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.

M­ore­ &g­t­;