselves small-minded.
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