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You CAN'T BE NEARLY AS HUNGRY AS I AM, CAT!
the squirrel thought resentfully. Or at least he hoped not.
The cat had killed a third time just as the setting sun's
orange light gilded the windowsill. It was full dark now,
and the squirrel was glad that clouds and rain hid the moons
tonight. Lunitari's light might remind him too much of
blood.
I'M SO HUNGRY! AND SO THIRSTY! IF THAT
CAT KNOCKS THE CAGE OFF THIS TABLE TO
GET AT ME, I DON'T KNOW IF I'LL HAVE THE
STRENGTH TO RUN. THEN I'D REALLY BE UP A
TREE. . . .
Almost the squirrel laughed. He wished he WERE up a
tree, curled all safe and warm, his nose tucked into his thick
gray tail. With a nice fire blazing in the hearth.
Hearth?
The squirrel shook himself and whipped his tail over his
head. Where had that strange thought come from? What he
really wanted was a nice leaf-lined nest, a hearty cache of
nuts to nibble on from time to time, a little water from the
puddles on the ground ... AND SOME EGGS AND
CHEESE, A LITTLE FRESH BREAD AND NEW HONEY
... He wondered if hunger was making him lose his wits. He
wondered, too, when the man would return to feed him and
the cat.
The cat leaped onto the table again, rubbing against the
bars and making an ominous rumbling sound in his throat
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