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Howdy closes his mouth, but his ears stay in their
I-don’t-trust-you position.
“Howdy will be all right, Peggy Sue,” says Daddy.
He stretches out his long legs and settles on the bench
with his paperwork. “He’s a Bennett. And you brought
him his favorite food.” Daddy hands me the aluminum
foil with a few pieces of leftover chicken I saved from
dinner last night.
I lie on my side and place a piece of meat halfway
between my cat and me. Howdy sniffs the air, but
doesn’t budge.
I brought extra chicken for Tinkerbell, too, but all I
see is an empty cage next door. Maybe it’s her checkup
time.
I wiggle closer to Howdy and reach for him again.
Whop
. Howdy’s paw hits my fingers. “Ouch,” I cry,
and rub my hand.
“No fighting, you two,” says Daddy.
“Not funny,” I say.
“Just give him a little more breathing room.”
So I do. I scoot back, but my eyes never leave
him. “Everything is going to be okay, Howdy. I
promise.”
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