The other day our cat ran away from home. I picked her up last year around 3 a.m. on my way home.
That night I was coming back from the shop after playing shogi—a special four-player game.
She was literally palm-sized, so tiny. I gave her a shower right away at home, and sesame-like things started flowing off her body.
By the time I finished washing her, it was already past 5 a.m.
Over the next year, that cat grew bigger and bigger, reaching about 40 centimeters long, and on top of that,
thanks to my Spartan training methods, she wouldn’t warm up to me at all, and I wondered more than once if I should get rid of her.
That kitty didn’t come home starting Thursday night. Basically she’s free to roam; I feed her before work and we leave together.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday—she doesn’t come back. Of course I’m not really looking for her.
Monday morning she’s meowing like crazy outside, so I open the window and go “Ohhhhh!”
Welcome home, Friten. I bring her back inside, and my heart is full of joy at her return.
I miscounted the pure hand three-color, cut two pins with a red five-pin magic marker—the cheapest hand.
One men-pin dragon. I picked up a discarded tile—oh, how sad.
