Mab scanned her text messages till she found something to cling on to. Fish should never be allowed to die of old age. She felt a shiver run lazily up and down her spine and turned to witness the silent glassy approval of Lady.
Lady rarely looked up from grooming herself, but mostly because she didn’t have to. As it turns out cats hone their sixth sense till, somewhere around their fourth or fifth life, they don’t even have to look to know. They feel sights, see sounds, taste thoughts and so on. When the Great Silkworm in the Sky created this, It decided It had outdone Itself this time, called the creation Sense V6.5 Turbo, and took a long nap. Actually, It’s still on that nap, which could account for the way the world is, if you believe in the Great Silkworm at all. (Me? I’m a millipediatrist. We believe there is no Silkworm, Great or otherwise, and if we keep improving our long-distance running, eventually we’ll reach the Beginning of the Earth and get to start over. Ask the cats. They’re all millipediatrists, except they just have to imagine running to the Beginning.)
Anyway. Lady looked up from her grooming because she smelt the fish in the text message. “You love everybody. That’s your pathology. Lick yourself every now and then and get some perspective.” Lady slithered out of the divan, stretched her limbs and walked in through the mirror.
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