Rudith, as the beast with nine hundred names is currently known, eyes the biped and his awkward morning calisthenics with disdain. She had hoped, when he came to live here, that he might prove a hunt-leader or at least interesting prey, but THING OUT THE WINDOW THERE WAS A THING A THING MOVED. Rudith presses nose to cold glass, waiting, breathing, but the yard is still and at length instinct subsides. The biped collapses halfway up a headstand. Rudith snorts, scorning him as he laughs at himself, and BELLY RUB RUBBING BELLY ROLL AROUND BELLY okay he lives another day.
Published on Sunday, November 10, 2013, at 10:26 am.