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;