“meow”, she prawls up to my flat as the milkman delivers. She eyes the packets for laps of her nectar.
We race to the milk. She wonders if a pounce could still work. I pause, “should I claim my superiority, and shoo her anyway?”.
That’s our “good morning” everyday; with hesitation.
* * *
This 55-word story is in response to a prompt on ‘Hesitation’ from here.
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