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Feeling a bit better about the writing than I was before. I finished the draft of that story I was working on, drafted an article for Dumb Little Man and a post for the Canaries, and put together a flash for today. In honor of the impending holiday, it’s a ghost story (of sorts):

Gregg

The Egyptian Mau is widely acknowledged to be the breed that’s closest to the cats the ancient Egyptians worshipped back in 5,000 B.C. They’re small-boned cats, gray, dark-spotted (the only breed to have spots). On their foreheads, you can see a pattern of stripes like a tabby’s. The ancient Egyptians thought it was the sign of the sacred scarab beetle—the dark smudge of the body, the angled stripes of the legs and antennae—making the cat doubly holy.

My Egyptian Mau is named Gregg, because the spirit of my ex has possessed it. Gregg licks the ash out of the ashtray and won’t touch tuna. He likes steak, seared rare on the stove. Doesn’t mean he gets it all the time. After his last life, having to eat a few bowls of kibble is what he deserves, and that’s being generous. He’s got the same walk he used to have, too, but he hulks less at 8.5 pounds than he did at 225.

Sometimes I get angry, when I come home from work and see Gregg outside. I should be the one pissing on fences and sunning myself all day. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I brought home a dog. Mostly, though, it’s okay, this relationship we’ve got now. At least I’m not the one waking up every day with a giant dung beetle drawn on my face.

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