Damn! I see that flea-infested, urine-matted tom cat has been outside
the bloody door again. Spray all over the stoop ... retched up a hair
ball, too. Suppose I'll clean it up. Can't have the patrons crossing
oer' that when they come in to the Galleries!
Cats are known for a certain amount of savoir-faire and chic
classiness, but this thing ... pathetic, malodorous piece of dung. One
eye out, one ear shredded, another gone altogether ... fur gunked up
with dog shit ... back leg gnawed at the knee. Obviously picked a few
fights in which its bragging over-advertised its toughness. Suppose I
ought to feel sorry for the poor shredded vermin but ...
Jeeeeezzzz!
Need to trap that vomit sack and get his jewels removed ... that'll
fix the spraying ... its either that or in the burlap and into the
deep caresses of the mighty Yarra.
But then why pollute a perfectly good river?
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