she sings

she is a mature queen-cat.

her woman died last year, and now she lives in the yard, hiding in the basement, sneaking into corridors, that sort of thing. people of the house feed her rather regularly. she talks to them all the time, but nobody seems to listen.

and sometimes she sits on the steps by the door of the house, and sings.

not the mating song. not the battle song. she sings a strange, high-pitched tune which can only be described as loneliness.

because the kind-hearted people who feed her and let her sneak into warmer places, those people never pat her or talk to her.

and so she sings loneliness, soft-coated and ginger, and black, and white.

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