One of my older stories that I wrote as a child. It was originally hand-written on Thanksgiving 2001. Shortly after, I typed it up and saved it (this story has traveled through many computers). I did some editing not long ago. I figured I’d post it on here for some opinions.
It all began one afternoon as I rested on the back porch. When I heard the door slam, I raised my chin from my paws and breathed in the cool air. Bill carried a cage with a cloth over it out of the old, rusty pickup truck. His boots whirled up the crunchy leaves as his feet stomped down the hill. A strange bark came from within the cage — it sounded like Betty when she saw a rat. What we really needed around the house was a good ol’ cat. I came out from beneath my blanket and trotted down the wooden steps to investigate.
Bill opened the gate on the pen out in the field, pulled it shut, then set the cage on the ground. He knelt down, swung it open, and stood back. He placed his hands on his hips as he peered into the cage.
“Come on,” he said, calm but serious. Read More