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Creative Writing: Dogs And Cats
The cursed cat. He was grinning at them, that insolent face just grinning and staring, those disgusting whiskers twitching, the disgusting muddy fur, the disgusting hole in his ear. Scampi and Mustard stood at the bottom of the tree, tongues slowly moving in and out. It was over, both of them knew. They stared right back at the mangy cat with hate in their eyes. Its tail was curling back and forth. "Can't we wait this time?" "No." "But-" "We could stand here all day, but we'd have to leave sometime. What's the use?" Scampi smacked the tree with his little paw. Nature was most unjust. The cat began cleaning itself arrogantly. The nerve, thought Scampi. Here's this new cat, obviously fresh out of the bad part of town, no owner, no home, no nothing, thinking it can roam around like a king. "There's a chain of command around here!" Scampi snarled. "Okay, it's over." Mustard sighed and lay down. This was the third time in a week that they'd failed. He had been around long enough to know when he was beat. "No respect. Where's the respect?" Scampi circled the tree in a haze of anger, his tiny legs beating furiously on the grass. The beagle could never quite get over a loss. Mustard lay his head on the ground and watched the passage of time on the street while Scampi vented. Soon, Roy the Basset and his owner walked by. Mustard nodded hello. "Who's that?" Roy asked, looking in the tree. "Dunno. New in town." "Which house?" "No house." "Freeloader, hm? Give him one from me." Roy's owner shushed him. Poor guy. Owner was one of those uppity types who had to have everything perfect. Mustard rolled on his belly. They had better catch the thing quick, or the whole neighbourhood would ridicule them. The brazen cat had been rooting around in gardens for a while, a slap in the face even to the cats, of whom there was admittedly a minority on the block. But who knows about cats? They never ... Please login to view comments from other users.
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