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The Cat

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” the old man said, waddling over to the sofa. “You know damn well what that much alcohol could do to you.”

The cat’s emerald eyes narrowed and she spat a sharp hiss that made the man step back. “Alcohol?” she said. “Are you really going to stand there and tell me that this is just an ordinary beer, Morgan?” She extended the nails of one claw and peeled back at the cap, popping it free of the glass bottle’s top.

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The girl blinked a few times and examined the drab faces of the rest of the children in the classroom. Then, wearing a curious scowl, she raised her hand.

I stumbled through the seating chart searching for her name, “Yes Miss…”

“Hamilton,” she finished for me. “But you can call me Maggie. I was just wondering, Mr. Andrews, if we were going to be covering anything about the planets today?” She sprouted a peevish grin, a knowing grin, and somehow I could tell that she had seen through my facade.

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