Every day is pretty much the same day. Tongues may wag but that’s just natural. As he lay on the empty road, the stretch seemed to be amplified by his innocuous presence. But Ginger was wary. She had had enough of running up tress and blowing herself up into a ball of fur, more comical than scary. Unlike Whitey (Whose name, I am told, was placed by an apparently racist cat lady) Ginger did not command the area. She was; safe to be said, the only cat seen in the vicinity; the others scared off or adopted.
And that was it. Amicably sorted. The cigarette packet would go to Buddy.