The Cat Who Knew Too Much
The ginger cat, whose name was aptly “Rusty,” was a creature of habit. Every morning, precisely at 7:03, he would stretch, yawns so wide they seemed to split his face in two, and then proceed to saunter into the kitchen, his tail held high like a flag of feline royalty, demanding his breakfast.
The ginger cat, whose name was aptly “Rusty,” was a creature of habit. Every morning, precisely at 7:03, he would stretch, yawns so wide they seemed to split his face in two, and then proceed to saunter into the kitchen, his tail held high like a flag of feline royalty, demanding his breakfast.
