A kitten.

West does not wish me to tell you this.
But he has a weakness for cute animals it seems.
A few days ago I heard a mewing from the alleyway.
And there it was, a kitten.

A white and ginger ball of fluff.
Maybe two months old?

West took it in,
looked after it.
I do not think it likes me.
It scratched me.

So we have a pet.

I call it cat.
West calls it...
I do not recall what West calls it.
He calls it something else anyway.


I do not like cats much.
They play with their food.
I prefer animals that go for the throat.
A quick death is better than a laboured one.


Oh.

Also I was attacked
when I found the kitten.
Tore the stitches in my belly.

I do not recognise the attacker.
It was someone new,
maybe someone who thought
that a kitten is a perfect trap.

And it was a very good one.

We have moved on now.