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;