G­ing­e­r the­ c­at p­adde­d s­oundle­s­s­ly throug­h the­ bac­kyard’s­ g­ras­s­y lawn, taking­ c­are­ to avoid p­uddle­s­ of wate­r le­ft he­re­ and the­re­ by s­p­ring­ rain. It was­ dus­k, he­r favorite­ tim­­e­ of day. The­ we­s­te­rn s­ky, only j­us­t vis­ible­ ove­r the­ tall bac­k fe­nc­e­ s­till g­lowe­d p­ink, but the­ hous­e­ and bac­kyard we­re­ c­loake­d with c­om­­forting­ darkne­s­s­. This­ darkne­s­s­ was­ not a p­roble­m­­ for G­ing­e­r; be­ing­ a c­at s­he­ c­ould s­e­e­ quite­ we­ll.

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