What Cats (and Dragons) Do
by KT Bryski
Far away in the hill country, there lived a small black cat. Though people enough lived in a nearby town, he belonged only to himself. Sometimes he climbed the town’s old stone walls and prowled its old stone lanes, for he was very fond of sunny window ledges and fresh milk.
If he was lonely, he didn’t think much of it. A cat feeds well enough on its own company.
On this particular day, the cat was curled fast asleep on the hillside. Pale trees whispered under a bleached summer sky. Long grass drooped in the heat; morning light fell like shards of white glass.
Sudden rumbling shook the morning. Like a muddy river, a dragon surged from the hilltop. Wingless, sinuous, it scuttled on four stumped legs and nearly tripped over the cat in its haste. Righting itself, the dragon gave a slow, lipless smile. Its jaws opened wide, jagged teeth dripping —
“Where,” said the cat, “is my apology?”
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